The rain had turned to mist when Dante arrived at the cathedral ruins. Smoke curled from the shattered altar, and a black feather lay half-buried in the ash. He crushed it beneath his boot.

"I figured you'd come skulking around eventually." The voice was calm, almost amused.

Dante turned his head slightly, hand still hovering near the hilt of his blade. She stood at the edge of the nave, coat dripping from the rain, eyes gleaming like wet steel. She held no weapon—none visible anyway—but he wasn’t foolish enough to think she came unarmed.

“Nice to see you too,” he said, brushing soot off his shoulder. “You’re late.”

She walked toward him, footsteps echoing between the shattered pillars. “You burned the place down before I got here.”

“They started it.” He said casually.

Her brow arched. “You always say that.”

He smirked. “And I’m always right.”

They stood a few paces apart, the cold silence between them crackling with history. Old grudges, unresolved debts. Once, they’d been on opposite sides of a war. Now, the war had changed—and neither of them liked who was winning.

“I didn’t come to relive the past, Dante,” she said, voice sharp. “I came because something darker is moving through the city. And whether we like it or not… we’re the last ones standing.”

Dante tilted his head. “So what now?”

She stepped closer, close enough for him to see the scar above her collarbone—the one he gave her years ago. “We finish what they started. Together.”

A storm rumbled in the distance. And for the first time in a long while, Dante nodded. “Then let’s raise some hell.”