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I sigh.

A stack of soft towels sits beside the sink. I grab one, folding it against my chest and pressing it there, the cold fabric biting into my skin.

And then I see it. A door.

At the far end of the bathroom. Painted white to blend into the wall, but unmistakable. A small silver handle gleams beneath the light.

My throat tightens. Is it real? Could it...?

I inch toward it, my bare feet silent on the tiles. My hands tremble as I turn the latch. It clicks. My heart stutters.

“Everything alright?” Alfio’s voice floats through the half-open bathroom door.

I force my voice steady. “Yes. Almost out.”

My fingers close around the handle. I crack it open. A whisper of night air brushes against my cheek.

The door leads outside.

I slip my heels off silently and tuck them under my arm. My bare feet touch damp grass as I push the door wider and step out. The sound of music fades behind me.

I crouch and move across the lawn, the grass tickling my legs as I pass under the soft glow of a garden lantern. There—up ahead—a wall. High. Covered in ivy and shadows.

I reach it, breathless, the soles of my feet aching from the cold stone beneath them. I look down at my long, wet dress. I can’t climb like this.

I bite down hard and yank the fabric, ripping it with all the strength I can muster. It tears jaggedly, the sound of it ripping like thunder. I hike the dress up past my knees, tying the fabric loosely at my thigh.

Bea taught me how to climb. Years ago. At school. We used to sneak out over the back gate to get hot bread from the little bakery before morning mass. I remember her laughing, egging me on.

I grab the lowest ledge, fingers slipping. I fall back onto the grass.

I try again desperately, asking the angels to help me.

I bite back a cry as I hit the ground again, the wind knocked out of me. My elbows are scraped now, my palms raw.

Once more. I grit my teeth. Wrap my fingers tight.

This time, I get higher. My knees push against the stone, my thighs straining. One more stretch, then it becomes easy.

I hold on to holes and cracks, pushing myself up, testing the ivy with my weight before I climb on to it. I get to the top, panting and covered in sweat.

“What the hell?” a voice barks behind me. “Che diavolo fai?! How did you even get up there?!”

It’s Alfio running towards me and pressing his phone desperately.

I can’t stop now. I increase my pace as he begins to climb behind me, cursing.

I swing my leg over the edge and he shouts again. My dress snags. I tug hard, and I jump.

The ground hits me hard.

Everything explodes—pain in my back, stars in my eyes, the world turning.

When I open my eyes, the sky above me is too far and my lungs can’t catch enough air. My arm screams in protest when I move it, and my ankle throbs.

But I’m alive.

I push myself up, vision spinning. My hair’s in my eyes, my skin wet with grass and something hot trickling down my leg—blood?