Page 46 of Skotos (Of Shadows & Secrets #6)

Thomas

I tore through the press of bodies like a madman, jostling priests and tourists, muttering apologies I didn’t mean.

My legs burned, and my shoulder pulsed with fresh pain, but I couldn’t stop—not now, not with the Pope stepping onto that balcony in minutes, not with the weight of the future pounding in my chest like a second heartbeat.

Two days. Damn it. We were supposed to have two days. This couldn’t be happening today .

I found the alley—a narrow slit between a wine shop and a butcher—and hurtled into it, skidding on spilled olive oil and slamming into the door I’d memorized during our planning with Lucio. He’d proven himself a wizard in navigating the ancient city.

The staircase beyond was tight, the walls closing in as I climbed up one floor, then another, then six or eight more—I lost count.

Breaths came in ragged bursts .

I thought my heart might beat its way out of my chest.

I checked my pistol for the hundredth time, then pressed forward. The rooftop door—an old metal thing—refused to budge. I leaned my weight into it. Still nothing. I stepped back and slammed against the unyielding slab. It finally popped free, its hinges groaning in protest as it swung wide.

I froze.

The roof was empty.

There was no gunman, no rifle, only flat stone tiles, a few scattered cigarette butts, and the quiet flutter of a papal banner fluttering in the breeze on a nearby balcony.

I spun, scanning every corner.

There was nothing.

No one.

I was on the wrong roof.