“Put the gun down, Luca,” Marcus said.

His voice was quiet, raspy from the cold.

“I’m not letting you touch her,” Luca said, his voice shaking slightly.

Marcus unbuttoned his coat slowly, revealing his chest.

He had no shoulder holster, and his waist was clear.

“I am not here to fight you,” Marcus said.

He stepped deeper into the room, his leather boots leaving dark, wet prints on the dusty floorboards.

He walked over to the old wooden table in the center of the room.

He did not look at the peeling wallpaper or the dead hearth.

He kept his gaze fixed on me.

“You should not have run in this weather,” he said.

“I had to get away from you,” I said.

My voice sounded small, but I kept my shoulders straight.

“I know,” Marcus said.

He reached into the inner pocket of his coat.

Luca tensed, his finger tightening on the trigger.

“Careful,” Luca warned.

Marcus slowly pulled out a thick, black leather folder.

He laid it flat on the dust-covered table.

He smoothed the leather with his palm, his movements deliberate.