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Intro
In Siracusa, night is a luxury.
From as far back as they can remember, every family heir learns that interests come above all else—securing eternal benefits for the family is the only creed that matters. Only those deemed valuable deserve to live.
No one should have time to rest. Everyone who survives knows how to hurt others to keep themselves alive.
Lappland was one of the best, until she witnessed her first sunset.
Under endless daylight, she welcomed a night that belonged solely to her.
1.
There is no night in the Colosseum of Siracusa.
For every Siracusan, being chosen for the Colosseum trial is the highest honor. That's why the Colosseum must be like heaven—always bathed in light.
This was Lappland's second time stepping into the Colosseum as a representative of the Saluzzo family.
The participants this time were predominantly from the ruling twelve families—blood relatives and chosen "warriors" raised by the clans. The rest were evenly split: half recommended by those with connections to the major families, and half selected from commoners. Nearly three hundred people had to survive using resources hidden in advance, fighting it out until only twelve remained to leave.
Siracusa calls this the Selection. Throughout history, most survivors have come from the twelve families, and only participants could qualify as heirs. Held every five years, the Selection typically determined the succession order within families, which meant even those from the same clan rarely formed teams. For commoners, though, it represented a rare opportunity to gain public recognition and favor from the families.
Lappland was just thirteen during her first Selection. Children use fewer resources, and no one would view a frail, delicate girl as a genuine threat. But Lappland already had years of combat experience behind her. She struck living targets swiftly and decisively, not only walking out alive but earning a spot on the kill list.
Now, she lay on the roof of a bungalow in the Colosseum, staring up at the artificial daylight lamps until her eyes stung. High-powered light tubes lined the ceiling to illuminate every corner, leaving only the inside of the bungalows—built to complicate the terrain—slightly dimmer. That's why almost no one looked up; in a trial like this, even a split-second loss of sight could prove fatal.
She still remembered the wild look in her father's eyes the last time she walked out of the Colosseum. Back then, she was drenched in blood—some hers, some others'—and hadn't eaten properly in days, sustained only by a flicker of resentment. Yet her father didn't offer a single word of concern. Instead, he said with delight, "You'll be my greatest masterpiece."
Her thoughts were interrupted by faint footsteps below. She blinked, sat up, and glanced down.
A vaguely familiar black-haired woman passed by, holding something in her arms. Lappland caught a quick glimpse before lying back down, hearing the door beneath her open and shut. She closed her eyes, sifting through her memory for that face, and it clicked—Cellinia, the only daughter of the Texas family, whom she'd met when they were around seven or eight years old.
She hadn't expected the Texas family, now settled in Columbia, to still follow Siracusa's ways. Driven by curiosity, Lappland gripped the eaves with both hands and dropped lightly to the doorstep, landing silently enough not to alert whoever was inside.
She peered through the narrow window but saw no one. With one hand resting on the sword hilt at her waist, she nudged the door open just a crack.
No sound, as if the place was empty. But Lappland trusted her ears—she was certain the Texas girl was in this bungalow. Feigning nonchalance, she pushed the door wider and stepped in. The instant it swung open, a longsword thrust toward her shoulder.
She was ready. Drawing her blade in a flash, she parried the strike. The attacker, realizing the blow had missed, shifted tactics and swung again, unleashing a flurry of strikes. Lappland stayed defensive, blocking each one without striking back. The other seemed to catch on and soon stopped, stepping forward into the light. Seeing Lappland's face, she spoke with surprise, "It's you, from the Saluzzo family."
Lappland nodded casually. "Yep, it's me. No ill intent—just here to say hi, Texas girl."
Cellinia pressed her lips together and stepped aside. "Cellinia. Come in."
"Lappland." The door clicked shut behind her as she scanned the supplies stacked in the corner. "Is this your first time in this trial?"
Cellinia gave a soft "Mm," unsure what Lappland was getting at.
Lappland tilted her head, thought for a second, then grinned. "Then let's team up! This is my second go."
Cellinia didn't agree right away. Instead, she asked, "I'm definitely not the best partner out there. Why me?"
Lappland let out an "Oh," then said, "A: We met as kids. B: I like your eyes. C: I'm in an especially good mood today. Take your pick."
Cellinia studied her carefully with those clear golden eyes, then said, "Alright, teammate."
2.
Cellinia couldn't quite pinpoint why she agreed to team up with this barely familiar childhood acquaintance. Maybe it was Lappland's air of not caring too much about anything—a gut feeling telling her Lappland wouldn't turn on her, that in this death-driven trial, she could be a reliable ally.
Whatever the reason, Lappland settled into Cellinia's chosen hideout as if she owned the place.
Cellinia watched as Lappland plopped down in the corner, hugging her sword like she was about to nap. Unable to hold back, she asked, "Don't you have anything to bring over?"
Lappland pondered for a moment. "You mean supplies? I'm not big on stockpiling. If I die, it just ends up in someone else's hands. I'll grab what I need when the time comes."
Cellinia shot her a disapproving look, and Lappland grinned. "Besides, I've got my partner now, right? You wouldn't let me starve, would you?"
Cellinia didn't bother replying, just said, "I'll sleep after you wake up."
Lappland shrugged, stretched out in the corner, and closed her eyes.
Even indoors, the Colosseum remained brightly lit—only slightly dimmer than outside. Cellinia sat by the door, listening for any noise beyond it, her gaze naturally drifting to Lappland.
Asleep, Lappland didn't wear her usual carefree smirk. Her brow furrowed, as if she wasn't resting peacefully. She clutched her sword close, appearing relaxed, yet one hand remained on the hilt, ready to draw it the second she woke.
This only reinforced Cellinia's hunch—this girl had real experience in these Selections, always on edge.
A few hours later, faint clangs of weapons and footsteps echoed near the door. Cellinia sprang up, eyeing it warily, on guard for an intruder. She hesitated about waking Lappland, but when she glanced over, those silver eyes were already open, fixed on the door, sword half-unsheathed.
"Someone might be close," Cellinia whispered.
Lappland nodded slightly, a smile creeping back. "Why didn't you call me? I almost swung at you."
Cellinia didn't know how to answer that, so she stayed quiet. Lappland didn't mind and asked, "Ever killed anyone?"
Cellinia shook her head hesitantly. Lappland said, "Then grab a quick bite and some water. I'll take you to find supplies."
Cellinia fueled up fast and followed Lappland, creeping toward the sounds.
Soon, they came across a blood-soaked patch of ground and two people locked in combat. A few bodies already littered the floor—clear signs of a brutal free-for-all. Cellinia frowned slightly, but Lappland seemed unbothered, slipping into a safe corner to scope things out.
As the fight neared its end, Lappland signaled Cellinia to follow and charged in without hesitation, aiming a sword thrust at the chest of the one gaining the upper hand.
The pair had been braced for interference—the strike only grazed a shoulder. Spotting the new threat, they turned on Lappland, the freshest of the bunch. That's when Cellinia jumped in, slashing at one from behind.
He couldn't dodge in time. Her blade pierced his shoulder, and a follow-up stab to the gut dropped him, taking him out of the fight. The other didn't last long against Lappland either—she drove her sword through his shoulder again, pinning him down.
Seeing neither could fight back, Cellinia scavenged their supplies and turned to leave. But Lappland stayed atop the one she'd pinned, flashing her a smile. "Cellinia, finish them."
Cellinia pressed her lips tight, resting her sword tip against the chest of the man at her feet, but her hand wouldn't move. She'd witnessed family members kill before, yet it still felt distant to her.
Lappland watched her. "Cellinia, if you want to survive, this is what you do."
Cellinia met her gaze. Lappland idly slid her sword tip over the person beneath her, as if she were picking the perfect spot. The man's terrified eyes tracked her blade. Suddenly, he wrenched a hand free, snatched a dagger from his sleeve, and lunged at Lappland's stomach. But she was ready—grabbing his wrist with one hand, she forced it down.
The dagger carved a long gash across her thigh, but her sword sank precisely into his heart. Lappland didn't flinch, just clicked her tongue softly, then smiled at Cellinia. "See? As long as they're breathing, they're a threat. There's always a first time—it gets easier after that."
Wordlessly, Cellinia drove her sword through the heart of the man at her feet. Blood sprayed, splattering her face and clothes. Lappland stepped over, wiping a streak of it off her cheek with her fingertips. "Good job, my dear partner."
Cellinia sighed, glanced at the body by her feet, and said, "Let's head back."
3.
Things settled down for a while after that. With plenty of supplies, the two mostly spent their time sparring.
Lappland could tell Cellinia had trained with a sword for years—their skill levels were nearly identical. Yet in practice, Cellinia usually came up short.
After mulling it over for days, Lappland figured it out: Cellinia's blade hadn't tasted enough blood. Her technique was polished, but it lacked intent.
After another close win, Lappland picked up Cellinia's dropped sword. "If your sword stays like this, it won't carry you to the end."
Cellinia reached for it, but Lappland pulled back. "I get it," Cellinia said, a bit annoyed. "I won't hold back next time."
"Then we'll work on that starting tomorrow." Lappland grinned, handing the sword over. "I'll find you some practice tools. You'll get the hang of it fast."
Lappland didn't waste time. The next morning, right after waking up, she headed out and returned soon after, dragging a person bound with leather straps. She knocked twice, waited for Cellinia to open the door, gave a casual salute, and pointed to the figure behind her. "Today's tool."
Cellinia frowned at calling a living person a "tool" but held her tongue, asking instead, "You know them?"
"Yeah," Lappland said, meeting the captive's resentful glare with a carefree smile. "One of my dad's dogs. Probably came in here with some kind of mission."
The bound figure struggled, and Lappland yanked the strap hard, slamming them to the ground before passing the rope to Cellinia. Cellinia pressed her lips together and took it. The handover dragged the captive a short distance across the floor. Lappland, impatient, hauled them up by the rope and leaned close to Cellinia's ear. "He took my dagger, darling. You'll get it back for me, right?"
Cellinia didn't call out how Lappland had slipped the dagger into the captive's hand earlier. She just tugged them into the bungalow next door. Lappland leaned against the wall by the door, humming a tune as the sounds of a scuffle drifted out. It ended quickly, and soon Cellinia stepped back through, blood splattered on her face. She walked over slowly, slapped the dagger against Lappland's chest, and headed to their base. "Got your stuff back. Clean up next door."
Lappland was clearly pleased. She tucked the dagger into her waistband, pulled a clean handkerchief from her pocket, drew Cellinia back, and gently wiped the blood from her face before letting go, still humming as she went to dispose of the body.
Cellinia had been decisive this time, Lappland noted as she examined the corpse. Just as expected from the partner she'd chosen—quick to adapt to Siracusa's rules. She tossed the body onto a distant clearing with a grin, already plotting where to find tomorrow's catch.
When she got back, Cellinia was wiping her sword with her shirt hem, focused and serious. She glanced up as Lappland entered but kept at it. Lappland leaned in the doorway, watching for a bit, struck by how pretty Cellinia's golden eyes were. She stepped closer, pulled out the dagger, and offered it. "You retrieved it. It's yours now."
Cellinia didn't take it. "I've got a dagger."
Lappland tossed it into her lap. "But I want you to have it. This one's special—I used it for my first kill, right through the heart."
Cellinia paused at that, hesitantly picking it up. She studied it for a moment, then stowed it away. "Thanks."
Lappland beamed. "You're welcome. Treat it well."
4.
If asked to rate their partnership during this period, Cellinia would probably give Lappland an eight out of ten.
Each day followed a pattern: Lappland would wake up, go out for a roam—the duration varying—and always return hauling a bound person as Cellinia's daily blood-letting practice. Then she'd dutifully handle the body, keep an eye on the outside while Cellinia rested, and they'd take turns scavenging supplies when Cellinia was up. If anyone attacked, Lappland threw herself into the fight with full force, their teamwork seamless. She even volunteered to clean up the mess after.
But sometimes, Cellinia still felt that they were distant.
Over this period, they'd exchanged plenty of stories about their pasts: how Lappland went from a kid racing through vineyards to facing off with predators, making her first kill, and becoming her family's weapon; how Cellinia was confined to her grandfather's study, drilled in swordplay, and ended up back in Siracusa because of her father and grandfather's feud.
Yet Cellinia felt she didn't truly know Lappland at all—and she wouldn't claim Lappland knew her either. In a partnership built on mutual gain, baring your soul would be a dumb move. She'd been taught that early on.
Raised at her grandfather's side, she'd witnessed countless family deals and heard endless lies about profit. She knew better than anyone how fragile a bond built on deceit could be.
Cellinia glanced at Lappland resting, her eyes tracing from her closed lids down to the fresh cuts on her bare legs. Lappland always returned with a couple of new wounds, still bleeding, and never bothered bandaging them. After watching this pattern several times, Cellinia figured it out—Lappland was hurting herself deliberately. None of those captives she dragged in could have landed those marks on her.
But she wouldn't ask, and Lappland wouldn't tell. That's how they operated.
Cellinia watched a bit longer, then grabbed a cigarette and matches from the supplies and leaned against the half-open door, smoking slowly. She'd been puzzled the first time she found cigarettes in their stash—did a survival fight really need nicotine? Now she understood; smoking calmed your nerves and helped spend the time.
As the cigarette burned low, she caught a faint stir inside. She turned and met Lappland's now-awake silver eyes. Lappland flashed a smile, her voice a little rough. "Morning—though I've got no clue if it's actually morning."
Cellinia snuffed the cigarette on the doorframe. "Morning."
She watched Lappland take a couple bites of a compressed biscuit, grab her sword, and head out. Suddenly, Cellinia reached out to stop her. "Do you know how many are left in the Colosseum?"
Lappland gave her an odd look before answering, "No idea." Her hand rested lightly on Cellinia's wrist, easing her arm down. "But when the Selection's about to end, we'll all know." She paused, glancing at the ever-lit ceiling with a complex expression. "I'll be quick."
Cellinia silently watched the door shut and sat back in the corner as usual.
Lappland returned faster than usual today. When she knocked, Cellinia was still contemplating what signs might mark the Selection's end. She eyed the bound figure Lappland brought, stepping over to take them next door. As she passed, Lappland caught her wrist—same spot as before she left.
Cellinia tilted her head, puzzled, then felt Lappland's breath by her ear. "Darling, I want to see you use the dagger to kill this one."
Cellinia didn't reply, just hauled the captive next door. When she returned, she tossed the still-bloody dagger to Lappland. Lappland caught it, wiped it spotless, handed it back with a smile, and went to tidy up next door.
Cellinia stared at the now-pristine dagger in her hand and let out a sigh.
5.
Lappland moved through the Colosseum with a light step. She knew this place inside out—her father had drilled the layout into her since she was little: every Selection's bungalow locations, every supply cache. Yesterday, she'd nabbed another of her father's spies sent to tail her. By her count, there couldn't be many left.
Cellinia was more intriguing than she'd expected. She'd never killed before coming here, yet she adjusted quickly, as if this survival game was second nature. It had to be her Siracusan blood, Lappland declared. That stuff—unique to Siracusa—coursed through generations. Unless you bled out and carved away the flesh, those rotten, toxic traits remained buried in your bones, impossible to shake.
She caught faint footsteps behind her but only shifted slightly, dodging a sneaky strike that could've hit too hard. A sharp blade grazed her arm, leaving a bleeding cut. Lappland glanced at the dripping blood, drew her sword slowly, and smiled at the attacker who hadn't expected her to sidestep. "I don't like where you put that scratch."
She brushed off their follow-up attacks with ease, then, as panic filled their eyes, pulled out a rope and tied them up tight. Holding the rope in one hand, she stared, obssessed, at the blood oozing from her wound until it clotted on its own. Only then did she drag her catch back.
When she handed them off to Cellinia, she noticed Cellinia's complex gaze lingering on her wound again, though she said nothing.
That's what Lappland liked most about her, she thought while waiting for the noise next door to die down. Cellinia never pried into things she didn't want to answer and never judged what she didn't fully grasp.
But Lappland hadn't anticipated this: after she cleaned up next door, Cellinia was waiting with bandages. The moment she walked in, Cellinia pulled her to the corner to sit, then knelt beside her, inspecting every unhealed cut with care.
Lappland tilted her head up, studying Cellinia's profile. Those golden eyes focused on the new gash on her arm, brow creased as she wrapped it up. Then they shifted to the scratches on her legs, as if she intended to bandage those too. Lappland wasn't used to this quiet and didn't like Cellinia's expression, so she cracked a joke. "You're going to turn me into a mummy."
Cellinia didn't smile. Her cold fingers brushed a nearly healed cut on Lappland's leg. "Does it hurt?"
The question caught Lappland off guard. This wasn't how their dynamic worked—she shouldn't care like this. But with Cellinia looking at her wounds that way, she answered, "No, it's almost scabbed over."
Cellinia looked up. Lappland locked onto those stunning golden eyes and froze for a second. She heard Cellinia say, "Don't get hurt next time, okay?"
Then her own voice replied, "It's fine, doesn't slow me down."
Cellinia gazed at her calmly, murmuring, "But it looks hurt."
In that moment, Lappland's mind went blank, leaving only instinct. When awareness returned, she was kissing Cellinia.
She'd initiated it, she realized. But Cellinia didn't pull away—she closed her eyes. Through the sliver where they didn't fully shut, Lappland caught a glint of gold and felt like she was drowning in moonlight.
She thought back to her childhood, how the lights in her room were never allowed to go out. Right then, it felt like she'd finally claimed her first true night.
The sun that had scorched her, boiling her blood until her bones ached, had set at last. And she was kissing her moon.
Lappland closed her eyes slowly, embracing her very first sunset.
6.
When their supplies dwindled to a week's worth, Cellinia spotted the signs that the Selection was wrapping up.
People who'd stayed hidden before flooded under the lights in a single day, tearing into each other. Their hideout got breached a few times, leaving a stubborn bloodstain by the door that wouldn't scrub off.
And Lappland had been noticeably restless these past few days.
Take now: they were pressed against the wall, kissing, while outside, metal clashed and footsteps thumped close by, the stench of blood hanging in the air.
Cellinia pushed Lappland back. "I don't think this is the time for that."
Lappland slid a hand to her waist, unbothered. "We're both keeping an ear out. We won't miss anything."
Cellinia swatted her hand away. "Don't get reckless."
"The Selection's almost done," Lappland said, pulling back reluctantly. "What do you think of how Siracusa runs?"
"Awful," Cellinia replied without missing a beat, then added, "But Columbia's no different."
"Sometimes I wish I didn't live in Siracusa," Lappland said slowly. "I hate the family rules, all the stuff my father sets up for me."
Cellinia met her silver eyes. She rarely saw Lappland look like that—lost yet resolute—so she said, "Then let's leave Siracusa together when we get out. I don't want to go back to Columbia either."
Lappland's eyes sparked for a second but dimmed back to normal. "No one can actually escape Siracusa. It's in your blood. No matter how far you run, it catches up. Look at the Texas’— moved to Columbia, but here you are in the Selection."
Cellinia gave her a disapproving look, but before she could argue, footsteps neared the door. Not the time for future talk—she tightened her lips and drew her sword.
The door burst open. Cellinia and Lappland struck at once—Cellinia deflected the intruder's blade, while Lappland's pierced their shoulder, pinning them to the wall. Almost on reflex, Cellinia slashed their throat, blood gushing out as she dodged aside nimbly.
She looked up and caught Lappland's stare. "That was gorgeous," Lappland said, her tone dreamy. "If you'd grown up in Siracusa—no, if you'd just lived here a while—we'd be the best partners. Or maybe the best rivals. But we'd have been together way sooner."
Cellinia watched Lappland drift into her fantasy, then pushed her against the wall and kissed her.
It took a while for the adrenaline to fade. When it did, she noticed how quiet it had become outside. Pulling back a bit, she asked softly, "Doesn't it feel too quiet?"
Lappland tugged her close again. "The lights flickered twice earlier. That means the Selection's over. Everyone's probably scrambling for the exit now."
Cellinia broke free. "Then we should find it too. We can't stay in here forever."
Lappland hugged her tight, reluctant, burying her face in Cellinia's shoulder. "Once I'm out, the old man will probably lock me up. No clue when I'd break out to find you. Will you stick around Siracusa for a bit? If you're here, he can't keep me long—I'd come see you fast."
Cellinia ruffled her hair. "I'll probably stay a while. But why would your father lock you up?
Lappland snorted: "Even though I get out, I'm definitely at the bottom of the kill count list, since I only have 1, so the old man probably thinks I'm a disgrace. Of course, it would be better if he were more dissatisfied, preferably removing me from the family name."
From Lappland's expression, Cellinia pieced together why she'd first teamed up with her and helped her adjust to the training. She grabbed Lappland's hand and said simply, "Let's go."
7.
Lappland was locked in a room she knew all too well.
Her father had built it to mirror the Colosseum, tucked in a corner of the family vineyard. To match the real thing, the ceiling was studded with high-powered lights that never turned off.
She'd been stuck here for nearly two months, she guessed.
The constant illumination robbed her of any sense of time—she gauged it by how often food was brought in.
When she'd left the Colosseum, her father hadn't even shown up—just sent a car for her and Cellinia. As she went to her room to clean up, she saw the butler lead Cellinia into her father's study.
By the time she'd washed and changed, Cellinia was at her door, still in her Selection gear. Lappland tried pulling her inside, but Cellinia pushed her hand away. "I've got to head back to Columbia. Something's up with the Texas family—my grandfather wants me there now."
Lappland only managed to say, "Use my bathroom to freshen up and change first," before the butler cut in, saying her father needed to talk.
Then she was shoved into this place—the one she'd spent the most time in since she was eight—without a chance to say goodbye to Cellinia.
Now, she lay in a room, plotting her escape. If she could mess with her father in the process, even better.
She considered taking out the next person who brought supplies and snagging their key. Easy enough for her, except it would play into her father's hands, proving she was still useful as the family's blade. That wasn't why she wanted out.
Unless, she mused, she got out and went straight for her father, killed the old bastard. That would simplify everything.
Whether she'd survive after that was a toss-up, but dying beat living in Siracusa.
Decision made, she closed her eyes to rest, planning to count down to the next delivery.
She hadn't been out long when a loud crash jolted her. Stepping outside, she saw half the ceiling lights had gone dark.
She headed toward the blackout and found a collapsed wall with a truck cab smashed into the rubble. As she got closer, the headlights blinked twice, and Cellinia poked her head out the window.
Lappland hopped into the passenger seat quickly, turning to Cellinia. Her golden eyes gleamed in the dark. Lappland leaned over, kissed her, and asked, "Everything sorted? How'd you find me? Where'd this truck come from?"
Cellinia pulled the truck free of the debris. "You said you trained here when you showed me the vineyard. The truck's swiped from your family's stash." Then, steering with one hand, she fished something from her pocket and tossed it to Lappland.
Lappland caught it, squinting in the dim light. It was a ring—platinum, glinting in the moonlight, etched with intricate designs. Tilting it, she saw the Texas crest.
"It's the family head's ring. I'm free," Cellinia said. "We can go anywhere now."
Lappland rubbed the ring's patterns, flipping it a few times before deciding. "Know the way to the Saluzzo’s Mansion? I need to swing back and settle some things."
Cellinia shifted gears, cranked the wheel, and the clunky truck turned smoothly under her grip.
Lappland stared at the crescent moon hanging right over the Saluzzo house, tightening her hold on her sword's hilt.
8.
Cellinia had never liked the family game.
In Siracusa or Columbia, the core was the same. Siracusa's clans just flaunted their moves, while Columbia's hid behind a flimsy facade of peace.
But the chance to escape it all came at the perfect moment.
Leaving the Colosseum, she heard her grandfather had left message with the Saluzzo family: her father was stirring trouble, and she needed to return to Columbia as heir immediately. Barely back, her father made his move, bursting into the study with a knife.
The next day, he declared himself the new head.
But the family's web of business and influence was tangled, and he couldn't seize the heart of it. He blamed it on her grandfather naming Cellinia heir—too many wouldn't follow him—so he met with her alone.
In that meeting, Cellinia drove her dagger through his throat, torched the Texas’ Mansion, and walked away with the family ring.
When she rammed the truck through the gates of the Saluzzo’s Masion, she knew Lappland had the same plan.
They barreled to the main building's doorstep and jumped out together.
Cellinia watched Lappland draw her sword and march inside with resolve. Her job was to grab a nimbler car for the getaway.
She hot-wired a solid sedan from the back lot, parking it in plant shadows to watch from a distance.
The building, pitch-black minutes ago, now blazed with light. Shadows flitted past windows with loose curtains. She figured message of Lappland's vineyard breakout had reached them, putting the main house on high alert.
Soon, footsteps echoed in the garden, and the study light flicked on. Cellinia started the car. When the study light blinked twice, she sped to the base of the building.
Moments later, Lappland crashed through a window, landed lightly on the car top, and slid into the passenger seat, reeking of blood.
Cellinia floored it, racing out of the mansion, then glanced at Lappland.
Her clothes were shredded and blood-soaked, but her smile was carefree. Catching Cellinia's look, Lappland took her hand and pressed a ring into her palm. "Saluzzo's head ring. A thank-you gift. Where to now? Victoria? Kazimierz? Too close, maybe. How about the Higashi—it's far from Siracusa. Or Lungmen—they'd never guess we'd go there."
"Anywhere works," Cellinia said, clutching the ring. "You just leapt from the second floor like that. What if I wasn't down here?"
Lappland let out an "Oh." "But you were. You caught me."
Cellinia gave a faint smile. "Yeah, I caught you."
Lappland eased back, lowering the seat back. "Before we ditch Siracusa, though, we should send something to the local newspaper—let them know we're alive. I'm not letting those families think they can carve up more profit."
Cellinia nodded, planning to stop at a nearby hotel and borrow some paper and a pen from the lobby.
Lappland flipped the car stereo to a rock station, eyeing the sky whitening in the distance. "Cellinia, dawn's coming," she said slowly, pausing. "I don't like sunrises."
Amid the heavy metal drums, Cellinia took her hand. "Then we skip the sunrise. By sunset, we'll be out of Siracusa."
Outro
When Cellinia woke in the car, it was parked on a cliff's edge, and Lappland wasn't in the driver's seat.
She looked out and quickly spotted a figure near the cliff's rim.
Lappland was watching the sun sink into the sea.
Cellinia walked up behind her, standing quietly by her side for a while. When the sky went fully dark, she turned to Lappland. "How many sunsets is this?"
Lappland struck a thoughtful pose. "153rd or 155th? Lost count. Let’s just get back to the car—I'll drive a bit more."
They drove toward the rising moon for a stretch, then Lappland spoke up.
"You know, sometimes I think we'll end up back in Siracusa someday."
Cellinia turned, catching the rare seriousness in Lappland 's face. "If we don't want to, we never have to."
"I know even if we don't want it, that day will come anyway," Lappland said, gazing at the moon. "But when it does, Siracusa's sun will set like it's supposed to."
The car sped up the winding mountain road. Moonlight bounced off two rings dangling from a silver chain under the rearview mirror, hitting Cellinia's eyes. She looked into Lappland's silver eyes and said softly, "We will watch the sunset in Siracusa together."