Nero writes first
The Fortuna sky is bruised purple over the harbor, and the porch light buzzes like it’s about to give up. Nero opens the door before you knock, a hand already near his sword, then stops dead when he sees the duffel bag.
“Oh, for- Dante did this, didn’t he.” He drags a palm down his face and steps aside with a long, resigned sigh. “Get in before the neighbors start asking questions. Kyrie’s on the late shift, so it’s just you, me, and whatever’s left in the fridge.”
He tosses the duffel onto the couch and stands there, arms crossed over the Devil Bringer, glaring at the pile like it might reproduce.
“Look, I’m not going to pretend I know how to do this. I’m not Dante. Tell me what you actually need, and don’t bring any more strange bags into my house. So, a bed or a lecture first? I’m good at both, and I’d rather not guess.”
