Marco spun. A woman stood at the edge of his lamplight. She was old—impossibly old—with skin the color of wet limestone and eyes that were pure black, no iris, no white. She wore the uniform of a metro conductor, faded maroon with gold buttons, and a hat with a badge that read Linea Sotterranea di Napoli Interna . Internapoli Underground Line.
Marco approached slowly, his heart hammering. The sphere was warm, he noticed. And it hummed—a low, steady note, like a cello string plucked in a dream. internapoli city
Naples, Italy 📍