Milan — Piazza della Scala
The car burst into the square like a wounded animal, tires screeching, leaving a trail of smoke and fear behind it.
The yellow glow of old streetlamps lit up the ancient facades and silent statues.
Vera could barely breathe.
Moretti steered the car toward the center of the plaza, where two public patrol vehicles were already parked.
Hope flickered — and died quickly.
Across the square, the black cars appeared, blocking the exit.
Trapped.
Moretti slammed the brakes.
The dossier nearly flew from Vera's hands.
Men in suits stepped out of the vehicles.
They weren't ordinary police.
They were the kind of men paid to make problems disappear in the dark.
One stepped forward first, gun drawn.
"Hand it over!" he shouted.
Moretti glanced at Vera.
"When I open the door — run," he said, steady as stone. "Don't look back."
The world tilted around her.
Her heart hammered so loudly it seemed to fill the entire square.
Before she could protest, Moretti threw open his door.
And ran — straight at the gunmen.
A shot cracked the air.
Then another.
Moretti fell.
Vera screamed — but no sound came from her throat.
She knew what she had to do.
She dove out the opposite side of the car, clutching the dossier, and ran.
Shouts echoed across the square.
Another shot — the ground exploded at her heels.
But Vera ran like she was made of wind and steel.
She zigzagged across the plaza, lungs burning, tears mixing with sweat.
And then — she saw them.
At the far corner, a group of public patrol soldiers, drawn by the noise, sprinted toward her.
Vera raised the dossier high above her head.
"EVIDENCE!" she screamed. "CORRUPTION!" she screamed even louder.
The soldiers hesitated for a heartbeat.
But only a heartbeat.
And it was enough.
The tide began to turn.
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If you believe Vera's courage can ignite the spark of revolution, drop a Power Stone — every heartbeat pushes justice forward!