Myrta – A Private Residence
Giorno burst through the door of Wincenth's office with the force of a man who had run through half the city. His boots scraped against the worn stone floor, his breathing sharp and uneven. Behind him, his bodyguard followed at a more measured pace, his massive greatsword still strapped across his back, his eyes scanning the room with practiced wariness.
"Selena's headquarters was attacked!" Giorno's voice carried the ragged edge of urgency. "Did you order it?!"
Wincenth didn't look up. He lifted his teacup, took a slow, deliberate sip, and set it back down with a soft clink. The candlelight caught the polished surface of his mechanical arm as he folded his hands on the desk.
"Accusing me without evidence, Giorno? That's beneath you."
Giorno's hands slammed against the desk, the impact rattling the teacup and sending ripples across the surface of the tea. His voice rose, sharp and demanding.
