L
Dimtr is already waiting by the time they arrive—white coat on, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a half-drunk cup of coffee perched dangerously close to some sort of circuit board. He raises a brow as they appear in the lab. Harry hops down from his perch on Fon's shoulders, shifting mid-way until he's a human once again. He's wearing normal clothes, for once, not the robes the Triads gave him, but a simple green shirt and black pants. They went to the tailor Renato recommended them before going to Dimtr, to set an appointment for a new wardrove and to get ready-made clothes on his size that are flame resistant.
"Like it?" he asks with a grin that might be a little too pleased when he notices Dimtr looking at his clothes.
"They suit you, yes." He nods. "Though I was getting used to the robes, you looked like a fair prince."
Fon chuckles quietly as Harry pouts for a couple of seconds. He shakes his head soon and gets serious, though. "He read your files and offered two options for you: Estraneo, or a freelance setup. The Estraneo are an organization focused on scientific development—mainly on Flame research. Apparently, they're still new, but promising."
Dimtr's brows shoot up, now clearly listening. "Do you mean Estraneo Pharmaceuticals? I've heard the name in some hushed chatter as some new company, but didn't know they were Mafia."
"Really?" Harry asks, glancing at Fon.
Fon steps forward, folding his arms. "They're not a traditional famiglia, that's the only thing I can say with certainty. No hierarchy yet, but they are building traction going on by Renato's words. No known unethical experiments so far, but if they're gaining speed this fast, especially in the civillian sector, they likely have someone strong backing them."
Dimtr frowns. "Strong how?"
"Mafia surely," Fon clarifies. "Someone with weight and reputation. Or enough raw strength that others don't ask questions."
Dimtr leans back against the edge of a table, fidgeting slightly with a screwdriver. "So they're looking to expand? Searching or poaching other scientists?"
"Not exactly. From what I've got, if you want in, Renato can make it happen," Harry says. "You'd get lab access, contacts, maybe even a few projects to lead. Or you could go fully independent—but it'd take more time, not only to set it up but to learn a new field without any foundation."
Dimtr narrows his eyes thoughtfully. "Hmph. I don't care about leading anything. But… being surrounded by people exploring similar phenomena could be useful. I'd at least learn the basics of Flame manipulation."
Harry nods. "That's what we figured. And if you don't like them, we pull you out."
Dimtr makes a noncommittal noise, already chewing it over.
"Though if you want a lab, Reborn can make it happen, too," Harry adds, almost too casually, "So you can get the best of both options."
That gets Dimtr's attention. He blinks. "What?"
"Your own space," Harry repeats. "Independent. For your personal work."
Dimtr pushes off the table. "That kind of lab requires money—more than I have."
Harry shrugs. "I'll cover it."
Dimtr's brow creases immediately. "No. Absolutely not. I'm not letting you waste your money on me like that."
"It's not wasting," Harry says, exasperated. "It's an investment."
Dimtr scoffs. "In what, exactly?"
Harry meets his gaze levelly. "In you. In your intelligence. I'm not throwing gold around just to feel generous. I believe in what you can do with the right tools."
The silence that follows is long and prickly. Dimtr mutters something under his breath and rubs the back of his neck. "I'll make it worth it."
"I know," Harry says with a grin.
Fon, sitting on a nearby stool, lets the moment settle before speaking. "In two days, Renato will give us a more detailed investigation on Estraneo's operations. Wait until then to decide, because even if we can always take you away by causing destruction, it will set us back if we do so."
Dimtr looks between them both. "If everything checks out, I'll chose the Estraneo option, at least until I get that basics down on Flame knowledge. No need to burn anything to extract me."
Harry tilts his head. "I'm flattered you think we can do so easily."
"You shouldn't be flattered," Dimtr deadpans at the sme time Fon says, "We could do it, though."
LI
The café is quieter than last time, the midday lull thinning out the patrons to only a few scattered regulars. Renato is already waiting for them, a black folder resting casually next to his cup of coffee, fingers tapping rhythmically along the cover.
Harry lets Fon take the lead because while there's an edge to the Storm's posture—more relaxed than the last meeting—he's calmer, while at the same time his gaze shows his sharpness hasn't dulled.
They take their seats across from Renato, who gives them a brief glance before pushing the folder toward them.
"No theatrics today?" Fon murmurs.
Renato smirks, raising his espresso to his lips. "Why waste time when I've already impressed Harry already?"
Harry snorts, taking the folder as he wonders how the hitman knows his name. He's pretty sure he didn't share it last time. However, instead of asking, he looks back to the folder. The cover is plain, but the moment he opens it, the weight of the information inside hits him. Neat pages, carefully annotated. Names, charts, breakdowns. Schematics even Dimtr would drool over. A blueprint of the Estraneo's internal organization. A map of influence. Notes on their current flame and mundane projects and the known individuals tied to them.
"You weren't joking when you said you'd dig deep," Harry mutters, eyes scanning over a heading titled Flame Stabilization Methods.
"I never joke," Renato says smoothly. "Unless I'm winning."
Harry turns a page. "You have a contact inside."
"I do," Renato confirms, sipping lazily at his espresso. "Higher-up. Not one of the core researchers, but close enough to the center to matter. He owes me a favor."
Fon hums quietly. "You're cashing that in?"
"For you? No. For a Sky like Harry, though? Yes. My contact can get your scientist in—for a limited time. Couple of months. Enough to learn, not enough to get tangled."
Harry closes the folder slowly, brows furrowed. "And during that time?"
"I'll begin setting up a lab for him," Renato says with the ease of someone arranging a dinner reservation. "Private, well-stocked, secured. The foundation depends on how much you're willing to invest."
Harry leans back slightly. "He'll need something solid. Something he can expand."
Renato's smile sharpens. "I can do that. With the kind of money you've implied? It'll be better than what the USSR ever gave him. Safer, too."
Fon finally speaks, voice calm but firm. "And there won't be strings?"
Renato chuckles. "Fon, dear, everything has strings. But I'm good at tying mine where they won't choke." He looks between them. "You trust me to handle this?"
Harry meets his gaze. "You haven't given us reason not to and you seem capable."
"That is the most dangerous compliment I've ever received," Renato murmurs with a pleased hum, "I'll send you the contact's name and location. Your scientist will need to be briefed on how to act—Estraneo isn't exactly a tea party."
"We'll handle it," Fon says as he gives the dossier to Harry, ready to stand up and leave. However, Harry stops him when he notices how Renato is looking directly at him, ignoring Fon as he taps the rim of his empty espresso cup with one finger. There's a considering edge to his stare now—less curious, more... calculating.
"You know," Renato says, tone deceptively casual, "you're not what I expected."
Harry raises an eyebrow, unsure of what's brewing behind that stare that he's sure he's seen before. "I'll take that as a compliment?"
"It is," Renato replies, leaning back and twirling his fingers to one of his hair's curls. "Most Skies, especially the ones new to this world, come off as either overwhelmed or overeager. You don't strike me as either."
"I've had... practice at surviving high expectations," Harry mutters dryly, setting the dossier aside.
"Mm." Renato nods. "That tracks."
There's a brief pause. Then—"Are you planning to stay freelance?"
Harry tilts his head. "Yes. I prefer it that way."
"Interesting," Renato says, voice thoughtful now, like he's turning over puzzle pieces in his head. "Do you think you've got the strength to remain unattached?"
Harry frowns faintly at the question, but answers honestly. "I have the confidence to, yes."
Renato hums, almost impressed. "Confidence's a good start. But not all Skies can take the pressure of being under everyone's eyes, especially with the target on their backs just because of their rare Flames. Everyone wants a piece of them, so Harmony can be a burden too without the support to help them."
"I'm used to carrying more than I should," Harry replies, voice soft but firm. "It won't break me."
Renato's gaze sharpens slightly at that. For the first time, Harry feels the weight of being truly seen—not as a curiosity, not as a mythical creature—but as something rare, dangerous, and real. Then, without preamble, Renato asks, "Do you have a Sun?"
"A what?" Harry blinks, for one moment not understanding and, before he can wrap his mind around that particular turn in the conversation, Fon freezes. His placid smile disappears, turning into a sneer.
"What kind of question is that?"
Renato smirks, unfazed as he finally looks away from Harry to direct his intense gaze to Fon. "Look at you. Finally showing your archetype."
"I don't care for your games."
"You say that, but you're practically bristling, Fon." Renato drawls, clearly entertained. "And here I thought you were the placid type. Nice to see your Storm peeking through."
"I'll show you something peeking through if you keep talking," Fon hisses, already half-rising from his seat. "You're circling a Sky that doesn't belong to you."
"He's not yours either," Renato replies coolly. "Besides, I haven't even taken a bite."
"Yet."
Harry raises both hands, annoyed now. "Alright, enough. I don't know what either of you are on about, but I'd like an explanation that doesn't sound like posturing."
Renato finally looks back at him, assessing again. "You want the short version or the long one?"
"The short one. Before Fon breaks something."
That earns a soft snort from Fon, though his glare doesn't ease.
Renato nods. "Fine. Flame users like me—especially S-ranked ones—we hit a point where meditation and control don't work anymore. Our flames outgrow us and we start burning through things—ideas, missions, attachments. Our personalities tend to become... volatile. That's not sustainable."
Harry listens, narrowing his eyes slightly.
"I need a Sky," Renato continues, more seriously now. "A strong one. Not to serve, not to obey—just to anchor. I don't want to be part of a famiglia. I like my freedom too much. So I've been looking for a free Sky strong enough to keep up with me. There aren't many, but you're one of the very few strong enough to let someone like me stay unattached, and not crumble."
It's honest in a way that startles Harry. There's no flattery, no charm. Just the quiet, terrible admission of someone who knows how close he is to spiraling, and is already looking for an anchor. Harry recognizes then what he saw in Renato's gaze—the shadow behind his sharp smirk. The tired cunning. The ruthless intelligence that's worn down its own edges. He's seen that look before, in mirrors while he was fighting a war. And years after it ended.
That's not the look of one living, but of one doing their best to survive. Behind him, Fon is still coiled like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath. His gaze never leaves Renato.
Harry wants to help him, but he doesn't think he can promise anything then. So he exhales and speaks carefully. "I'm not looking for a bond."
"I'm not asking you to claim me," Renato says with a shrug. "Just saying—if you're staying free, you might attract more people like me. Strong ones. Dangerous ones. You'll have to choose who to let in."
"And if I don't?"
"Then we'll circle," Renato says simply. "Some will try to claim you. Others will follow. A few might break trying."
Harry exhales slowly, fingers curling around the edge of the table. "That's... more intense than I thought."
"Welcome to being a Sky," Renato murmurs, his tone gaining a slight disappointed quality to it.
"However," Harry continues, "if being near me helps, if my presence can settle you... then I don't mind. I like to help, after all." He smirks faintly. "Apparently, it's my thing."
Renato studies him for a beat. "And what do you want in return?"
Harry doesn't even hesitate. He knows better than to give something to someone like Renato without strings, not because he doesn't trust him—and he doesn't—but because Renato seems the type to always look for the other shoe to drop if there's no equivalent exchange. They don't know each other, so it's better to ask for something now until Renato knows him better and learns that sometimes, for Harry, helping others is reward enough.
"A favor," Harry says after a while. "One I'll cash in later. When I need it. No questions, no resistance."
That finally gets a real reaction. Renato's eyes gleam with something like appreciation, and he lets out a short, dry laugh.
"Clever," he says. "You'd make a dangerous Mafioso."
"Let's not tempt fate," Harry mutters, glancing at Fon, whose glare hasn't abated one bit.
Renato straightens his suit, the edges of his smirk curling once more. "Deal," he says simply. "You give me your Flame's presence. I owe you a favor. We'll call it... an open-ended contract."
Harry nods, feeling the weight of something unspoken settle between them. Fon, finally, exhales through his nose, but says nothing, still glaring at Renato like he'd happily put a knife through his espresso.
Renato for his part looks even more relaxed as he leans back on the bench, one leg crossing over the other as he gives him an assessing look. "So, how long are you staying in Sicily?"
Harry blinks at the sudden shift in tone, almost happy. "Not sure. Not long, though. However, I've to return for my appointment with your tailor."
Renato's gaze flicks to Harry's clothes, a slow once over that makes the wizard purse his lips and flush slightly.
"They look better than the robes," Renato says slowly, nodding to himself. "Well, then. Where do you usually live?"
Harry hesitates. "I don't."
That earns him a blink. "You don't."
"I'm a phoenix," Harry says plainly. "I spend most of my time in that form. Flying. Perching. You know. Bird things. I don't… stay in one place."
Renato squints, clearly not sure if Harry's joking. Harry shrugs. "I'm not really joking."
There's a pause. Then, to Harry's surprise, Renato glances again at Fon.
"He's traveling too," Harry adds, clearly misreading the meaning in the look. "Russia, mostly. We meet up every day or so, usually for dinner."
Renato tilts his head. "How?"
Harry shifts, a bit self-conscious. "I… teleport to him."
"Right," Renato says, completely flat. "Of course you can do that."
"I mean, it's not that impressive," Harry mutters. "I just need to know where someone is. Or have a strong enough mental image of a place. Or a person."
Renato's expression doesn't change, but something in him flickers.
"So," he says slowly, "you could come to me. Any time. Any place."
Harry nods. "If I've memorized you, yeah."
Renato leans forward, interest sharpened. "And what does that entail?"
"Just… contact, really. Skin contact is the easiest. Or just being around someone long enough to pick up their energy signature."
There's a beat. Then Renato silently extends his hand. A silent permission—a challenge and a show of trust—all coiled together. And Harry blinks at it. Then, carefully, he reaches out and touches it. The second his fingers meet Renato's skin, a jolt of heat rolls through him—not painful, not alarming, but wild. Chaotic and uncontained. His magic strains slightly at the magnitude of it, like a horse unsure if it should rear or run.
He can't help but analize it, because Renato's Flame is interesting. Sharp and fast and lethal—like a gun going off in every direction, but always hitting the target. It's not disciplined, not like Fon's storm honed to a razor's edge, but it's precise in its unpredictability. It doesn't burn—it hunts. And underneath all of it… there's fatigue. Old and heavy. But carried with brutal grace.
Harry releases his hand gently, blinking the intensity away.
Only a second has passed.
"Got it," he says softly.
Renato flexes his fingers once, then smiles.
"Then come find me in the mornings," he says casually. "Around seven. I'll be dressed. And I'll try to be free."
Harry snorts. "Try?"
Renato smirks and winks at him. "I'm sometimes with company."
"Fair," Harry replies, just as dryly.
Next to them, Fon crosses his arms tighter, muttering something that sounds like: "You're not subtle."
"I wasn't trying to be," Renato says, not even looking at him.
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