The panic wins. Alex grabs Mira's wrist and they bolt — not up the staircase but away, plunging down a side lane that narrows to a dead end, nothing ahead but dripping stonework and a tabby cat blinking from a windowsill. "Wrong way," Mira gasps, already flipping her guidebook. They reverse, scattering a cluster of cats outside a wine bar, swerving past the wedding guests still milling around St. Tryphon's, and swing left at the cathedral corner — and there it is again: the far wall staircase. The moped engine above has gone silent. A crisp packet tumbles down the steps and lands at Alex's feet. Somewhere up there, the kid is eating their snacks.