Anna woke up at 3:46 a.m.—sweat streamed down her temples, and the sheet clung to her skin. Outside was silence and merciless darkness. But the worst was inside—the heat. It was the sixth night in a row when the temperature in their Milan apartment didn’t drop below 28 °C. “Tropical nights,” the meteorologist said yesterday. But Anna thought, “This isn’t tropical. It’s hell.” Her husband Davide turned over and groaned. The fan, running all day, buzzed like a tired mosquito, barely managing the stuffiness. They had given up on the air conditioner—it consumed too much power, and the electricity bill had already broken records this month. In the morning, Anna learned their elderly downstairs neighbor had died overnight. “Heart,” the paramedics said curtly. But everyone knew—it was the heat. The kind from which there was no escape, especially at night. The day passed in a haze. People on the bus looked like shadows—tired, sweaty, lifelessly leaning against the windows. Local parks, once full of children and joggers, were deserted. Even the pigeons were gone. At work, the air conditioner couldn’t cope. News buzzed from the office radio: “Over 2,300 deaths across Europe due to heatwave,” “Around 1,500 linked to climate change,” “Red alerts in Barcelona and Paris.” No one listened—everyone was too exhausted. Anna found herself, for the first time, envying countries where it rains. That evening, more people than usual gathered outside—sleeping in parks, elders in chairs on balconies, youth clutching water bottles. The heat persisted. Anna and Davide stepped out onto the terrace. The sky had no stars—only a reddish shimmer from the overheated city below. “We can’t live like this all summer,” she whispered. Davide nodded silently. On TV, there were scenes from London—demonstrations: thousands demanding accelerated climate reform. Anna didn’t look away. Her heart pounded faster. This wasn’t far away anymore. It had reached her, her home, her neighbor, her sleepless body. The next morning, when her phone buzzed with another heatwave alert, Anna went to the town hall. Not for help—for information. She didn’t want to be a bystander anymore. Because if even the nights have become enemies, silence is a crime.