The night was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made every breath sound like a confession.
Aria stood by the broken window of the safe house, her hands trembling against the cracked glass. Outside, the city blinked, distant, cold, alive, but she felt dead inside.
The last thing she remembered was the light swallowing everything. Now the world felt… slower. Heavier. The air was strange, thick, filled with whispers that didn't belong to her.
"Lorenzo?" she whispered. The name left her mouth like a prayer that had forgotten its god.
Silence answered her.
Her reflection in the window didn't move. It just stared back at her, calm, knowing.
"Why do you still pretend?" it asked softly.
Aria blinked. The voice came from inside her head, but it sounded like her own, colder, sharper, poisoned with something ancient.
"I'm not pretending," she muttered, pressing her palms to her temples. "You're not real."
