Valentina lowered her gaze, the silver strands of her hair creating a curtain that hid any trace of emotion. Elizabeth simply closed her eyes for a long, deliberate moment, then opened them again with a breath so quiet it was almost imperceptible.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them offered a denial, a justification, or even a lie.
That silence was worse than any confession; it was a guillotine blade that severed Helena's last connection to her own reality. It cut deeper than any physical wound Rex could have inflicted.
Helena swayed on her feet, her balance gone, her knees threatening to buckle. Her free hand drifted up toward her throat, clawing reflexively at the air as if she were choking on the very atmosphere of the room.
"Xerollion is only one of my faces, Helena," Rex said into the suffocating quiet.
His tone was almost terrifyingly kind, like a teacher explaining a simple concept to a slow student.
