Viktor pov.When I stepped into her room, the air shifted—like it always did around her. Anya sat at the edge of the bed, her hands twisting in her lap. She looked up as I entered, her wide eyes trying to read me, to gauge the storm brewing behind my expression. I didn’t waste time. “Tell me how I can recognize Celine,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. Her brows furrowed in confusion, and she blinked like she hadn’t heard me right. “Celine?” she repeated, her voice soft, uncertain. I crossed the room. “Yes, Celine. Your friend,” I said, biting out each word. “The one you conveniently didn’t tell me about earlier.” Her lips parted as if to defend herself, but no words came out. She looked away, her fingers curling tightly in her lap. “I didn’t know how to bring it up…” “Try harder,” I snapped, my patience wearing thin. “If I’m going to save her, I need to know where to start.” Her head shot up, eyes wide with shock. “Save her?”
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