Alina didn't sleep. Not properly. Every time she closed her eyes, he was there. Lucien. Calm voice. Cold gaze. That final sentence. There's nothing to act on. And every time she replayed it, her chest tightened in frustration. Because something about it didn't sit right. Something about it felt too… controlled. Too clean. Like a script. By morning, she looked exhausted. But her mind was sharper now. Not calmer. Sharper. Because Alina had reached a dangerous conclusion. If she couldn't trust her feelings… Then she would trust evidence. She sat up suddenly. "I'm not crazy," she said firmly to the empty room. Then she reached for her phone. First step: memory. She scrolled through everything. Messages. Call logs. Anything. Nothing. Because of course there was nothing. That alone made her pause. "…we didn't even exchange contacts properly," she whispered. Her brows tightened. That was strange. Too strange. Because everything had felt so intense. Too intense to end in nothing. She stood up quickly and started pacing. "No," she muttered. "There has to be something." Next step: location. She grabbed her bag. Changed quickly. Left the house without thinking twice. Her heart was beating fast but not from fear. From need. Need to confirm. Need to prove. Need to undo this confusion inside her head. She went back to where she saw him. The glass building. Same place. Different feeling. Yesterday, she had been shaken. Today, she was searching. She stood outside and looked around carefully. Trying to reconstruct the moment. Where he stood. Who he spoke to. How long he stayed. Her mind worked overtime. "Okay…" she whispered. "He was here." She nodded slowly. "That's real." But then A problem. She didn't know his full name. Or who he was meeting. Or why he was there. Nothing concrete. Just fragments. Fragments that felt like smoke the more she tried to hold them. Frustration built in her chest. "No, no, no…" she muttered. She checked again. Looked at the building entrance. Asked a passerby casually. "Excuse me… do you know someone named Lucien who works here?" The person frowned. "Lucien who?" She paused. "…I don't know." The person shrugged and walked away. Alina stood still. Slowly lowering her phone. A strange feeling crawled up her spine. Because that was supposed to help. That was supposed to confirm something. But instead It made everything worse. She stepped back slightly. Breathing uneven now. "This doesn't make sense," she whispered. "He was real." Her voice cracked slightly at the end. Not because she was sad. But because she was starting to feel foolish. And then A voice in her mind. Soft. Dangerous. What if you built him from a moment that meant nothing to him? Her breath stopped. "No," she said quickly. Too quickly. She turned and walked away fast. Almost too fast. Like if she stayed there another second, the truth might catch up with her. But even as she left… Something didn't leave her. The memory didn't fade. It only deepened. More vivid. More intrusive. More real. Elsewhere… Lucien stood by a window again. Same calm posture. Same controlled silence. But his eyes were different this time. Not distant. Not empty. Focused. Like he already knew she would come looking. And had decided not to be found. Yet. He exhaled slowly. "Not yet," he murmured. And turned away.
