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POV Gabriel
I said nothing right away.
I just sat down beside her.
A little too close.
On purpose.
She felt it.
I could see it in the way her shoulders tensed ever so slightly.
But she said nothing.
She brought her cup to her lips.
As if everything was normal.
As if—
nothing had happened.
I turned my head slightly toward her.
My gaze didn't leave her.
— You know something.
My voice was low.
Calm.
But there was nothing easy in it.
She sighed.
Slowly.
As if this conversation already bored her.
— Gabriel…
She set her cup down.
— I told you not to worry.
I didn't look away from her.
— And I'm telling you something is wrong.
A short but tense silence stretched between us.
— She's strange.
I paused.
— It's not just her mood.
My gaze hardened.
— It's… something else.
Lauren ran a hand through her blonde hair once more.
A controlled gesture.
Too controlled.
— You're being dramatic.
— No.
My answer was immediate.
Sharp.
— I saw her yesterday.
A beat.
— And I see her today.
I leaned toward her slightly.
— It's not the same person.
This time she barely hesitated, but that was enough to unsettle me further.
— Lauren.
My voice dropped, firmer still.
— Tell me what's going on.
A longer silence.
She finally looked away slightly.
Not completely.
Just enough to buy time.
Then she gave in.
— Avery has… her own way of handling emotional shocks.
I said nothing.
I let her continue.
— When something is too intense… she represses it… completely.
She crossed her legs, very calmly, in a controlled way.
— It can cause… temporary memory loss.
I frowned.
— Temporary?
— Yes.
She nodded slightly.
— She forgets what affected her…
She looked me in the eyes.
— As if it never existed.
I thought back to her gaze.
To her words.
To that disconnect.
— So what you're telling me…
I tightened my jaw slightly.
— is that she's forgotten an entire day?
Lauren didn't answer right away.
And that—
irritated me.
— Lauren.
She sighed.
— It happens.
A simple, dry answer.
— When the shock is too violent.
I stared at her.
— And her behavior?
My voice hardened.
— That… coldness?
— It's connected.
She shrugged slightly and added with nonchalance:
— That part, no — that's just my daughter's personality.
Nothing more.
Nothing more.
I repeated it mentally.
As if it might start to make sense.
But it didn't.
— And the serum?
She froze at my words, then swallowed before answering.
— What serum?
She looked away for a second.
Then I continued:
— The one you injected her with yesterday.
Her voice was steady.
Too steady.
— It helps stabilize her condition.
— Stabilize?
I let out a short, humorless laugh.
— She's lost an entire day, Lauren.
I straightened slightly.
— And you call that stable?
— It's temporary.
Her answer came immediately, coldly.
— And without significant risk.
I stared at her.
For a long moment.
— Without significant risk?
I repeated slowly.
— She doesn't even remember what happened to her.
— It'll come back.
She took a sip of coffee.
As if we were talking about something trivial.
— Or it won't.
A silence.
Heavy.
— But in any case…
She set down her cup.
— it's better for her.
I looked at her.
And I knew very well she wasn't telling me everything.
— It only complicates things.
My voice was lower.
Darker.
— I don't see how.
She replied calmly.
As if the conversation were closed.
I didn't answer.
I kept staring at her.
But my mind was elsewhere.
On something else.
On a detail I hadn't yet mentioned.
The mark of Arachnis.
I slowly ran my tongue against the inside of my cheek.
I hesitated a second, then two.
Should I tell her about it?
Or—
No?
— By the way… where is Will?
The question landed.
Abrupt.
Too casual.
I looked up slightly toward her.
But I didn't answer.
Not right away.
— Meanwhile —
Far from there—
The man stepped lightly toward the diner.
The moment he crossed the threshold, a wave of cool air wrapped around him, contrasting with the heavy heat outside.
The air conditioning hummed softly.
Quiet music drifted through the air, swallowed by the murmur of conversations.
A lively place.
But controlled.
He greeted with a nod those whose eyes met his.
Without stopping.
Without slowing down.
As if he already belonged there.
He made his way toward a more secluded area.
Quieter.
Then unlocked an office door with a set of keys.
He stepped inside.
But just as he was closing it—
— Finally… you're back.
The voice stopped him.
Familiar.
Carrying both relief and worry.
He gave a faint smile.
— Yes…
He turned his head toward him.
— I'm back, Sam.