The woman looked exactly like her. The same hair, the same dark silk falling past her shoulders. The same height, the same build. The same soft expressions that Alina had seen in mirrors her whole life. Even the clothes were identical, down to the small button on her sleeve.
The movements were casual, natural, perfectly imitated as the imposter walked confidently through grand corridors.
Stone walls. Tall pillars. Flickering torchlight.
Dante's castle.
"No..." she whispered, the word barely leaving her lips.
Her chest tightened painfully, crushing the air from her lungs.
"She even carries your scent," Horan added almost playfully, enjoying her reaction. "A very talented one. We paid her well."
On the screen, the false Alina adjusted her hair and smiled gently at passing guards, who bowed without hesitation. They did not question her. They did not stop her. She moved with familiarity, like she belonged there, like she had walked those halls a thousand times.
