Elián didn't sleep.
After the theater, after the mirror, after Cassian's confession — something inside him had shifted.
Not broken.
But bent.
Like a beam under pressure.
He stood on the balcony, watching the city breathe beneath him. The wind tugged at his shirt, cold and sharp.
Behind him, Cassian sat in the dark, replaying the footage of Ava over and over.
Elián couldn't bear to watch it again.
He was already haunted by his own ghosts.
He didn't need Cassian's too.
The next morning, Elián returned to the rooftop.
The one across from the theater.
The masked figure was gone.
But something was left behind.
A single white rose.
Taped to the railing.
Its stem wrapped in black ribbon.
Tied to the ribbon: a note.
"You're not the only one who survived."
He didn't tell Cassian.
Not yet.
Cassian was unraveling — guilt clinging to him like smoke.
He barely spoke.
Barely ate.
He just watched.
And rewound.
And watched again.
That afternoon, Luca returned.
He walked into the studio like nothing had happened.
No apology.
No explanation.
Just a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"I'm ready to work," he said.
Elián stared at him.
"You disappeared."
"I needed space."
"You left your phone."
"I needed silence."
Elián crossed his arms. "Where were you?"
Luca tilted his head. "Why does it matter?"
"Because someone's been watching me. And you're the only one who's been close enough to know how."
Luca's smile faded.
"I'm not your stalker, Elián."
"Then who is?"
Luca looked away.
"I think you already know."
That night, Cassian found a new file on his laptop.
He hadn't downloaded it.
Hadn't opened anything.
But there it was.
"mirror_mirror.mov"
He clicked it.
The screen lit up.
It was footage of him.
In the theater.
Kneeling before the mirror.
Crying.
Elián's voice in the background.
"You didn't kill her. You just didn't know how to let go."
The camera panned.
To the balcony.
To the rafters.
To the masked figure.
Watching.
Filming.
Smiling.