Elián sat in the studio, the notebook open in front of him.
The sketches stared back — his own face, Cassian's grief, Ava's cracked smile.
Each drawing felt invasive. Intimate. Like someone had peeled back his skin and drawn what pulsed beneath.
Luca entered quietly.
Elián didn't look up.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
Luca paused. "What is it?"
"You know what it is."
Luca stepped closer. "I've never seen that before."
Elián turned the page.
A sketch of Luca.
Standing behind Elián.
Holding a camera.
Cassian was unraveling.
The voice recording had shattered something inside him.
He hadn't left the apartment in two days.
He hadn't spoken to Elián.
He hadn't slept.
He just kept replaying Ava's voice.
"I didn't die the way they said."
"He's watching you now."
Cassian didn't know what was real anymore.
He looked in the mirror.
And for a moment — just a flicker — he saw Ava standing behind him.
Smiling.
Elián returned to the hidden room.
This time, he brought gloves.
He searched every mirror.
Every crack.
Every corner.
And behind the largest mirror — he found a camera.
Still warm.
Still recording.
He pulled it free.
And saw the feed.
Live.
Cassian.
In their apartment.
Standing in front of the mirror.
And behind him — a girl.
Long hair.
Ballet shoes.
Cracked smile.
Ava.
Elián ran.
Burst into the apartment.
Cassian was alone.
Shaking.
"I saw her," he whispered.
Elián nodded.
"I did too."
They sat in silence.
And then Cassian said:
"She's not dead."
Elián didn't argue.
Because maybe — just maybe — she wasn't.