Jean's POV,
"Speaking of," another thought that should have interrupted me from the start hit me just now, "How come he didn't recognize you when you met with him? Or you were so many that he couldn't recognize faces?" I asked, genuinely curious.
He didn't answer immediately, and for a moment it felt like he was choosing his words carefully, like whatever he was about to say had weight behind it.
"Because this isn't my real face," he said hesitantly.
Everything inside me went still, like my mind had hit a wall it didn't know how to move past. For a second I just stared at him, trying to process the words properly.
Not my real face.
That meant everything I had been looking at, everything I had gotten used to without even realizing it, wasn't actually him.
