The fras of his glasses glead under the light, their edges catching a cold brilliance. Behind them, his eyes held a weighty depth calm yet piercing, impossible to decipher. When our gazes locked, a shiver ran through . My defenses, carefully built and painstakingly maintained, fell apart in an instant.
There was no hiding from him. He saw through everything.
"You weaseled that answer out of ."
"I thought we were friends."
His expression barely shifted, yet there was a flicker of sothing that looked like disappointnt. "In half a year," he began, his tone heavier now, "not once did you reach out. Not one ssage, not a single call either." I glanced toward the door and realized he had closed it quietly behind him, leaving no way out.
"When did you figure it out?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.
"Elena," he said, almost incredulous, "I was your therapist for years. Did you honestly believe you could pull this off without noticing? Why do you think I went along with exposing Anna as a fraud? Do you think I have nothing better to do?"
"Then why pretend not to recognize ?" I shot back, though my voice lacked conviction.
"At first, I thought it was too far-fetched to be real," he admitted, his tone asured. "I couldn’t believe it. The idea was absurd. But the way you spoke, the way you moved it all reminded of you. Still, it wasn’t enough. So I started looking deeper. Over the last six months, I’ve traveled, gathered information, and connected the dots. Turns out, this sort of thing souls switching bodies is rare, but not unheard of."
I froze, caught between disbelief and resignation. A weak laugh slipped out despite myself. Leave it to Sergio to turn this into a full-blown investigation. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had charts, graphs, maybe even a presentation to back it all up.
"I dug into Riley’s history," he continued, his voice sharp yet deliberate. "Then I watched you at the competition. The shifts in your emotions, the way you reacted it confird what I already suspected. The soul in that body doesn’t belong there. But here’s what really stings." He paused, letting the silence stretch. "Tell , Elena, if your friend hadn’t needed therapy, would you have co back at all?"
"I " The words caught in my throat. I didn’t know what to say.
Back when the Morrigans family and Julian had pushed to the brink, Sergio had been my anchor. He helped piece myself back together, one session at a ti. He even stayed while I painted, offering quiet encouragent when I couldn’t find my way. Most of those works were still with him, though I hadn’t thought about them in years. We were friends, yes but the kind whose closeness fades over ti, not the ones you’d share every secret with. After my rebirth, every step had been a calculated risk. Trusting anyone, even soone like Sergio, felt reckless. And announcing my return? Impossible.
He stood and moved closer, his footsteps deliberate. His gaze held a weight I hadn’t seen before, as though I had crossed so invisible line. There was no anger in his eyes only sothing heavier, sothing personal.
"Or maybe," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, "I don’t even qualify as a friend anymore. Is that it?"
"No," I blurted. "It’s not like that. I’ve just been... busy." The excuse sounded feeble even to .
He stopped in front of , looking down with an intensity that made my skin prickle. A faint, icy smile curled his lips cutting and sharp. "Busy," he echoed. "That’s your answer?"
This wasn’t the Sergio I rembered. He had always been composed and steady, a man of reason. But standing before now, he seed different. The change wasn’t loud or obvious it was quiet, but undeniable. And it unsettled in a way I couldn’t fully explain.
I clutched the pillow as if it might shield . "I’ve been busy, okay? And think about it my death wasn’t exactly a quiet affair. If anyone finds out I’m alive, I might not stay that way for long."
Sergio’s gaze didn’t waver. His sharp eyes seed to cut through my words, searching for cracks, for anything that didn’t hold true. But this ti, I wasn’t lying. The hard set of his face softened, and for a mont, he looked like the Sergio I rembered.
"Elena," he said, his voice even, "are we still friends?"
"Of course," I answered without hesitation. "I haven’t forgotten everything you did for . Back then, you gave the strength to keep going."
Guilt flickered across his expression, casting a shadow over his face. "But I couldn’t save you in the end. I failed you. I’m sorry."
"Don’t," I said, shaking my head. "What happened wasn’t your fault. Don’t bla yourself."
Before he could respond, the door swung open. Whitney stood in the doorway, her face calm but her presence commanding. "Dr. Zimr," she said, her voice steady, "your thods don’t seem to be working."
Sergio adjusted his glasses, his emotions slipping behind a mask of professionalism. "Then we’ll need to try sothing else."
Whitney’s eyes darted between us before settling on . "Maybe if she stays with , I’ll feel more comfortable."
I almost laughed at the absurdity. Did she honestly think Sergio would hurt ? It felt more like an excuse to keep under her watchful eye. For soone who was supposed to be my little sister, she had a way of making feel like the reckless one.
Sergio didn’t argue. He motioned for us to follow him into the treatnt room.
I knew his thods well. When I had sought his help, I was fully aware of my struggles and ready to face them. Whitney was a different story. She refused to acknowledge she needed help and fought every step of the way. When Sergio attempted to use hypnosis, it beca a clash of wills. She didn’t just resist she pushed back, trying to dismantle his techniques and turn them against him.
This wasn’t therapy.
It was a duel.
Whitney might appear delicate, but her will was forged from sothing unyielding a lifeti of surviving things most people never faced. Every instinct in her had been sharpened into a weapon, and she didn’t know how to set it down.
Watching their silent standoff, I decided to intervene. "Maybe we should grab so lunch and continue later?" I suggested. After all, we were mostly here for show, killing ti more than anything.
Sergio straightened and nodded. "I’ll arrange it. Ms. Morrigan, do you have a preference?"
"Vegetarian," she replied without hesitation.
"Noted. Take a mont to relax." He left without another word.
The mont the door clicked shut, Whitney moved quickly, her eyes scanning the room. Once she was satisfied there were no caras, she leaned closer and lowered her voice. "You shouldn’t share so much about yourself. The more people know, the more power they have over you. That doctor isn’t right his focus isn’t on . It’s on you."
"Yes, he figured it out. He knows who I am," I said, keeping my voice steady, though unease crept beneath the surface.
Whitney’s eyes widened. "Then what do we "
"Relax," I cut in, leaning forward slightly. "I’ve known him for years. The bed you’re lying on? I’ve been there plenty of tis. If he wanted to harm , he’d have done it long ago. He’s helped more than once."
She pressed her fingers to her temples, exhaling slowly. "Sorry. Maybe I overreacted. It’s just... I don’t trust people the way you do."
"I understand," I said, softening my tone. "Look, if you’re not comfortable with therapy, just treat this as downti. A chance to breathe."
"Alright," she said quietly, though her eyes remained fixed on mine. "But I can’t shake the feeling sothing’s off about the way he looks at you. I hope I’m wrong."
"It’s probably nothing more than seeing an old friend again," I said with a small shrug, trying to let the thought go.
...
After lunch, we lingered for a while before leaving. On our way ho, we swung by the hospital to check on Whitney’s cold. The doctor ran a few quick tests and handed her prescriptions for antibiotics and cold dicine. It seed routine, but Whitney’s guarded expression never wavered.
As we stepped out, Luther appeared with a calm deanor that felt anything but coincidental. "Ms. Morrigan, what a coincidence. Everything alright?"
"Just a cold," Whitney replied, her tone clipped and her face unreadable. She gave him a short, dismissive answer before turning away.
I glanced over my shoulder as we walked off Luther was still standing there, his gaze locked on Whitney’s retreating figure.
"Are you absolutely sure you’ve never seen him before in the organization?" I asked.
Whitney shook her head without hesitation. "I don’t rember him. But I was injured once. There are things I’ve forgotten. Either way, anyone from that place isn’t worth rembering."
"Then let it go," I said. "No point dwelling on it."
We got into the car, the day’s weight pressing down on both of us. At a red light, a sleek black Porsche Cayenne sped past, its windows tinted just enough to hide most of the driver’s face but not all of it.
I caught a glimpse. Sergio was behind the wheel, heading down the road that led only to the hospital.
"Is he hurt?" I murmured, my thoughts swirling as the car disappeared from view.
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