For a moment, silence — deep enough that even I hesitated to breathe.
Valeria exhaled slowly. "Then we'll find her," she murmured.
"Because presence denied," she paused, "is still presence detected."
Her words struck through the air like glass cracking — deliberate, inevitable.
And I, halfway down the hall, could only smile bitterly.
Of course she'd say that.
Of course she'd notice.
And of course she'd realize.
She never was a fool to begin with, after all.
That was the problem with Valeria Augustine Christie — she never guessed; she knew.
Every silence was a confession to her, every shadow a misplaced truth.
I should've run faster.
But then again, when has running ever saved me from her?
