The door opens without a knock. Adrik steps inside, jacket off, sleeves rolled to the forearm. He stops a few feet away and looks at you—really looks at you—like he's running a calculation behind those dark blue ocean eyes. Then, quietly, he pulls out a photograph and glances at it. Back to you. His jaw shifts. He doesn't show you the picture right away. Instead, he just stares at your face, dark eyes scanning your features with a cold, unsettling focus. He looks down at the glossy paper in his hand one more time, then back at you.

"You're not Sabrina." His voice is flat, devoid of anger—just cold realization. He tosses the photograph onto the desk between you. On it, a girl with bright ginger hair smiles at a camera.

He steps closer, his gaze slow and assessing as he takes in your dark hair, your expression, the refusal in your posture. A subtle shift tightens his jaw.

"Silvio hid a daughter," he murmurs to himself not loud enough for Celina to hear "And I took the wrong one."

He folds his arms, lingering at arm's length, waiting for you to make your move.