Steve stood frozen, utterly dumbfounded.
At first, a quiet awe flooded his body as he looked down at her. But then his gaze shifted—still endless, still vacant, docile and emotionless. Like a mirror. He saw himself staring back at him through her. She was still. Cold. Watching.
And he was too.
His mind lagged, unsure of what to do next. His hands clenched. The air between them was heavy with something unspoken, humming with tension.
Then finally, he struck—not a blow, but a motion. His hand moved slightly forward before relaxing and lowering. In his mind, a singular question pulsed.
'How did she find out about the author's notebook... Did I slip up somewhere? No. I never mentioned this to anyone. Then how the hell did she know about it?'
The weight of her gaze made him feel like he was under a microscope. He'd hit his limit. His shoulders loosened, but his eyes grew sharper, narrower. His voice deepened, low and steely.
"Who...the hell are you?" Steve muttered.
