After about two hours, Celina’s bedroom was wrapped in a soft half-light. The curtains were partially open, letting in a timid glow that painted the walls in muted tones of melancholy. Celina lay in bed, covered to the waist, her hair loose and slightly tousled. Her vacant stare at the ceiling betrayed the storm inside her that had yet to calm. Sitting beside her, Tatiana adjusted a cool compress on her forehead, tending to her like a wounded sister—not in body, but in soul.

“Sweetheart…” Tatiana began, her voice low but steady. “Now that you’ve calmed down a little, let’s talk. I truly understand what you’ve been through. Thor was here. He told me everything that happened… all that went down at that awful dinner.”

Celina turned her eyes toward her friend, too drained to react.

“I’m not saying he was right, okay? But I need you to put yourself in his shoes for just a moment. You disappeared. He came here desperate to find you. I saw it, Cê—he was truly desperate. And you… you were at