Anna couldn’t remember walking back to her hotel. One moment she was in Julian’s suite, clutching the small vial of poison, and the next she was inside her room, the door slammed shut behind her. Her hands trembled as she stared at them, as if they belonged to someone else. The glass vial in her right hand caught the faint glow of the bedside lamp—clear liquid, seemingly harmless. But Julian’s voice haunted her mind: one drop is enough. Carefully, Anna placed the vial on the table and stepped back, as if distance could erase what just happened. Her chest tightened, and her mother’s exhausted face flashed in her mind—lying helpless in a hospital bed—Julian’s final words echoing: If you refuse… your mother dies. Anna pressed her hands against her eyes, whispering, “This isn’t happening." Yet
