Viktoria POV:
I watch Elon move around the suite like a restless wolf, opening doors, peering behind curtains, pushing aside furniture that clearly has no one behind it. Then he heads into the bedroom, then the bathroom, flinging the door wide as if someone might magically appear.
“I swear I heard you talking to someone,” he mutters as he steps back into the main room.
“And if you’re so sure,” I say, folding my arms, “where’s the other person?”
But honestly, inside I’m praying he finds her. The woman who appeared—no, the one I saw—or thought I saw. Because now, in the quiet of this suite, in the reality of daylight fading outside the window, I’m starting to tell myself the truth I don’t want to admit: maybe she didn’t appear. Maybe I dreamed her up. Maybe I hit my head, or maybe I’m l
