Time froze for a heartbeat.
Eloise stood inside the doorway, staring through the glass at the familiar face beyond it. Blonde hair lifted slightly in the night wind, gray-blue eyes shining beneath the corridor lights—too bright, nothing like Viretta's gaze that carried three hundred years of weariness. The curve of the lips was right, but the depth of the smile was wrong, like a masterwork copied without its soul.
"Viretta?" Eloise's voice was soft, restrained in a way that surprised even herself.
"Who else could it be?" the woman outside tilted her head—an almost perfect imitation. "Won't you invite me in? It's freezing out here."
Eloise glanced at Elinor. The elven woman's hand had already settled on the dagger at her waist, starlight flickering in her eyes—full alert. Selene appeared silently at the top of the stairs, hand resting on her sword.
"Open the door," Eloise said to Elinor, barely above a whisper. "But be ready."
The lock clicked.
"Viretta" stepped over the threshold, carrying in the chill of night—and a faint, unfamiliar scent. Not soul-energy, but something subtler, like a perfume with the wrong top note.
"Look at this place." She surveyed the hall, her gaze pausing briefly on the newly mounted purification array diagrams before moving on. "Much cleaner than when I left. You've finally learned to tidy up, Eloise."
That made Eloise's heart sink.
The real Viretta would never tease her that way. The apartment had always been Viretta's domain; Eloise was responsible for the laboratory.
"How did you come back?" Elinor stepped forward, placing herself between Eloise and the impostor. "Did the Court release you? Under what conditions?"
"As part of the peace agreement." "Viretta" removed her hooded cloak with practiced ease. Beneath it was a simple elven dress—silver-gray, not woven of starlight. "I'm serving as an advisor in Aurora's diplomatic work… and undergoing an 'observation period.' As long as I behave and don't leak elven secrets, I may move freely."
She walked into the kitchen, opened the cabinet, and took out the tea tin—without hesitation. Yet Eloise noticed a brief pause as her fingers touched it, as if confirming.
"Where's Aurora?" Eloise leaned against the doorframe.
"At the outpost handling follow-up matters. She told me to come back first… said you might need me."
Hot water poured into the cup. Steam rose. Moonflower tea—the real Viretta's favorite. Yet Eloise detected a faint off-scent, as though another herb had been mixed in.
"You look… different," Elinor said carefully. "Where is your full Star-Singer form? Why manifest physically?"
"It consumes too much energy," "Viretta" replied, handing over a cup. "And… I wanted to feel 'normal.' For the first time in three hundred years—to walk, breathe, make tea like an ordinary person."
She smiled. It should have been warm.
Instead, Eloise felt cold creep up her spine.
The real Viretta had once said something similar—I refuse to disappear. But her voice then had carried centuries of exhaustion and unyielding pride. This one sounded too light.
"You're not… hungry anymore?" Eloise asked, not drinking the tea. "You don't need to gather soul-energy to exist?"
"The Court cured it." She sipped calmly. "The curse has been lifted. I'm… stable now."
Elinor and Eloise exchanged a look.
To lift a royal-grade elven curse in a single month? Either a miracle—or a colossal lie.
"That's wonderful," Eloise said, forcing sincerity. "Welcome home."
That night, "Viretta" took the master bedroom, saying she wanted to revisit "her room." Eloise and Elinor withdrew to the guest room upstairs.
As soon as the door closed, Elinor raised a soundproof barrier.
"That is not Viretta," she said flatly.
"I know." Eloise pressed a hand to her chest. The deep violet gem lay quiet against her skin. If Viretta had truly returned, it should have resonated violently.
"But her appearance, her voice, even some habits… they're terrifyingly close," Elinor frowned. "Unless—"
"Unless someone who knows her extremely well is impersonating her," Eloise finished. "Or someone who has her memories."
Silence fell.
Perfect imitation required more than shape—it required temperament, habits, fragments of memory. Who could do this?
"Aurora," Elinor said suddenly. "She's commander of the Star Guard, trained in high-level intelligence work. And she's known Viretta for centuries. If the Court's hawks ordered her to disguise herself—"
"Then why? Just to monitor us?"
"Or to obtain something." Elinor glanced downstairs. "The purification array designs? Viretta's true core condition? Or… access to the Association through you?"
Eloise remembered the elf in the sewers: The master will be pleased.
"We need proof," she said. "No alerting her. If this is a disguise, there's a larger plan behind it. We follow the thread and see what they want."
"How?"
Eloise took out a tiny device—a soul-frequency recorder.
"Viretta's true frequency is unique: Star-Singer essence mixed with three centuries of imprisonment scars. If she's fake, her frequency will differ. We just need one moment when she releases soul-energy unconsciously."
"And when will that be?"
"Tomorrow. Professor Gianna invited me to the Association headquarters to discuss the Dreamweaver incident. I'll bring her along."
Elinor stiffened. "That's risky."
"That's exactly why we do it," Eloise said. "We watch who she meets, where she goes, what interests her."
Elinor studied her. "You've become… more like a chess player."
"I learned to play in the dark," Eloise whispered. "From Viretta."
The next morning, "Viretta" sat at the table with eggs and toast—another perfect imitation. Yet the toast was cut into squares. The real Viretta always cut triangles.
"Morning," she smiled. "Sleep well?"
"Fine." Eloise poured coffee. "I'm going to headquarters today. Would you like to come? Your expertise could help."
"Association headquarters?" She hesitated. "I thought… elves might not be welcome."
"The peace accord changed that. Unless you don't want to go?"
"No. I do." Her smile returned. "I should… readjust to this world."
In the car, "Viretta" stared out the window. Eloise noticed her fingers tapping nervously. The real Viretta would touch her pocket watch chain when tense.
"Thinking about something?" Eloise asked.
"This city," she said softly. "Three hundred years ago it was carriages and oil lamps."
"Time changes everything."
"But some things shouldn't change. Promises. Trust."
Too deliberate. Eloise tightened her grip on the wheel.
At headquarters, the security scan passed—but the recorder captured the truth: her frequency matched Viretta's data, yet the phase delay was wrong. Like a recording that sounded perfect but betrayed artificial synthesis.
A disguise. Beyond doubt.
Eloise kept her expression calm.
In the meeting room sat researchers, a municipal official—and an elf who looked disturbingly like the sewer intruder.
"This is Kael," Gianna introduced him. "A technical advisor from the Court."
Kael's eyes met "Viretta's." Recognition flashed.
The discussion turned to the spreading nightmare phenomenon.
"Dream resonance," a researcher said. "It spreads through fear itself."
"Ancient elven texts describe something similar," "Viretta" said smoothly. "Nightmare Seeds cultivated by dark mages. Destroy the mother core to end it."
Kael proposed a city-wide starlight purge.
Eloise opposed it. "We locate the core first. Precisely."
She suggested using Viretta's starlight resonance to trace it.
All eyes turned to "Viretta."
She hesitated too long.
"I can try… but my power hasn't fully recovered."
After the meeting, Gianna pulled Eloise aside.
"Aurora warned me an 'observer' would come—wearing a familiar face," she said. "She left you clues. Phase delay. Too obvious for someone like her."
"So she's telling me she's fake… and trapped in the role."
"Exactly. And Kael—he's tied to the hawks."
Back at the old house, they set up a resonance array.
As "Viretta" channeled starlight, Eloise saw the truth clearly: the light was sharper, more disciplined—Aurora's battle aura, not a singer's warmth. And she restrained herself, afraid to reveal her true nature.
Afterward, Elinor whispered, "That's Aurora's frequency."
"She knows we know," Eloise said. "She's waiting for us to act."
That night, Eloise couldn't sleep.
Footsteps paused outside her door.
A slip of paper slid under it.
Later, she unfolded it:
Tomorrow midnight. Rooftop. Come alone. Bring the Time Anchor. —O.
Aurora.
The false Viretta had finally chosen to speak.
Eloise burned the note and pressed a hand to the gem at her chest.
"Wait a little longer, Viretta," she whispered. "We're close to the truth."
Outside, the city lights glimmered. Beneath the streets, something pulsed like a heart, feeding on fear.
And in the guest room below, Aurora—wearing Viretta's face—stood by the window, communicator in hand. The screen read only:
CONTINUE.
Her eyes were cold with duty.
But her hand was trembling.