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The elevator doors opened onto a corridor that looked nothing like the detention area where Luka was held. This place resembled an upscale hotel, with plush carpeting and warm lighting.

"She is confused, angry, grieving," Rhadamanthys continued as we walked.

"The man she believed was her husband—regardless of how that belief was manufactured—is dead.

The life she thought she had has been revealed as an elaborate lie.

Yet fragments of her true past are returning, causing additional distress. "

We stopped outside a door with no obvious security measures—no guards, no visible cameras.

"You have fifteen minutes," Rhadamanthys said. "She may benefit from speaking with someone of your... professional background. The Pantheon has many skills, but mental health care is not our strongest industry. "

He knocked softly on the door before stepping back. "Ms. Aleksandar? You have a visitor. Dr. Vincent Matthews."

The door opened, and I found myself face to face with Ana again. Without Prometheus's controlling presence and the formal attire from the funeral and restaurant, she looked both more vulnerable and more like Luka.

She had the same ice-blue eyes, the same high cheekbones and strong jawline, though softened in feminine form.

Where years of violence had carved Luka into hard angles and coiled tension, Ana retained a grace to her movements, an underlying softness that Prometheus had never managed to erase despite his manipulation.

But where Luka's eyes always held calculation and wariness, hers held confusion and grief.

"Dr. Matthews," she said, recognition flickering across her features. "From the funeral. And the restaurant."

"Yes," I confirmed. "I came to see if you're all right."

She stepped back, allowing me to enter a suite that could have belonged in any luxury hotel.

The suite boasted a sitting area with comfortable furniture, a small kitchenette, and a door that presumably led to a bedroom.

Fresh flowers sat on a side table, and a tray of untouched food rested on the coffee table.

"You're Luka's... partner," she said carefully, testing the word. "The one Lincoln tried to have killed."

"And the one your brother chose to protect instead," I said gently.

She nodded, gesturing for me to sit. "Our last meetings weren't exactly.

.. conventional. Everything's different now.

" She brushed her hair back in a gesture so like Luka's that my chest tightened.

"I don't know what 'all right' means anymore.

Everything I thought I knew was a lie. My husband—" She stopped, wincing.

"Lincoln. The man I thought loved me. He stole me. He stole my memories. My life. "

"I'm a trauma therapist," I said, taking a seat across from her. "I know that doesn't help much right now, but I understand something of what you're experiencing."

She studied me, so much like Luka in her careful assessment.

"At the restaurant, when Lincoln introduced us, I sensed something.

.. familiar about your companion. About Luka.

I couldn't place it then." Her brow furrowed.

"Now I know why. It was like looking in a mirror and not recognizing my own reflection. "

"Your connection runs deeper than appearances," I said. "Twins often share a bond that transcends normal sibling relationships."

A small, sad smile touched her lips. "When I first saw him at the funeral, I didn't recognize him as family, but something about him unsettled me.

I expected someone harder when I learned he was an assassin.

But now I see he's... complex. Like me." She gestured vaguely to indicate our surroundings.

"I can see why he protected you at the restaurant, why he was so territorial. "

"He protected you, too," I said. "All these years, he thought you were dead, but he never stopped mourning you."

Her eyes filled with tears. "I keep having these flashes. Memories of us as children. Of our parents. Then they slide away, and I'm left with the life I thought I had. It's like two different movies playing in my head, and I can't tell which one is real."

"Both are real to you," I said. "The memories Lincoln gave you shaped who you are, even if they were based on lies. And the childhood memories are real too, just buried deep."

She wiped away a tear. "They tell me I'll testify at Luka's tribunal. That I'm a 'material witness.' What does that even mean?"

"It means your testimony could save his life. If you tell them what Prometheus admitted to you, how he separated you, how he manipulated your memories..." I scooted forward. “ Ana, it’s important that you try to tell them about everything you heard. Even if you don’t fully understand it. You need to tell them about what he said about Apollo and Zeus… everything you can remember.”

"Will they believe me?" she asked.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But I know Luka would face anything to protect you now that he's found you again."

She studied her hands, twisting the wedding ring she still wore, before she pulled it off and set it on the table with a decisive click. "Then I'll do the same for him. I'll tell them everything."

Our fifteen minutes passed quickly. As I prepared to leave, she caught my arm.

"Vincent? When this is over, if he survives," she hesitated. "Will I be able to know him? My brother?"

The raw hope in her voice broke my heart. "Yes," I promised. "Whatever happens, we'll make sure of that."

When I stepped into the hallway, Rhadamanthys waited, his expression unreadable.

"Satisfied, Dr. Matthews?"

"Thank you," I said, meaning it. "For treating her with dignity."

His lips quirked. "The Pantheon may be many things, dottore, but we do not harm innocent women. It is against our most sacred codes. Ms. Aleksandar is a victim of one man's obsession, not our enemy."

As he escorted me back to the main level, he spoke again, his voice oddly contemplative. "I have watched many tragedies unfold in my time as Judge, Dr. Matthews. Few have been as compelling as this one."

"This isn't a tragedy yet," I said firmly. "We still have a chance to save Luka."

Rhadamanthys's dark eyes assessed me carefully. "Perhaps. But remember, not all salvation looks the way we expect. "

With that cryptic comment, he left me. As I walked back, my mind raced with everything I'd learned. Ana's confusion, her determination, the hints of her original personality breaking through—all of it would be valuable for our case.

But more importantly, I now knew she was safe, treated well, and beginning to reclaim her true identity. Whatever happened at the tribunal, Ana Aleksandar was finding her way back to herself.

After leaving Rhadamanthys, I returned to our quarters, where the silence crushed me.

The enormity of what we faced finally crashed through the careful composure I'd maintained in Tartarus and with Ana.

My hands began to shake uncontrollably. I stumbled to the bathroom just in time to vomit, my body rebelling against the stress.

Kneeling on the cold bathroom floor, I finally allowed myself to break. Hot tears streamed down my face as sobs tore from my chest.

"Pull yourself together," I gasped between sobs. "He needs you."

After several minutes, the storm of emotion gradually subsided. I washed my face with cold water, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The man who stared back looked different—harder, more determined than the therapist who'd once worried about professional boundaries.

"Three days," I told my reflection. "You have three days to save him."

I stepped back into the living room and began methodically gathering materials. Notebooks. Pens. My professional journals with case studies on cult deprogramming that might be relevant to Ana's testimony. I would be ready when Lo returned.

The tribunal awaited, and with it, the chance to save not just Luka's life, but his future. For the first time, I understood why Luka had been willing to risk everything to kill Prometheus. Some battles were worth any price.

Now it was my turn to fight for him.