He hadn't told anyone about the girl who showed up at his doorstep days ago — the one with sharp eyes and a voice that didn't shake, even when she was clearly desperate.
Rhea.
She introduced herself with fake confidence, claimed she had information about Celeste. But Leon didn't trust easy, and something about her felt too rehearsed.
"I found her," she had said. "She was… lost, confused. I brought her back."
Leon folded his arms. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because," Rhea said, hesitating for the first time, "they're offering a reward. For bringing her home."
"A reward," Leon repeated, voice flat.
"She is Celeste," Rhea added quickly, too quickly. "She looks like her. Talks like her. I just… need someone to help me get in."
Leon had studied her then. Really studied her.
"You want me to vouch for you," he said.
"I just want what I deserve. I took care of her."
Leon didn't ask why she hadn't come sooner, or how she "found" Celeste. He didn't ask anything else. Just opened the door behind her.
"You're wasting your time," he said coldly. "Leave."
She lingered, desperate to say more, but he didn't give her the chance.
And yet — after she left, her words stuck with him.
"She looks like her. Talks like her."
Not she is her.
Not she remembered me.
Just… looked. Talked. Enough to pass.
It was subtle. Easy to miss.
But Leon didn't miss things.
He hadn't believed her. Not fully. But it planted a seed.
And when "Celeste" finally returned… he knew. Not all at once. But slowly. Painfully. In every way she wasn't her.