I stood frozen in place, despair rising like a tide, submerging me inch by inch.
I looked at Nathan. He was gazing at Luna with an expression so gentle and focused, his eyes overflowing with open affection—the exact way he used to look at me.
Security guards sprinted from the edges of the hall, closing in on me rapidly. I didn't step back, and I didn't run. Of all the scenarios we had rehearsed, this was nearly the worst possible outcome, but it did not exceed our contingency plans.
For this situation, I still had a backup. This was the final line of defense.
I pulled out the phone and dialed the emergency contact directly. The call connected almost instantly.
"Professor," I said.
The guards reached me. One hand clamped violently around my arm; another pressed down on my shoulder. I didn't resist. Instead, I curled my body, clutching the phone desperately to my chest. In the split second before the guards could pry my hands apart, I screamed into the receiver:
"I am Evelyn Hart! I'm here! I need you!"
The next moment, I was pulled backward, dragged toward the exit. That was when I lifted my head. At the far end of the crowd, at the entrance to the hall—the Professor was already there.
He didn't hurry. His steps were steady. His gaze passed through the sea of guests and settled precisely on me—on me being dragged by security, still fighting to protect the phone in my arms.
In his other hand was a thin file. A photocopy of an ID. The last proof that I had ever truly existed.
I looked at him across the room. He recognized the call, not the person. No matter how absurd the scene appeared, once the call was placed, he would know—the caller was the one and only Evelyn Hart.
He came closer.
The call was still active. I felt my heart hammering so hard it threatened to crack my ribs. The Professor stopped in front of me. Under the confused stares of the security guards, he reached out.
Ignoring the hands pinning me down, he snatched the phone directly from my chest. Because I was holding it so tightly, his fingertips left sharp white marks across the back of my hands. The screen was still lit; he glanced down at the active call on the display.
Then, he looked up at me, his voice level and calm, as if he were simply correcting an obvious, indisputable mistake:
"I know you," he said. "You're not her. You can't fool me. You just want to become her."