Lance glanced at the woman beside him—the one with pinkish-red hair—calmly sitting on the floating sofa, thousands of feet in the sky.

  She nodded. “If you want, I can show you your point of view as well.”

  With a snap of her fingers, the swirling bubble in front of them flickered and changed. The previous scene vanished, replaced by a new one.

  This time, the bubble showed a man sprinting toward a staircase. He stopped on the second floor, glaring down below where Carla held Ariel in her arms. But there was something off—Carla’s smile was unsettling, almost joyful, like she was relishing the moment. Then, as soon as she noticed Lance watching, her expression twisted into one of grief and panic. That’s when the tears came. That’s when she started accusing him of murder.

  “That’s it! That’s exactly what happened,” Lance said quickly. “I didn’t even touch her!”

  “Of course you didn’t,” the woman said calmly. “If you had, I wouldn’t be here chatting with you.”

  “Thank God you believe me. But then why did Carla and I see different things? And… who actually attacked Ariel?”

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  The woman sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Are you that stupid? Both of you were shown different scenes—to lure you into blaming each other while the real attacker carried out the mission and escaped.”

  “But… why target Ariel?” Lance asked, trying to make sense of it.

  “You’re from the orphanage, right?” she asked. “This was your first day with your new family?”

  Lance hesitated, then nodded.

  “Did you even ask Mr. Edwin what he does for work?”

  Lance looked down, embarrassed.

  “Exactly,” she said, shaking her head. “Who joins a new family without asking the basics—job, hobbies, family history?”

  She leaned back, eyes locked on the sunset. “Anyway… Edwin is a major political figure in Vraxen. Ever wonder how he could afford that huge mansion? He has massive shares in Vraxen-powered steel mills. Some people are jealous of his power. He was warned before—but he didn’t take it seriously. Today’s events… the near-death of his daughter… it’s likely to push him to step away from politics.”

  Lance frowned. “But are you sure he’ll quit? From what I know, Edwin loves Ariel. Wouldn’t he want revenge?”

  “If he really loves her,” the woman said softly, “he wouldn’t put her in danger again.”

  She raised her hand, and the bubble began swirling once more.

  “A newspaper… from three days in the future.”

  The image loaded slowly. A date appeared, followed by a headline in bold, black letters: