Apologize sincerely for the morning incident and promise it won't happen again

"I'm really sorry about this morning," you say, your voice low with genuine remorse. "I would never intentionally... I mean, it was inappropriate, and I promise it won't happen again."

Lina's eyes soften as she looks at you. The flush on her cheeks deepens, spreading down her neck beneath the collar of her university t-shirt. She shifts uncomfortably on the couch, crossing and uncrossing her legs before settling.

"Don't be," she says with unexpected gentleness. Her fingers absently trace the injection site on her arm. "We sisters always shared stuff, you know?"

The statement hangs between you, loaded with implications that make your heart rate quicken. Lina's eyes—Jane's eyes—hold yours with an intensity that makes it difficult to breathe.

"Maybe even fate wanted the boyfriend to..." she trails off, biting her lower lip. The gesture is achingly familiar—Jane used to do the exact same thing when nervous.

She winces suddenly, pressing a palm against her sternum. "God, this compound feels strange. Like electricity under my skin."

You notice beads of perspiration forming at her hairline, her breathing becoming slightly labored. The neutralizing compound appears to be working through her system more intensely than you anticipated.

"Is it painful?" you ask, professional concern momentarily overriding the emotional tension between you.

"No, not painful. Just... intense." She shifts again on the couch, her thighs pressing together in a subtle movement that doesn't escape your notice. "Like everything is amplified. Every sensation, every..." She stops, color blooming across her cheeks. "Never mind."

She stands abruptly, moving to the window to look out at the morning cityscape. Her silhouette against the light is hauntingly familiar—the curve of her hip, the way she tucks her hair behind one ear.

"We need to discuss our plan," she says, her back still to you. "Marco's men will have found those bodies by now. They'll be hunting both of us."

You watch her shoulders rise and fall with each breath, noticing how her hand trembles slightly as she braces it against the windowsill.

"I think I can transform again sooner than I thought," she continues, finally turning to face you. Her eyes are bright, almost feverish. "Something about your compound—it's accelerating the recovery process."

She takes a step toward you, then stops, as if uncertain. The morning light catches in her dark hair, highlighting strands that frame her face—Jane's face. The grief and desire tangle inside you like twin serpents, impossible to separate.

"Sam," she says your name like a question. "When this is over... when Marco is dead and Jane has justice..." She doesn't finish the thought, but her eyes hold a question you're not sure how to answer.