Tell Lina your complete formula and explain that you can crete a nullifying compound for her , once injected in her , it will nilify the making effect of the compound permanently .

I lean forward, setting my half-eaten sandwich on the plate. The couch cushion shifts beneath my weight, bringing me closer to Lina. Her eyes widen slightly at the sudden movement, but she doesn't retreat.

"I can help you," I say, my voice steady with newfound resolve. "I know the complete formula. I can create a nullifying compound that would protect you."

Lina's expression shifts from surprise to cautious interest. She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear—a gesture so like Jane's that my chest tightens momentarily.

"What do you mean, nullifying?" she asks, eyes narrowed.

"The chemical I created works by destabilizing your diamond lattice structure at the molecular level," I explain. "It essentially creates micro-fractures that compound upon each other, overwhelming your ability to maintain the transformation. But I could engineer a counter-agent—a preventative compound that, once injected, would neutralize the effects permanently."

Lina pulls her knees tighter to her chest, the oversized t-shirt riding higher on her thighs. "Injected? Into my human form?"

"Yes." I nod, warming to the scientific challenge despite my exhaustion. "The gel would still cause some surface irritation—I can't eliminate that entirely—but you wouldn't lose consciousness. You'd maintain your diamond integrity, even if they spray you with the original formula."

She considers this, eyes distant. The table lamp casts half her face in warm light, the other half in shadow. The resemblance to Jane is uncanny, yet there's something uniquely Lina in her expressions—sharper edges, more guarded eyes.

"You could really do that?" Her voice carries equal parts hope and skepticism.

"The neutralizing agent would work by creating a molecular shield around your diamond structure's **** points," I continue. "I'd need certain equipment, chemicals..." I count off ingredients on my fingers. "Specifically modified fluorine compounds, a polymer base, binding agents—"

"But you could make it?" she interrupts, leaning forward now, her dark eyes intent on mine.

"Yes," I say with certainty. "It's basically an antidote to my own poison."

Lina stands abruptly, the t-shirt falling back to mid-thigh as she paces to the window. She parts the curtain with two fingers, peering into the darkness outside. The silhouette of her body is outlined against the faint city glow—slender shoulders, the curve of her hip, bare legs disappearing into shadow.

"I need to get to the next hideout before they arm themselves with your formula," she says, back still to me. "But I also need this... antidote."

She turns, arms crossed over her chest. "What would you need to make it?"

"A lab, for starters. Access to chemical supplies. My notes would help, but I remember the essential components." I rub my stubbled chin, calculating. "Six hours, minimum. Probably closer to eight for testing."

"We don't have eight hours," she says, tension evident in her voice. "Viktor will find those bodies soon, if he hasn't already. Then Marco will know I have you."

She crosses the room again, this time sinking to her knees in front of me. The posture is ****, intimate—her face tilted up to mine, hands resting on the couch cushion on either side of my legs. The collar of her oversized shirt slips further down one shoulder, revealing the smooth line of her collarbone.

"Sam," she says, her voice soft yet urgent. "I need to know if you're with me. Really with me. Not just because I look like her." She reaches up, her fingertips hovering near my cheek without touching. "But because Marco killed Jane. Because he deserves what's coming to him."

The air between us feels charged, electric with unspoken complications. I can see the pulse beating in her throat, the faint tremble in her extended hand.

"I've spent a year trying to find answers," I tell her honestly. "Now I know who killed her. How could I walk away?"

Lina's relief is palpable—her shoulders drop slightly, her breath coming out in a rush. She sits back on her heels.

"Okay," she says. "Then we need a plan. A lab. Supplies. And we need to move fast." She glances at the digital clock on the bookshelf. "We have maybe an hour before Marco's men realize something's wrong at Red Brick. Then nowhere is safe."