Go to the bathroom to wash your hands and collect yourself before checking on the neutralizing compound in the freezer.

I slip into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind me. My heart is still racing from the intimacy of waking up with my hand between Lina's legs. The small bathroom is neat but lived-in, with a single toothbrush in a cup and familiar toiletries arranged on a glass shelf—some I recognize as the same brands Jane used. The mirror above the sink reflects my haggard face, stubble darkening my jaw, eyes shadowed from stress and poor sleep.

I turn on the tap, watching clear water splash over my fingers—fingers that were just touching Lina's most intimate place. The water runs hot, and I pump soap from a dispenser decorated with small butterflies. As I wash, I can't help but remember the slick wetness that coated my fingers, how similar it felt to when Jane would get aroused in the mornings. The soap's lavender scent fills my nostrils as I scrub more vigorously than necessary, as if trying to wash away not just Lina's arousal but my conflicted feelings as well.

"Get it together," I mutter to my reflection. "She's Jane's sister. Her twin sister."

I splash cold water on my face, then dry my hands and face on a hanging towel that smells faintly of Lina's shampoo. Taking a deep breath, I compose myself before opening the bathroom door and padding quietly through the living room toward the kitchen.

The apartment is silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. I open the freezer compartment, my breath fogging in the sudden cold. The vial of neutralizing compound sits exactly where I left it last night, still liquid despite the freezing temperature—the high salt content gives it a much lower freezing point than water, keeping it in injectable form even at sub-zero temperatures.

I carefully extract the vial, examining it under the kitchen light. The pale blue liquid seems stable, no separation or crystallization visible. I gently swirl it, watching how it moves against the glass. It's been freezing for about ten hours now—longer than I initially estimated necessary, which means it should be even more stable. Perfect for injection.

I place the vial on the counter and open a few cabinets, searching for coffee. In the third cabinet, I find a half-empty bag of premium dark roast—Jane's favorite. The realization hits me like a physical blow. Jane bought this coffee. This was her home too.

"Do you take it black, or with cream and sugar?"

The voice startles me. I turn to see Lina leaning against the kitchen doorway, her dark hair tousled from sleep, wearing the same university t-shirt and sweatpants. She looks impossibly like Jane in this moment—the same sleepy eyes, the same slight tilt of her head.

"Black is fine," I manage, trying to keep my voice steady. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't." She pushes away from the doorframe and moves into the kitchen. "I've been awake for a while."

Something in her tone makes me wonder if she knows—if she was aware of where my hand had been when I woke up. Heat rises to my face as she brushes past me to take the coffee from my hands, her fingertips grazing mine for a fraction of a second.

"I see the compound is ready," she says, nodding toward the vial on the counter while measuring coffee into the filter. "Will it hurt?"

"The injection? No more than a typical shot," I explain, grateful for the shift to scientific territory. "It'll bind to your cellular structure and create a protective barrier against the chemical weapon I designed. Once it's fully integrated, you should be immune to the compound."

Lina nods, starting the coffee machine. "Good. Because Marco's men will have recovered your notes by now. We need to be prepared."

We stand in awkward silence as the coffee begins to drip, filling the kitchen with its rich aroma. The space between us feels charged with unspoken questions and the strange intimacy of what happened in bed—whether she knows about it or not.