The scarf
"Trius," the woman behind him suddenly said, her soft voice sending shivers down Demetrius' spine. He turned to look at Scarlette, whose once frosty expression now bore a smile, her demeanor distant in his thoughts.

"I'll call you that from now on. Is that okay?"

Demetrius snapped back to reality, his throat feeling dry. "...Sure."

...

Demetrius could hardly recall how he made it back home. It wasn't until he lay down on his bed that he gradually sorted out his jumbled thoughts, closing his eyes.

In his ears, Scarlette's gentle and magnetic voice uttering 'Trius' echoed, slowly blending with the memory of Acevedo's voice. Demetrius opened his eyes, glanced out the window, and noticed the rain falling once more.

What if Scarlette isn't Acevedo?

No 'what if.'

Demetrius got up from the bed, closed the window, shutting out the chilly wind. He took a shower in the bathroom, and his once cold and stiff body warmed up. Wearing Rowen, Demetrius squatted in front of Winglet, played with
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