After a moment of contemplation, she gently cupped Holden’s face in her hands and uttered solemnly, “No, you’re not Holden. You’re my Theodore.”

Holden, caught in this web of confusion, couldn’t help but let out a resigned sigh. He found himself in a tight spot, compelled to play along. He conceded, “Alright, alright, I’m Theodore.”

At this juncture, Ariana scrutinized him once more and reached out to caress his face, her eyes misty from alcohol but still shining.

Perplexed, she probed, “If you’re Holden, where’s your mask?”

“What?” Holden was completely at sea, not comprehending the enigmatic reference to a mask.

Ariana embraced him, drawing nearer. Her alcohol-blurred eyes had a watery luminescence to them, rendering her strangely captivating. She tugged at Holden’s visage, her curiosity unwavering. She asked, “Where’s your mask? Where have you hidden it?”

Confronted with her persistent curiosity, Holden sighed and grabbed a random piece of paper, poking eyeholes and playfully donning it. He quipped, “Here, my mask.”

to his surprise, she pouted and

so he removed the paper mask and regarded her patiently,

and turned her head away, grumbling loudly, “You’re Holden.

a sense of disquiet gnawing at him. He nervously asked, his lips tightly

a wolf in

not Holden.” He made a quick decision

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ignore him, Holden gently tugged at her sleeve and

with a gaze that could freeze

He had a vague inkling that Ariana could have uncovered something significant; otherwise, she wouldn’t have abruptly cut ties with him

to delve deeper into the matter but decided to begin with

evading a straightforward response. Despite Holden’s several attempts to extract more information,

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