Clyde strode over to the other room, placing Micah on the bed they had shared the night before.
His movements were careful and slow.
He brushed his thumb across Micah's cheek. The damp skin reminded him of Micah's tears, twisting something inside his chest.
He lay beside Micah, hugging him tightly. He wished he could erase everything related to those past memories.
He had no idea how much Micah remembered or what exactly, but none of it could be good. The memories of their past lives, those moments of torments, betrayal, and loss, were things better left buried.
Maybe the first life had been different, maybe there had been something beautiful once, before everything collapsed. But Clyde couldn't recall much of that anymore. What remained were flashes: Micah being tied up, Darcy's shaking hands gripping a gun, and endless blood.
He closed his eyes. "Please," he whispered, almost like a prayer, "forget it all."
