The rain hadn't stopped since dawn.
Lena sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, her eyes fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace. Every shadow that moved against the wall made her flinch. She'd hardly spoken since Adrian showed her the photograph.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw fire.
Adrian stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low and controlled — the kind of control that came from years of learning to hide emotion.
"Find Dr. Alvarez," he said. "She's the only neurologist I trust for trauma reconstructions. I want her here tonight."
He hung up, his reflection pale in the glass. When he turned, Lena was already watching him.
"You think I'm broken," she said quietly.
His brow furrowed. "No."
"Yes, you do. You keep looking at me like I'm some fragile puzzle you're scared to touch."
"Because I am," he admitted. "One wrong move, and I could lose you again."
She gave a humorless laugh. "You can't lose what you never had."
The words hurt him more than she realized.
---
By evening, Dr. Alvarez arrived — a calm, gray-haired woman with kind eyes and a voice like velvet. She examined Lena carefully, asking questions that stirred half-formed memories buried deep in her mind.
"Do you remember any particular sounds?" the doctor asked softly.
Lena hesitated. "Yes. A clock… ticking. Loud. And someone humming."
"What song?"
"I don't know. But I remember the voice." Her eyes widened slightly. "It wasn't my father's."
Adrian tensed. "Then whose?"
Lena pressed her hands to her temples. "I can't— It's like there's a wall in my head. Every time I try to push past it, it hurts."
Dr. Alvarez nodded. "That's consistent with induced memory suppression."
"Induced?" Adrian repeated.
The doctor met his gaze. "Not trauma. Chemical interference. Someone didn't want her to remember."
---
Lena's pulse quickened. "Can you reverse it?"
"Not entirely," Dr. Alvarez said. "But I can guide her through regression sessions — small steps, under controlled conditions. We need to unlock memories safely, or she could suffer cognitive backlash."
"Do it," Adrian said immediately.
The doctor nodded. "Tomorrow morning, then. Rest tonight."
When she left, Lena stared at the rain again, her voice trembling. "You really think someone erased my memories?"
Adrian walked toward her. "I think someone was terrified of what you knew."
"Then why not kill me?"
His eyes darkened. "Maybe they tried."
The silence that followed was like ice.
---
That night, Lena couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard that faint ticking — like a clock buried deep inside her skull.
Then, at exactly 3:03 a.m., the ticking stopped.
And another sound replaced it — a whisper.
> "Run."
Lena's eyes flew open. The room was pitch-dark.
She sat up, heart racing. The whisper came again, closer this time.
> "They know."
She stumbled out of bed and turned on the lamp. The room was empty. The door was still locked.
But on the bedside table sat something that hadn't been there before — a small, silver bracelet, old and tarnished, engraved with the letters M.B.
Her blood ran cold.
Marcus Blackwood.
---
She rushed to Adrian's room and banged on the door. He opened it instantly, half-dressed, alarmed.
"Lena?"
"Someone's been in my room!" she said, holding up the bracelet.
His expression darkened as he took it from her hand. "Where did you find this?"
"On my table. I didn't— It wasn't there before!"
He turned the bracelet over and froze. Inside the band, etched so faintly it could barely be seen, were four words:
> You can't erase truth.
---
Adrian immediately activated the penthouse's security system. The cameras replayed the past hour in reverse, but nothing — no movement, no shadow, no person — appeared on the feed.
"It's impossible," he muttered. "The system's sealed. No one could've gotten in."
"Then how did that—"
A loud bang echoed from the hall.
Adrian grabbed his gun, motioning for Lena to stay back. He crept toward the sound, every muscle tense.
The elevator doors had opened by themselves.
A single piece of paper fluttered to the floor.
Lena bent to pick it up, her fingers trembling. It was a photograph — grainy, black-and-white — showing a laboratory room, rows of monitors, and a girl lying unconscious on a metal bed.
On the back of the photo, one line was scrawled in black ink:
> She's starting to remember.
---
Lena's throat went dry. "Adrian… what is this?"
He stared at the image, his jaw tightening. "It's from the Phoenix facility. The one that burned down years ago."
"Then how do they have this?"
"They shouldn't," he said darkly. "Unless someone rebuilt it."
---
Suddenly, his phone buzzed. Unknown number.
He answered cautiously.
A distorted voice spoke on the other end:
> "You're too late, Blackwood. She was ours long before she was yours."
The line went dead.
---
Lena took a step back, fear gripping her chest. "What does that mean?"
Adrian looked at her, and for the first time, there was something close to panic in his eyes.
"It means," he whispered, "they're not trying to erase your memories anymore."
She swallowed hard. "Then what are they trying to do?"
His voice was low.
> "They're trying to bring them back."