The place he took her to didn't look like a place at all.
Just a forgotten stretch beneath an overpass where rain pooled like black glass and the city's hum turned hollow. He slowed only when the concrete pillars swallowed them, shadows stacking on shadows until the night felt layered.
"Why here?" she asked, breath still uneven.
"Because no one watches the dead," he said. "And no one remembers this spot."
He stopped beside a pillar marked with faded paint. A symbol scratched deep into the concrete—old, deliberate. She felt it before she understood it, a pressure behind her eyes, a dull ache that sharpened as she stared.
"That mark," she whispered. "I've seen it."
He went very still.
"When?" he asked.
She pressed her palm to the cold concrete. The ache surged, sudden and bright. Her knees buckled. He caught her, steadying her against him as the world tilted.
Images punched through.
Firelight licking walls.
Sirens cutting the night.
Hands—gloved—pulling her backward as she screamed a name she hadn't known she remembered.
His name.
She gasped, tearing away. "You were there."
"Yes."
"You didn't just know me," she said, voice shaking. "You found me."
He didn't deny it.
Rain intensified, drumming overhead like a countdown.
"I pulled you out," he said quietly. "Before the fire spread."
"And then you disappeared," she snapped. "You let them tell the world you died."
His jaw tightened. "I didn't let them. I agreed."
Her laugh was brittle. "Agreed to die?"
"To live," he corrected. "So you could."
That answer didn't soothe her. It sharpened everything. "Who made that deal?"
He hesitated.
And in that hesitation, something shifted.
Her phone vibrated—once. A new message slid into view.
UNKNOWN: Ask him who signed the erasure.
Her blood went cold.
She looked up. "Who signed it?"
His eyes flicked to the road beyond the pillars, then back to her. "You shouldn't be getting messages anymore."
"That's not an answer."
He exhaled slowly. "A committee. Names you'd recognize. One you wouldn't."
"Try me."
He shook his head. "Not yet."
The ground trembled faintly as a truck passed overhead. The ache behind her eyes returned, pulsing. She focused, leaned into it—and another memory surfaced.
A room with no windows.
A woman's voice—calm, precise.
A file sliding across a metal table.
SECONDARY SUBJECT: PENDING.
She staggered back. "They didn't just erase you. They edited me."
"Yes."
"You let them," she accused.
"I stopped them from finishing," he said. "That's why you don't remember everything."
Her hands curled into fists. "So you decided what I get to know?"
"I decided you get to breathe."
A sharp sound echoed—metal striking metal.
He moved instantly, pulling her behind the pillar. A shape shifted at the edge of the underpass, then another. Footsteps, measured. Patient.
"They're early," he muttered.
"Who?" she whispered.
He checked his watch. "The ones who fix mistakes."
A voice drifted through the rain. Female. Smooth. Familiar in a way that made her stomach drop.
"Step out," the voice called. "We're only here to talk."
Her phone buzzed again.
UNKNOWN: Don't trust the man who chose what you forget.
Her heart pounded. She leaned close to him. "Do you know her?"
His silence was answer enough.
The footsteps stopped. A figure emerged just far enough to be seen—an umbrella, a coat, a calm posture that didn't belong to someone who meant well.
"Hello," the woman said. "It's been a long time."
He didn't respond.
The woman smiled. "You look… active."
She turned her gaze to the heroine. "And you," she added gently, "are overdue."
"What do you want?" the heroine demanded.
"To close a loop," the woman replied. "You were never meant to remember this place. Or him."
"He saved me," the heroine said.
"Yes," the woman agreed. "And that's why this is complicated."
A click sounded behind them.
He cursed softly. "We're bracketed."
The woman sighed. "I told them not to rush."
The heroine's mind raced. "If you wanted me dead, I'd be dead."
"Correct," the woman said. "We want you… informed. Carefully."
The man beside her tensed. "No."
The woman's gaze hardened. "You don't decide anymore."
In that instant, the heroine understood.
He wasn't running from enemies.
He was running from colleagues.
"Run," he whispered.
She didn't ask twice.
They bolted in opposite directions—then collided again as a shadow lunged from the dark. He took the impact, grunting, shoving her past as he fell. She turned, heart in her throat, and saw him on one knee, blood darkening his sleeve.
"Go!" he shouted.
She didn't.
Instead, she did the one thing no one expected.
She grabbed the fallen umbrella, snapped it closed, and slammed it into the attacker's wrist. The gun clattered away. Sirens surged closer—real this time.
The woman stepped back into the rain, expression unreadable. "We'll finish this another way," she said. "You've been selected."
Then she was gone.
The heroine knelt beside him, hands shaking. "You're bleeding."
He laughed weakly. "I've had worse."
She helped him up, anger and fear tangling in her chest. "You lied to me."
"Yes."
"You protected me," she said.
"Yes."
"And you erased parts of my life."
He met her gaze. "To keep you alive."
She swallowed hard. "Next time you decide for me… tell me."
He nodded once. "Deal."
As they disappeared into the night, her phone buzzed again.
UNKNOWN: Good choice.
She stared at the screen.
Because she hadn't chosen him.
She had chosen the truth.