I don't remember deciding to leave the room.
One moment I'm staring at Elias, his last words echoing in my skull—I didn't stop you in time—and the next I'm standing in a hallway that feels too narrow, too bright, my bare feet cold against the floor.
The house is silent.
Not peaceful.
Careful.
Like a place where noise has learned not to exist.
I drag my hand along the wall as I walk, grounding myself, counting my breaths the way Elias taught me—in for four, out for six. The fact that I know that makes my chest tighten.
How much of me is muscle memory?
How much of me is him?
At the end of the hall, there's a door I haven't seen yet. White. Plain. Locked.
Of course it's locked.
I test the handle anyway. Nothing.
"Don't," Elias says behind me.
I spin around, heart leaping into my throat. He's standing a few feet away, watching me with that same controlled calm, like I'm a situation he's already predicted.
"What's in there?" I ask.
"A room you don't need right now."
"You keep saying that."
"And you keep proving me right."
Anger flashes hot and sudden. "You don't get to lock doors in my life anymore."
His gaze flicks to my bare feet, then to my hands—still shaking.
"You're not ready to see what's in there," he says.
I laugh, sharp and broken. "I'm not ready for any of this."
"I know."
The way he says it makes my skin crawl.
"Then let me leave," I say. "If I'm so unstable, let me go."
He studies me for a long moment.
Then: "Where?"
The word lands heavier than it should.
"My house," I snap. "A friend's place. Anywhere that isn't here."
"You don't have a house," Elias replies.
I freeze. "What?"
"You sold it," he says. "Six months ago."
My heart stutters. "That's not possible."
"It is."
"And my friends?"
He hesitates.
Just long enough.
"I distanced you from them," Elias says carefully. "Per your request."
My stomach twists violently. "I asked you to isolate me?"
"You said they made the episodes worse."
"That's convenient," I whisper.
He steps closer, lowering his voice. "Noa, they were scared of you."
Something inside me shatters.
"Scared of me… how?"
"You had an incident," he says. "In public."
The word again. Incident.
"Tell me," I demand.
He exhales slowly. "You accused a stranger of trying to kill you. You screamed. You collapsed."
Heat floods my face. Shame, sharp and immediate, even though I can't remember it.
"I would remember that," I say weakly.
"You don't remember a lot of things," he replies.
I turn away from him, my chest tight, and stumble into the living room.
It's immaculate. Too neat. Like no one lives here—like no one is allowed to live here.
My gaze snags on something on the coffee table.
A stack of papers.
Medical forms.
My name printed neatly at the top.
I grab them before Elias can stop me.
"Noa Hart — Psychiatric Evaluation."
My vision blurs.
"You said I asked for this," I whisper.
"You did," he replies quietly.
I flip through the pages, hands shaking harder with every word.
Severe dissociation.
Paranoia.
Violent ideation.
"No," I choke. "This isn't me."
"It is," Elias says. "Or it was."
There are notes in the margins. Handwritten.
Patient becomes hostile when pressed.
Fixates on perceived threats.
Subject demonstrates self-harm tendencies.
I feel like I'm reading about a stranger.
A dangerous one.
"Why would they let me leave?" I ask. "Why am I not in a hospital?"
Elias's jaw tightens. "Because you begged me not to let them take you."
I look up at him. "You're lying."
He meets my gaze steadily. "You said hospitals make you worse."
A memory flickers—white walls, restraints, screaming—but it vanishes before I can grasp it.
My knees buckle and I sink onto the couch.
"What if they're right?" I whisper. "What if I really am… unstable?"
Elias crouches in front of me.
This time, when he reaches for my hands, I don't pull away.
"They are right," he says softly. "And that's why you need me."
The words settle over me like a cage.
"You monitor my meds," I realize suddenly. "You decide what I know. You decide who I see."
"Yes."
"And if I disagree?"
"You spiral," he replies.
My throat tightens. "So you get to decide what's best for me."
"I already have."
A knock sounds at the door.
I flinch so hard my heart slams painfully against my ribs.
Elias straightens instantly. "Stay here."
"Who is that?" I ask.
"A check-in," he says. "Routine."
The door opens before I can argue.
A woman steps inside. Mid-forties. Professional. Sharp eyes.
She smiles when she sees me.
Too careful.
"Noa," she says gently. "It's good to see you awake."
My stomach drops. "Do I know you?"
Her smile falters just slightly.
"I'm Dr. Keene," she says. "We've met many times."
I look at Elias. "Why didn't you tell me she was coming?"
"You didn't ask," he replies.
Dr. Keene's gaze moves between us, assessing.
"How are you feeling today?" she asks.
I hesitate. "Confused."
"That's expected," she says. "Do you feel safe?"
The question echoes.
I glance at Elias.
He's watching me closely now.
I swallow. "I… think so."
His shoulders relax imperceptibly.
Dr. Keene nods. "Good. We were worried when you woke up early."
We.
"How early?" I ask.
She exchanges a look with Elias.
"Three weeks," she says.
The world tilts.
"Three weeks since what?"
She opens her mouth—then stops.
Elias's voice cuts in smoothly. "Since the procedure."
My heart pounds violently.
"What procedure?" I whisper.
Dr. Keene looks uncomfortable now. "Elias, I thought she knew."
He doesn't look at her. "She doesn't."
Silence crashes down.
Dr. Keene pales. "Noa… you consented to an experimental memory suppression protocol."
My breath catches painfully. "Experimental?"
"Yes," she says softly. "It's not… fully approved yet."
My vision tunnels.
"What memories did you suppress?" I ask.
She hesitates.
"Doctor," Elias says calmly, "you should go."
Dr. Keene looks torn. Then she meets my gaze, guilt written all over her face.
"You suppressed the memory of the incident," she says. "And the aftermath."
"What aftermath?" I whisper.
Her voice drops. "The investigation."
The word hits like a gunshot.
"In… investigation of what?" I ask.
She swallows. "Of the person who didn't survive the night you broke."
My heart stops.
I turn slowly toward Elias.
He doesn't deny it.
He just looks at me and says, very quietly—
"You didn't just hurt someone, Noa."