Noa POV
The door closes behind Elias with a softness that terrifies me more than if he'd slammed it.
That calm again.
That controlled, surgical calm—like he's already decided how this ends.
"Sit," he says, gesturing to the chair across from my desk like we're about to have a civilized conversation.
I don't sit.
I keep my hand clenched behind my back, fingers wrapped around the flash drive so tightly the plastic bites into my skin.
"What did you remember?" he asks.
His tone is gentle. Curious. Almost tender.
I tilt my head, studying him the way I imagine prey studies a predator when it realizes too late that it's been watched the entire time.
"You," I say.
His jaw tightens—just barely.
"That's vague," he replies. "You remember me every day."
"No," I whisper. "I remembered through you."
Silence.
The air between us thickens, stretching, waiting.
Elias steps further into the room and shuts the door completely. The click of the lock is soft.
Deliberate.
"I don't like games, Noa," he says quietly. "They're destabilizing for you."
"For me?" I laugh, sharp and brittle. "You wiped my mind like it was a whiteboard and I'm the unstable one?"
His eyes darken.
"You're spiraling," he says. "That's expected at this stage."
"Stage?" My chest tightens. "How many stages are there, Elias?"
He doesn't answer.
That's answer enough.
I move slowly toward the desk, placing the flash drive on its surface between us.
His gaze drops to it.
Just for half a second.
But I see it.
Fear.
Pure, naked fear.
"You missed something," I say.
He exhales through his nose. "Noa—"
"I left it for myself," I continue. "Didn't I?"
The silence is deafening now.
"Where did you get that?" he asks.
My pulse hammers. "Does it matter?"
"Yes," he says sharply. "It matters a great deal."
"Because you didn't control it," I say. "And you hate that."
Something shifts in his expression.
Not anger.
Calculation.
"You don't know what's on that drive," he says. "You're assuming."
"I'm done assuming," I snap. "I want the truth."
He steps closer.
The room feels smaller with every inch he closes.
"You can't handle the truth," he says softly. "You proved that."
I laugh again, but this time there's no hysteria in it.
"You don't get to decide what I can handle anymore."
He stops in front of me.
Close enough that I can smell his cologne. Feel the heat of him.
"You asked me to protect you," he says. "You begged me."
"And you took that permission and turned it into a cage."
His jaw clenches.
"You don't remember the nights you screamed," he says, voice low. "The way you clawed at your own skin. The way you couldn't eat without throwing up. You were gone, Noa."
"And instead of letting me heal," I whisper, "you edited me."
"I saved you."
"You owned me."
The word lands.
Hard.
He recoils like I slapped him.
"That's not fair," he says.
I tilt my head. "Isn't it?"
His voice drops. "You don't know what you're saying."
"I know exactly what I'm saying."
I reach for my laptop.
He grabs my wrist instantly.
Too fast.
Too practiced.
"Don't," he says, voice warning now.
I meet his eyes.
"You're scared," I say. "You weren't scared before."
His grip tightens.
"You're confused."
"No," I whisper. "I'm awake."
I yank my wrist free and slam the flash drive into the laptop.
The screen lights up.
A single folder appears.
FOR WHEN HE LIES TO YOU AGAIN
My breath stutters.
Elias goes very still.
"Noa," he says carefully. "Turn that off."
I click the folder.
A video file opens.
The timestamp makes my stomach drop.
Recorded: 11 days before the fall
My own face fills the screen.
But she looks different.
Thinner. Sharper. Eyes hollow and furious.
Not fragile.
Not broken.
Terrified—but aware.
I press play.
The version of me on the screen leans closer to the camera.
"If you're watching this," she says, voice shaking but steady, "then Elias already erased you."
My chest caves in.
Elias lunges for the laptop.
I shove him back.
"Don't touch it!"
His calm shatters.
"You don't understand what this will do to you!"
The video continues.
"He'll tell you I was paranoid," she says. "That I imagined the man following me. That the fall was an accident."
I choke on a sob.
"None of that is true," she continues. "I didn't push him because I was scared."
Her eyes harden.
"I pushed him because he had a knife."
The room spins.
Elias goes pale.
"I screamed for help," the video says. "Someone saw. Her name is Leah."
My knees weaken.
"If Elias is still with you," my recorded voice continues, "it means he chose control over justice."
I look at him.
At the man who taught me how to breathe through panic attacks.
Who cooked my meals.
Who kissed my scars.
"He will say he loves you," the video says. "And he does—in the way collectors love rare things."
Elias's voice cracks. "Noa, stop."
"I can't," I whisper.
The video version of me swallows hard.
"This is the most important part," she says. "If you're still with him, it means he didn't erase everything."
Her eyes flick to the side, like she's listening for someone.
"If he ever lets you remember this," she says, "it's because he thinks you're already broken enough not to leave."
Tears stream down my face.
"Prove him wrong."
The video ends.
Silence crashes over the room like a body hitting concrete.
I can't breathe.
My hands shake violently.
Elias steps toward me, eyes wild now, control completely gone.
"You don't know how much I gave up for you," he says hoarsely. "I ruined my life to keep you alive."
"You ruined mine to keep me quiet," I whisper.
He reaches for me.
I back away.
"Don't," I warn.
"You still need me," he says desperately. "You won't survive this without me."
I straighten, every nerve screaming.
"I survived you," I say.
His face twists.
"You're nothing without me," he snaps.
The words hit—and something inside me snaps back into place.
I smile.
Slow.
Cold.
"That's funny," I say softly.
"Because the version of me you erased?"
I pick up the flash drive and slide it into my pocket.
"She knew exactly how to destroy you."
His eyes widen.
And for the first time since I woke up—
Elias looks like the one who might not survive this.