“Get your hand off the watch, Mara. Now.”
Dax didn’t ask. He snapped. Before I could blink, he was in my space, chest nearly brushing my shoulder. He gripped my wrist—his palm was scorching, a violent contrast to the freezing air of the crime scene—and wrenched my arm away from the dead man.
I stumbled, my boots scuffing the concrete. “I was reading it!”
“Move,” he growled.
“That voice—the kid—he said I wasn’t the first!” I snapped, trying to shake him off. “And that photo? Dax, it was twenty years old. I wasn’t even in this city twenty years ago.”
He didn't let go. He pivoted, slamming me back against the cold metal of the industrial shelving. The scent of rain and ozone clung to him, heavy and oppressive. He leaned in, face inches from mine, eyes scanning me like he was looking for a glitch in the code.
“Which is exactly why you’re a liability,” he whispered. His breath hitched. “You’re not just a memory thief anymore. You’re a target. A copy. Or a very loud piece of bait.”
“I’m neither!” I shoved his chest. He didn’t budge. He was a wall of muscle and bad intentions. “I don’t know who that girl is, but she has my face. My exact face. How is that possible?”
Dax released my wrist, but he didn’t step back. He stayed right there, invading every inch of my air. He reached into his coat and pulled out a blackened device—a dampener.
“Stop thinking about the photo,” he ordered. “The contract is humming. If you keep spiraling, you’ll leak memories into the open. We're in a hot zone.”
“I can’t just turn it off!” I yelled, my voice echoing through the hollow warehouse. “My head feels like it’s being split open. Since we signed that damn blood-link, everything is... shifting.”
*Crack.*
A spike of pain shot through my temples. My knees buckled. I didn't hit the floor, though. Dax caught me by the waist, hauling me tight against him.
Suddenly, the warehouse vanished.
I saw a playground. Rusted swings. A small boy with scraped knees holding a blue marble, laughing. Beside him stood a girl—me, but smaller—wearing a yellow dress I’d never owned. We were holding hands.
*“Don’t let go, Dax,”* the little girl whispered. *“If we let go, the shadows come back.”*
I blinked. The image shattered. I was back in the warehouse, gasping for air, clutching Dax’s forearm.
He was staring at me, his grip on my waist tightening. His fingers dug into my hip. For the first time, I saw it: a flicker of genuine fear in his eyes.
“What was that?” he demanded, voice low and dangerous. “Tell me you didn’t just see a memory.”
“A playground,” I panted, heart hammering. “A boy. You. We were kids, Dax. We were holding hands.”
Dax shoved me away instantly. I nearly sprawled across the floor. He backed up, hand hovering over the holster at his hip.
“I don’t have a childhood,” he spat. “I was raised in a facility. I’ve never been to a playground in my life. Get out of my head, Voss.”
“I’m not doing this on purpose!” I shouted. “The contract—it’s not just linking our lives. It’s mixing our pasts. Or it’s feeding me something that isn’t yours.”
“Or it’s feeding me yours,” he countered, eyes narrowing. “Maybe you’re just desperate for a connection. Maybe you're inventing a history for us.”
“I don’t invent fake childhoods with enforcers who treat me like a criminal!”
He stepped back in, predatory. He didn't stop until I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up.
“Listen carefully,” he murmured, his voice vibrating in his chest. “Whatever you think you saw is a lie. The thief in that photo? The one who killed Vale? That’s the only version of you that matters. If you start believing in fairy tales, you get sloppy. And when you get sloppy, you die. I’ll be the one cleaning up the mess.”
I wanted to bite him. I wanted to scream. Instead, I stared into those cold eyes and felt a traitorous shiver run down my spine. The tension wasn’t just anger—it was a wire stretched so tight it was humming.
“You’re terrified,” I whispered. “That’s why you’re pushing me away. You’re scared it’s real.”
Dax’s jaw tightened. He didn't answer. He just let go of my chin and turned away, boots clicking on the concrete. “We’re leaving. Now. Before the cleanup crew arrives.”
We moved toward the exit, the silence between us jagged. I kept glancing at him, wondering why the boy with the blue marble felt more real than the man beside me.
Just as we hit the steel doors, the lights flickered.
Once. Twice.
Then, the entire block went pitch black. Total, oppressive darkness.
“Stay behind me,” Dax commanded. I heard the metallic slide of his weapon being racked.
I reached for my kit, but a cold breeze brushed my neck. Not wind. Someone was standing right behind me, breathing on my skin.
“You finally remember,” a voice whispered.
I spun around. In the center of the room, illuminated by a single, ghostly pale light, stood a woman.
She was wearing my clothes. She had my hair. My height, my jawline, the same scar on the left wrist. She was me. A perfect, terrifying mirror.
But her eyes were void. Two holes punched into the universe.
“Who the hell are you?” Dax roared, stepping in front of me, gun leveled at the double’s head.
The double didn’t flinch. She didn’t even look at him. She kept her gaze locked on me, a cruel smile playing on her lips.
“I’m the part of you that doesn’t lie, Mara,” she said. Her voice sounded like mine, but layered—ten people speaking at once. “I’m the one who knows what happened on the seventh night.”
“Shut up!” Dax yelled. “Identify yourself or I’ll put a hole in your head!”
The double laughed—a sharp, jagged sound. In a blur of motion, she vanished.
I felt a violent tug on my shoulder. I was yanked backward, and before I could scream, the cold muzzle of a gun pressed firmly against my temple.
It wasn’t Dax’s gun.
The double was behind me, arm wrapped around my neck, holding Dax’s own weapon—the one he’d been holding a second ago—against my head.
“Checkmate,” she whispered into my ear.
Across the room, Dax froze. His hand was empty. His face went pale, eyes wide as he stared at his own gun pointed at the woman he was supposed to protect.
“Let her go,” Dax said, his voice trembling with a rage I’d never heard.
“Only if you admit it,” the double replied, her finger tightening on the trigger. “Admit that you remember the playground.”