Velena's breath came fast, her pulse hammering against her ribs.
Ceil wasn't speaking.
He was just watching her.
Waiting.
Like he expected her to say something first.
Like he was waiting for her to remember.
But she couldn't.
Or maybe... she didn't want to.
She forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat. "Say something."
Ceil's voice was impossibly calm. "I think you already know what I'm going to ask."
She did.
And she didn't have an answer.
Not one that made sense. Not one that explained why her name was in a classified file connected to his father's murder.
"I don't remember," she said, her voice quieter than she wanted it to be.
Ceil exhaled slowly, but he didn't look away.
"Then we have a problem."
A PAST THAT WON'T STAY BURIED...
Velena forced herself to focus.
She clicked on the next file, scrolling through the documents inside. Every piece of information felt like a puzzle she couldn't put together.
The Blackthorn initiative.
Project Revenant.
A list of names—many of them already crossed out.
And then, buried at the bottom of the document, a location.
Vladivostok.
Velena's throat tightened.
She knew that place.
It was a distant memory, one she had locked away. A place she had never spoken about.
Ceil's gaze flickered towards her. "Recognize it?"
Velena hesitated. "Yes."
A pause.
Then, Ceil reached into his pocket and placed something on the table. A single, aged photograph.
Velena's chest constricted.
It was her.
Much younger, standing outside a building she barely remembered.
And next to her—
A man with dark eyes. A man who wasn't Ceil's father.
Velena's hands curled into fists. "Where did you get this?"
Ceil didn't blink. "It was in my father's files."
She shook her head. "That's not possible."
Ceil leaned forward slightly, voice steady. "Then explain why you were there."
Velena's mind raced.
She had no memory of this moment. No recollection of ever standing beside the man in the photo.
But she knew one thing for certain—
That wasn't a coincidence.
And that terrified her.
THE FIRST REAL MEMORY...
A dull ache pulsed at the back of Velena's head.
Vladivostok. The cold. The smell of the ocean. A room with no windows.
A voice telling her to stay quiet.
She pressed a hand to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut.
Ceil's voice was distant. "Velena."
A flash of movement. A scream.
Then—a gunshot.
Her eyes snapped open, her breath shallow.
She knew this memory.
And suddenly, she wished she didn't.
THE UNSPOKEN TRUTH...
Ceil hadn't moved. He was still watching her, his expression unreadable.
Velena's throat felt dry. "Your father...was he in Vladivostok?"
Ceil's jaw tightened just slightly, "Yes."
Her fingers curled against the desk.
Then it was real.
Somehow, in a way she couldn't yet explain—she had been there.
Then maybe—just maybe—she had seen it happen.