Morning came too quickly.
I'd slept, technically. Closed my eyes, breathed, and existed in horizontal silence. But rest didn't happen. Not when my mind replayed the same three thoughts on a loop:
Her memory is gone.
I did this.
Don't break her again.
I dressed slower than usual — not out of hesitation, but calculation. No suit. No sharp lines. Nothing that could set off subconscious alarm bells. I needed to look… ordinary. Approachable. A stranger she wouldn't flinch from.
Cameron sat on my couch eating cereal like a homeless raccoon who'd found civilization.
"You look terrifyingly normal," he said. "It's disgusting. I hate it."
I ignored him and checked my watch again.
Too early to leave.
Too late to stop my hands from tightening.
