The silence between them was louder than a scream.
Maya stared at J—his face shadowed by the morning light cutting through the stained-glass windows above. She had imagined this moment so many times. But not like this. Not with warnings. Not with pain.
"What do you mean—remember who I am?" she asked.
J stepped closer, but carefully, like she might shatter.
"You were silenced, Maya. Not just emotionally—literally. You were drugged. Gaslit. They erased pieces of your memory. That's why you can't remember what really happened the night the fire started."
Maya felt her knees weaken.
"The fire?"
J nodded slowly. "The one that killed your brother."
Her breath hitched.
No. No.
That night was a blur in her mind, like someone had smeared charcoal across the film of her life. All she remembered was screaming… smoke… a locked door… and then—
Darkness.
"You're lying," she said, voice shaking.
"I wish I was," J replied. "But I saw it. I was there. They pinned it on you. Then they made you forget."
Maya stumbled back, pressing a hand to her mouth.
J's voice softened. "That's why I stayed close all this time. Watching. Waiting. Until you were strong enough to face the truth."
Tears stung her eyes. She wanted to run. To scream. To rip this truth out and throw it away. But another part of her—deeper, buried—remembered.
Smoke.
Screams.
And the sound of her own voice yelling, "It wasn't me!"
J reached into his coat and pulled out a locket. He opened it.
Inside, a photo of two children.
Maya gasped.
It was her. And her brother.
And next to them—
A boy with those same haunting eyes.
"You knew me?" she whispered.
"I never stopped."