Page 32 of Molt

“Lenora...”

“No. You said I don’t die. You said I don’t go anywhere. So what happens to me?”

The hallway is silent.

Then… “You finish.”

I stare at the door. “Finish what?”

“The molt.”

“And?”

His answer is so quiet I almost miss it. “And I don’t.”

My stomach sinks.

I place my hands on the door. “What happens to you?”

“You already saw it.”

The memory. His chest opening. His ribs beneath my skin.

I swallow. “That wasn’t real.”

“It was.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Memories don’t work like that.”

“Ours do.”

“Ours?”

Silence.

I put my forehead against the door. “How many times have we done this?”

“Eight.”

The number makes my stomach turn. Eight lives. Eight versions of me. Eight versions of him?

“Do you come back too?”

“No.”

I frown. “What?”

“I’m always me.”

I lift my head from the door.

“How old are you?”

“Don’t.”