Another sob chokes off my words. I press my palm against my mouth, trying to get control of myself. Trying to breathe through the overwhelming emotion still flooding my system from that memory that shouldn't exist.
Nimae moves closer, her usual careful distance evaporating in the face of my obvious distress. "Can you sit up? Let's get you off the floor."
She helps me into a sitting position, my back against the wall. The stone is cold through my shirt but grounding. Real. Present. Not like the vivid warmth of that study, of Malrec's arms around me.
"I'm sorry," I manage, wiping roughly at my face. "I don't know what—this keeps happening."
"What keeps happening?" Nimae settles beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. It's the most physically present she's ever been with me.
I hesitate, trying to find words for something I don't understand myself. "Flashbacks. Or—I don't know what to call them. They feel like memories, but they can't be. They're of things that never happened."
Nimae watches me carefully, her expression difficult to read. "What kind of things?"
"Just—moments. Conversations. Being somewhere I've never been." I can't tell her it's about Malrec. Can't admit that I keep experiencing what feels like memories of being in love with him, of knowing him with an intimacy that makes no sense given our actual history. "But they're so vivid. So real. And my body?—"
I stop, pressing my hand against my chest where my heart is still racing.
"Your body remembers," Nimae finishes quietly. "Even when your mind doesn't."
I look at her sharply, surprised by the observation. "Yes. Exactly that. How did you?—"
"I've seen things like this before." She shifts slightly, her gaze distant. "Memory isn't always linear. Sometimes it hides from us. Sometimes it comes back in pieces that don't fit together until they suddenly do."
"But these aren't my memories." The words come out desperate, pleading. "They can't be. I would remember—if any of this was real, I wouldremember."
Would I though? I have gaps already. Stretches of time I can't account for. What if there are bigger gaps than I realized? What if I lost more than just scattered moments?
What if I lost everything?
Nimae is quiet for a long moment. Then she reaches out and takes my hand, her fingers warm against mine. The gesture is so unexpected, so unlike her usual restraint, that I feel fresh tears spring to my eyes.
"You're not alone in this," she says softly. "Whatever is happening to you—whatever you're remembering or experiencing—you're not alone. I'm here."
It's the closest thing I've had to family since I can remember. This quiet companionship with another human who sees me as more than just disposable labor. Who's sitting with me on the floor of a corridor at an ungodly hour, holding my hand while I fall apart over memories that might not be memories at all.
"Thank you," I whisper, squeezing her fingers.
12
MALREC
Azhrael's scales shift beneath my palm, warm and faintly rough like volcanic glass that hasn't fully cooled. I run my hand along the ridge of his neck, feeling the massive muscles coil and relax under my touch. The rhythm of it is meditative, grounding in a way that nothing else has been for the past three days.
Three days since I kissed her.
Three days since I felt like I was remembering something that never happened while simultaneously experiencing it for the first time.
Azhrael rumbles low in his chest, a sound that vibrates through the stone beneath my feet. Not aggressive—content. He's been calmer since Lenna returned from the auction, since her signature was bound into the containment wards. Like having her presence woven into the estate's magical infrastructure settled something fundamental in him that my authority alone never could.
I should find that concerning. Should be analyzing what it means that my most dangerous beast responds to a humanlaborer with more genuine cooperation than he's shown me in years.
Instead, I can't stop thinking about the way she looked at me in that garden. The confusion and desire warring in her eyes, mirroring exactly what I felt. The way she'd touched me like she already knew how we fit together.
"You're going to wear a groove in his scales if you keep that up."
I don't startle at Damiros's voice, though I hadn't heard him approach. Years of managing volatile beasts have trained me to maintain composure even when caught off-guard. I continue stroking Azhrael's neck, not looking up.
"He's restless," I say evenly. "The new acquisition disrupted the territorial balance. I'm reinforcing stability through direct contact."
