Page 2 of Fractured Memories

While my mind is very spotty right now, a part of me wants to use the element of surprise to burst through the flap and jump one of them. They probably have a weapon, but the urge to fight is there nonetheless. Something I must be good at.

Please let me be good at it.

I force myself to hold still, wanting to glean as much information as I can. I’m hoping that the pounding in my head will subside and everything else will make sense.

“We spent months planning this, and you are questioning me now? She’s here, isn’t she?”

They are definitely talking about me.

“We were supposed to get in and out. Instead, half the fucking mountain knew we were there because we had to cut the electricity⁠—”

“We had to improvise.” The raspier voice sounds like it would be accompanied by a shrug.

“And,” the other one continues, seething, “we lost their damn⁠—”

“Damian.” The man sighs. “I know it wasn’t ideal. But that isn’t the point. She is here now, and it’s important that we stick to the rest of the plan.”

Silence lapses for a moment, and I wonder if Damian—whoever the hell that is—is trying to rein his anger in. Finally, in a much calmer voice, he says, “She hasn’t woken up yet. Should I be concerned?”

“Give it a little longer. If she’s not up soon, I’ll grab Doc.”

Their feet shift, and I scramble back, realizing one of them is coming in here. I launch myself back as fast as I can, nearly falling on my ass as I drop to the edge of the bed just as the flap is pushed aside.

The man in the entrance pauses, tilting his head to the side. He’s backlit, but I can still make out the frown etched into his face and his shirt clinging to his large, muscular frame. He looks to be about my age, though life has definitely hardened him.

He huffs, running a hand through shaggy, sandy blond hair. “You’re awake.”

This is Damian, then. His voice still pulls at the back of my mind, but there’s nothing concrete to tell me how I should respond to him. All I know is that he seemed at least slightly worried about my state and said that someone was looking for me.

I’m already losing my grasp on the details of my dream, just vaguely remembering my lungs burning for air. Without any context, I’m not sure what I should do right now. Am I safe? Do I trust this man? Why does he seem both wary and relieved?

I have so many questions, but finding the answers feels like trying to hold water in my cupped hands. Everything is slipping away.

“I am,” I croak out, wincing as it makes pain lance up my neck and through the back of my head.

Damian’s dark eyes assess me before he turns and zips the tent shut. Then, he crosses the space, a slight limp to his right leg. He stops just shy of me, lifting a glass of water from the nightstand. “Drink.”

I take it from him, lifting the glass to my lips. But instead of immediately taking a sip, I inhale. Somewhere, in the recesses of my mind, it feels like instinct. I wonder if I know how to tell if something has been tampered with.

Either way, without those memories, I can’t smell anything at all.

Damian snorts out what might be an unamused chuckle. “It’s just water.”

I take a tentative sip, and when the taste doesn’t trigger another response—because I’m acting on pure instinct right now—I drink greedily. I know Damian watches me the entire time, still standing a safe distance from me, and when I finish, I don’t set the glass down. I’d rather smash it against the nightstand and use the jagged edges if need be.

Where I’ve honed this particular skill of turning ordinary items into a weapon, I don’t know. But it seems to be handy right now.

“How do you feel?” His arms cross as his eyes continue to bore into me. It feels like he’s trying to see right through my skull himself.

I roll my shoulders back and meet his gaze. “Fine.”

His nostrils flare a little, and I have a feeling that Damian doesn’t like to be challenged. Too bad I’m not going to admit my weaknesses to him.

“No pain?” He lifts a brow. “No soreness? Nothing?”

“Are you implying that I should feel something along those lines?” Give me something here. I don’t want to admit I have no clue where I am or who he is.

“Yes. I’d expect you’d have a long list of symptoms beyond a dry throat.”