Page 182 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

“We—”

“You should go.” The words came out flatter than I intended, almost calm.

“And stay by her side.”

She frowned, confusion cutting through the relief. “Sia—”

“Felicity, please.” My voice shook—just once, just slightly—and that small crack seemed to reach her. She stared at me for a long moment, searching my face, and then nodded.

She moved toward the door. Rohan followed without a word, his hand already reaching for the handle.

Liam started after them. My hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

He turned, confused.

“Call your father.” My voice hardened, the shake gone, replaced by something colder.

His brow furrowed deeper. “What—”

“Call. Your. Father.” I stepped closer, my voice dropping. “And find out exactly where he is right now. I don’t want to drive to his house only to find he’s not there, but celebrating in some bar, toasting to a job well done.”

Understanding flickered across his face, then horror. “You don’t think…” He trailed off, his eyes darting from me to Cassian, standing silent and watchful beside me. Then he pulled his arm free and yanked out his phone.

He moved a few steps away, the call brief, clipped. When he came back, his expression had hardened into something grim.

“He’s at work.” Liam’s voice was tight. “He sounded like he was expecting my call.”

That was all I needed.

“Stay with Felicity.” I was already moving, already walking away from the door that led to Naija, toward the exit.

It wasn’t a coincidence. A man appears where he has no business being. Hours later, a fire breaks out—a fire that could have killed people, that did hurt people.

I refused to believe in coincidences that convenient.

Michael Hartley was involved. I knew it with the grim certainty of instinct, in my gut, in my bones, in every cell that had learned, over years of necessity, to recognize danger before I could put a name to it.

I was almost out of the hospital doors when I noticed it—another set of footsteps behind me, matching mine stride for stride.

I stopped. Turned.

Cassian nearly walked straight into me. He caught himself at the last second, stopping barely an inch from my face, close enough that for one absurd moment I could hear both of us breathing.

I opened my mouth to ask what he thought he was doing, but he spoke first.

“I drove you, remember?” His voice was maddeningly calm, a steady counterpoint against the chaos brewing inside me. “You’re not going to find a cab this time of night. So come on.”

He started walking before I could respond, pushing through the doors.

I fell into step beside him, my anger building, my mouth opening again—give me the keys, I’ll handle this, you don’t need to be here—

“I’m not giving you the keys.” He didn’t even look at me, just kept walking toward the car. “You’re in no state to drive, Alessia.”

He reached the passenger door and pulled it open. Only then did his eyes lift to mine. “Get in.”

I could have stood there. Could have argued, told him I didn’t need a babysitter, that I had been handling things on my own just fine, that he should go back inside and wait with the others.

Or I could sit in the car and save every ounce of my anger for the person who actually deserved it.