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“That’s it, Molly. Take it slow. You’re safe.”

A familiar voice. Bursts of light waxed and waned behind Molly’s eyelids, still screwed shut. Her pulse pounded behind her sinuses, shooting through her eye sockets.

“When you’re ready,” the voice said again, quieter now, “try opening your eyes.”

Molly allowed the muscles in her face to relax. Her eyes fluttered open and shut in a groaning blink of agony. Such bright lights.

She was in the hospital. Echoes called out from a foggy memory. She answered them in confusion, knowing the sound they made, the shape of their call, but lacking the ability to translate them into coherent thought.

She’d been here before.

“I’ll lower the lights a bit,” the familiar voice said.

The pressure in Molly’s head began to settle. Finally able to think without a garrote cutting through all her thoughts, she began sorting between the things she knew, the things she felt, and the things she had the mental acuity to process in that moment.

“Molly, you’re at New Hope Regional Hospital. I’m here to help. Can you tell me if you’re in any pain?”

Past and present, memory and reality, collided in her head. She’d heard this before.

Dr. M-Something. What was it? Molly coughed, finally forcing her eyes open again.

“These aren’t the circumstances I would have liked to see you again, but I’m glad I could be here for you. If you’re feeling awake enough, I’d like to ask you a few questions. Do you think you’re up to that right now?”

Molly nodded, an unfamiliar and inappropriate thrill shooting through her. She could get these questions right.

The doctor typed something into the computer by Molly’s bed.

“What’s your full name?”

“Molly Elizabeth Graham-Bishop.”

The pounding from Molly’s head had shifted to her chest, a familiar thunder behind her ribs.

“And what state are we in?”

“Connecticut,” Molly said.

“How old are you?”

Her head swam as she answered.

“And,” the doctor began—had Molly ruled out Meyer? Morgan? “Do you have any memory of the last six years of your life?”

Molly felt like she might throw up, fear and guilt roiling her insides. Her eyes stung with sudden tears. In a strange sense of obligation, she felt like she’d failed at something. As if she’d been meant to wake up here and remember everything.

She shook her head. The most difficult refutation of her life. No.

Dr. Macmillan—Macmillan, that was it!—turned away from the computer, pushing the keyboard in. “I think that’s enough for now. We can continue after you’ve had more rest.”

Molly nodded, screwing her eyes shut. A shooting pain behind her eyes robbed her of the ability to speak.

“Try to sleep,” Dr. Macmillan said.

As her sedatives kicked in, the wildfire in her skull dulled. But the grief remained.

The next time Molly woke, Alannah sat at her bedside. For a moment, Molly’s head lurched, trapped once again between her past and present, trying to make sense of the scene in front of her. Alannah had one protective hand resting against her stomach, and it told Molly everything she needed to know. Present, not past. Reality, not memory.

Alannah’s eyes were shiny. She lunged forward, encircling Molly in a hug.