Epilogue
The room is beautiful.
That's the first thing I notice when I open my eyes. The way the light falls through gauze curtains, turning everything soft and golden. The ceiling is painted with stars, silver and white against deep blue, and for a moment, I just stare at them. Trying to remember if I've seen them before.
I don't think I have. But I'm not sure.
The bed beneath me is impossibly soft. The sheets smell like lavender and something else, something sharp and green that I almost recognize. When I push myself upright, my body aches in ways I can't explain. My hands are bandaged. There's a tender spot at the base of my throat.
The room is large and bright and filled with beautiful things. A vanity with a silver mirror, fresh flowers in a crystal vase, a wardrobe carved from pale wood. None of it feels familiar. But none of it feels wrong, either.
A man stands at the window wearing a long green robe with gold stitching. He has black hair, and when he turns to look at me, I notice his light brown eyes and warm smile.
“You're awake,” he says, his voice warm. “How do you feel?”
I open my mouth to answer and find I don't know. I feel hollow.
“Confused,” I whisper hoarsely.
“That's to be expected.” He crosses to the bed and sits at the edge, careful to leave space between us. “You've been through an ordeal. Do you remember what happened?”
I try to reach for it and find nothing but fog. Shapes moving in the dark. A roar of sound. Red light. The taste of something metallic on my tongue.
“No.”
“What do you remember?”
I close my eyes and search for solid ground. Facts. Things I know.
“My name is Ada.” The words come slowly, like pulling thread through a needle. "I'm a healer. I live in … in …” The fog thickens. “Lunaris. I lived in Lunaris.”
“Good.” He sounds pleased. “What else?”
I frown. “I think I have a brother.”
“You do. Jordan. He's safe. I've made sure of it.”
Relief flickers through me, though I couldn't explain why. I can't picture his face. Can't remember the sound of his voice. But the word brother feels true, and right now, that's enough.
“Anything else?” the man asks.
I push harder. Try to find the edges of the emptiness. There's something there. Something important, but every time I reach for it, it dissolves.
“There was … someone.” The words feel dangerous in my mouth. “I think there was someone.”
“Someone?”
The ache in my chest sharpens. That absence. “I don't know. I can't—” I frown, pressing my hand against my sternum. “I can't remember.”
“That's alright.” He smiles. “You're safe now. That's what matters.”
Safe. The word feels wrong somehow.
“Who are you?” I ask.
Something flickers across his face. There and gone.
“My name is Cato,” he says. “And I've been waiting a very long time to meet you, Ada.”
He reaches out and brushes the hair from my forehead. His hand is cool. Careful. The gesture should feel comforting, but something in my chest recoils from it. Some instinct I can't name.
“Where am I?”
“Somewhere safe. Somewhere no one can hurt you.” He stands, smoothing his green robe. “Rest now. You need to recover your strength. There will be time for answers later.”
He moves toward the door, and panic spikes through me, sudden and sharp. “Wait.”
He pauses. Turns.
“Will you …” I don't know how to finish. Don't know what I'm asking for. "Will you come back?"
His smile widens. “Of course. I'm not going anywhere, Ada. Neither are you.”
The door clicks shut behind him, and I'm alone.
I sink back into the pillows and stare at the painted stars on the ceiling. They blur as my eyes fill with water I don't understand. I'm not sad. I don't think so, anyway, but something in me is grieving anyway. Mourning a loss I can't name.
The tug comes again.
Sharp. Insistent. A thread pulled taut in the center of my chest.
I press my hand against it and try to follow it. Try to trace it back to wherever it leads, but there's nothing on the other end. Just fog and silence.
Someone, I think. There was someone.
But the thought dissolves before I can hold it, and by morning, I've forgotten it was ever there.