I come back to consciousness slowly. In pieces.

  My eyes burn; I can’t open them yet. My throat hurts. Every breath takes a little more effort than it should.

  There are smells. Something old, stored away for years. Something herbal, distant. And… whiskey?

  Why do I smell whiskey?

  I try to move and realize I’m lying on something soft. Too soft. The touch is so gentle it scares me for a moment.

  I don’t remember ever being in a bed like this.

  It is a bed… right?

  I finally open my eyes. This ceiling isn’t mine.

  “You’re finally awake,” a voice says from somewhere nearby.

  The voice is familiar. I don’t even need to sit up to know who it is.

  I shift as best I can, propping myself against the massive wooden headboard.

  “Lorcan…” I try to say.

  The sound barely comes out. My throat burns, like it’s been scraped raw.

  I see Lorcan sitting at the other end of the room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. I never expected to see him like that.

  When he notices I’m awake, he moves immediately. He crosses the room without hurry and sits near the foot of the bed, keeping his distance.

  “Don’t try to talk yet,” he says when he sees me force my voice. “Can you breathe?”

  I nod silently. Every movement of my neck pulls, like my throat still resents me.

  “Are you short of breath? Does your chest hurt?”

  I shake my head. I swallow. Bad idea. I grit my teeth.

  “Good,” he says, more to himself than to me. “That’s a good sign.”

  He stays still for a moment, watching me with clinical focus. As if he’s looking for something only he can see.

  “Do you remember anything?” he asks at last. “After the ice cream shop?”

  I close my eyes. Fragmented images. Cold. Darkness. Crushing pressure… heat…

  “The cold…” I murmur. “And then… you…”

  He nods slowly.

  He opens his mouth to say something else. Closes it. Then sighs.

  “Elena,” he says. “I need to apologize.”

  That makes me look straight at him.

  “What I did,” he continues. “The way I stopped the possession. Suffocation isn’t… pleasant. But it was the only option left.”

  I understand. If it kept me from becoming like that nurse, the pain was worth it. I nod.

  Only now do I really look around. The room is enormous. Ancient. Too quiet.

  “Where…?” My voice breaks. “Where are we?”

  Lorcan hesitates, just barely.

  “We’re at the Kestrel estate. It’s… my home.”

  I blink and sit up more.

  “Why…?”

  “I brought you here because it was the only safe place,” he replies. “I couldn’t leave you on the street. And… I couldn’t let you go after all this.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I watch him closely. He sounds… tired.

  “Do you still… plan to erase me?”

  Lorcan clenches his jaw.

  “Yes. It’s an emergency wipe.”

  The silence presses down.

  “Why… the urgency?” I ask.

  He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

  “Because we’ve known each other for two days,” he says, “and in that time something tried to possess you twice.”

  I open my mouth to argue. There’s nothing to say. I close it again.

  “Those are bad numbers, Elena.”

  He doesn’t sound cruel. He sounds factual. Like a report he doesn’t want to file.

  “Knowing what you know doesn’t protect you,” he continues. “It exposes you. Once you’re aware of them, without training, you become more visible. Easier to find.”

  “I… didn’t ask to be visible…” I say weakly.

  He looks like he’s swallowing glass.

  “I know,” he says quietly. “You saw what happened to the nurse, then survived an attempted possession. You became a point of interest. An open window. And…” His fists tighten. “I won’t always be nearby.”

  “But you were—”

  He looks up. His eyes are hard.

  “This time.”

  I fall silent.

  “I don’t want to forget,” I whisper.

  Lorcan straightens. He’s already decided.

  “I have to do it, Elena,” he says firmly. “It’s protocol. I know it’s not ideal, but—”

  His tone is professional. Controlled. The voice of someone convincing himself as much as me.

  While he talks, I stop listening. I’m evaluating my options.

  Run? I don’t know where I am. I can barely speak—running is fantasy.

  Hit him and bolt? I shocked him in the neck with a stun gun and he didn’t flinch. Discarded.

  Scream? My voice won’t cooperate. And I don’t know if anyone would hear.

  Negotiate? He’s been talking about protocol all day. He won’t change now.

  This is it?

  Is this my fate? To forget?

  I wonder if forgetting also erases the cold. If it erases the fear.

  If it erases the feeling that something is watching me.

  I look up at him.

  “Does it hurt?” I ask quietly.

  Lorcan looks startled. He hesitates.

  “No… It shouldn’t,” he says. “It’s more like a void. As if the last two days never happened.”

  That’s all I need to hear.

  I sink back into the softness of the bed, stare at the ceiling for a moment, exhale, and then close my eyes.

  “Elena, I need you to listen to me,” he continues. “Once the process is over—”

  “I don’t care anymore,” I cut in. “I’m tired of hearing about protocols.”

  He swallows.

  “What are you—?”

  “It was fun while it lasted,” I say, calmer than I feel. “Do what you have to do and shut up.”

  A few seconds pass until I finally feel him move closer.

  Two fingers rest against my forehead. Cold. Unsteady.

  I can’t help the small shiver that runs through me.

  I open my eyes briefly, just to see him one last time.

  He isn’t doing anything. He’s hesitating.

  His fingers tremble more than before.

  Seconds pass. Maybe more. His breathing changes. His fingers shift a millimeter, then stop.

  He doesn’t say a word, but the silence says everything.

  “Is there a problem, officer?” I ask, needling him.

  His jaw tightens.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “What would be the correct term,” I ask, “according to protocol?”

  “You’d know if you’d let me finish.”

  I close my eyes again. His fingers tense once more.

  “Is this supposed to take long?”

  He exhales.

  “This should be easier…” he mutters.

  “I can’t make it any easier,” I say, forcing my voice past my sore throat. “You’re the one who won’t pull the trigger.”

  Finally, I feel his fingers lift from my forehead.

  Instead, his entire hand rests on my head. Confusingly gentle, almost like a caress.

  “Damn it,” he mutters.

  After a moment, he pulls away and leans back. He looks frustrated.

  “I can’t erase your memory.”

  I open one eye, confused.

  “You can’t?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. He stands and starts pacing, as if arranging his thoughts.

  “I can,” he finally says. “But at this point, I shouldn’t.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  He sighs.

  “Emergency erasure is exactly that—emergency. It’s crude. It’s meant to prevent immediate trauma. But… it’s been forty-eight hours.”

  My throat tightens.

  “So… I'd lose everything?”

  “Everything from the last two days,” he says. “As if they never happened. No infirmary. No possession. No ice cream shop. No hill.”

  He pauses. The silence grows heavy. He runs a hand over his face.

  “This is wrong. I know it. But—”

  “Then don’t do it,” I interrupt, my voice cracking. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  He slowly shakes his head.

  “That doesn’t solve anything. Without the erasure, you’ll keep attracting demons.”

  I clench my teeth. The options aren’t exactly comforting.

  “There is… one more option,” he says.

  I look at him, uneasy.

  “You’re not going to suffocate me again, are you?”

  “No,” he says, genuinely confused. “I’ll get a professional.”

  A professional?

  He notices my expression.

  “My method is like giving you amnesia with a hammer,” he explains. “A specialist can examine your vital energy and overwrite your memories—remove the trauma while leaving everything else intact. It’s like brain surgery.”

  A chill runs down my spine.

  It sounds tempting.

  And terrifying.

  “Could I forget just the cold and the shadows?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “And could I… not forget you?”

  He hesitates.

  “That might also be possible. But it would need to be done carefully. We wouldn’t want to restart the trauma.”

  It sounds very tempting.

  “For now,” he continues, “I need you to stay here. It’s dangerous out there without protection, and I need to file the request for the memory specialist. That can take time.”

  I close my eyes.

  It’s the best outcome I’m going to get.

  For now.

  “Thank you, Lorcan.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he says, heading for the door. “This is still our problem.”

  “Our secret,” I correct.

  Silence.

  Then he smiles.

  “Our secret,” he agrees.