CHAPTER FIVE

Sylvie’s POV

At first, there was nothing, just absolute stillness and black. It felt like a long-needed rest after a stressful day, the kind of sleep that anchors you so deeply you forget you have a body.

Then, something shook me. It wasn't rough, just a persistent tugging at the edges of my consciousness. I tried to pull away, wanting to sink back into the warmth of my duvet. Five more minutes, I thought. Just five more.

“Hey… wake up.”

The voice was unfamiliar, it was low and hoarse, but my mind was slow, drugged by exhaustion. I groaned softly, turning my face away as something cold and damp pressed into my cheek. My head throbbed in sync with my pulse, each beat a sharp reminder that I was tethered to my body.

The shaking came again, firmer this time.

I shifted, half-asleep, reaching out a hand for the familiar edge of my mattress. I expected soft cotton and the scent of lavender detergent, but I felt a cold ground instead.

“Wake up. You can't stay here.”

Annoyance flickered weakly. I forced my eyes open, but the light was a physical blow. I winced, squinting against the glare, and then the smell hit me. It wasn't lavender. It was the stench of rot, rusted metal, and old waste.

As my vision cleared, a face hovered barely a foot from mine.

He was a mountain of a man, with a thick, unkempt beard and hair that looked wild and matted with grease. His eyes were sharp and dark and were watching me with a kind of intensity that made my skin crawl.

The scream tore out of my throat before I could even process the danger.

"No! Please!" I shrieked, my body lurching backward with a violent, animal instinct. My hands slipped on slick gravel as I scrambled away, the heels of my palms skidding over broken glass. I didn't feel the sting, only the cold fire of adrenaline.

"Stay away from me! Don't kill me!" I sobbed, my back hitting a brick wall with a thud that knocked the air from my lungs. I curled into a ball, shielding my head with my arms. "Please, I don't have anything! Just let me go!"

The man froze, his boots crunching on the debris as he instinctively threw his hands up. "Hey, hey! Quiet down! I’m not going to hurt you, girl. I’m trying to help you."

"Don't touch me!" I cried, my breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.

"I'm staying right here," he said, his voice rising in an attempt to be heard over my hysterics. "But you can't be lying out here in the open like this. This neighborhood isn't safe for a girl alone. Look at yourself, you're a mess."

His words acted like a bucket of ice water. I forced my eyes to move, finally taking in my surroundings. I wasn't in my bedroom. I was in a narrow, filth-strewn alleyway. To my left, a tipped-over dumpster leaked black fluid; to my right, shadows stretched long and jagged against the grime-covered brick.

Then, I looked down at myself.

A new scream, higher and more guttural than the first, ripped through the air. My hands were shredded and coated in a mixture of gray dirt and bright, wet blood. But it was the clothes that terrified me. I was wearing a wedding dress. Or at least, it had been one once. Now, the white lace was a map of tragedy—shredded at the hem, stained with blood, and splattered across the bodice.

"Oh god," I choked out, clutching at the ruined fabric. "Oh god, what… what… happened to me?"

I turned back to look at the bearded man, hoping for some answers.

"Move back, give her some space!" a woman’s voice commanded.

I turned around to see a small crowd beginning to gather at the mouth of the alley. A woman stepped forward, her heels clicking rhythmically against the pavement. She wore a neat gray gown and carried herself with a calm, clinical authority.

She knelt a few feet away, keeping a respectful distance. "Sir, take another step back," she told the bearded man. He grumbled but complied, retreating toward the street.

"Hello," the woman said softly, her eyes locking onto mine. "My name is Dr. Aris. I’m a psychiatrist. You’ve had a shock, but you are safe now. I promise."

"The blood..." I whispered, my hands shaking so hard I had to tuck them under my arms. "Why am I wearing this? Why am I bleeding? Most importantly, why am I here?"

"We're going to figure that out," Dr. Aris said, her voice a steady anchor. "But first, I need you to breathe with me. Just a deep breath."

I tried, but it felt like I was inhaling glass.

"That's it," she encouraged. "Now, let's start with the basics. It’ll help us get you home. Can you tell me your name?"

I opened my mouth to answer. “My name is…,” I started, but my brain short-circuited.

The word stayed behind a locked door. I frowned, searching my mind for the familiar syllables. I waited for the automatic response, the simple truth I’d known since I was a child.

Nothing.

I reached back into my memory, looking for a face, a house, a birthday, anything. But my past was a smooth, featureless wall.

"I..." I started, my voice cracking. I tried again, pushing harder, desperate to find the thread. "My name is…”

“Yeah?”

“Haq,” I let out a humorless laugh. I should know my name if nothing else; my name should be the first thing in my mind, but what was going on?

“Dear?”

“I don't know,” I said in disbelief, my tummy turning at the sudden turn of events.

Dr. Aris’s expression didn't change, but her eyes sharpened with concern. "It’s okay. Sometimes trauma causes the brain to protect itself. Just take a second. Can you remember anyone at all? A family member? A friend? Or a husband?" She gestured vaguely to the ruined lace of my dress.

The word "husband" sent a spike of white-hot pain through my temples. I squeezed my eyes shut, clutching my head as if I could hold the fragments of my mind together.

"I can't remember!" I wailed, the realization finally crashing down on me. I was a ghost in a blood-stained dress. "There is nothing! I swear I am trying, but it’s just gone! Everything is gone!"

"We should call the police," someone in the crowd muttered.

The word "police" triggered a phantom reflex. My hand flew to my throat, my fingers acting on a memory my brain didn't possess. I felt something cold and metallic beneath the collar of the dress.

Slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs, I pulled a thin silver chain from beneath the lace. A small, circular pendant slid into my palm. It felt real in a way the rest of the world wasn't.

I turned it over with trembling fingers. There, engraved in elegant, looping script, was a single word.

"Kael," I whispered, the name tasting like a secret and a prayer all at once. "Kael."

My eyes burned. I did not know who this person was, but saying their name made me feel like I was standing on the edge of something I had fallen from.

The woman leaned closer. “Did you say a name?”

I could not speak. I only held out the necklace. She took it carefully and opened it.

“The heavens are with you, there is a phone number,” she said softly. “I am calling it.”

My heart pounded as she lifted her phone.

The ringing felt endless.

I pressed my hand against my chest, tears sliding silently down my face, as grief settled in without a memory to attach itself to.

Then the call connected.

A man’s voice answered. Low. Controlled. Dangerous in its restraint.

“Kael Voss speaking.”