"My wife," I said finally, my voice low, steady — the kind of calm that always made people flinch.
"How is she?"
Silence.
A long, telling one.
Gray’s eyes flicked down, his posture tightening. Cameron’s expression shifted — the humor drained out of it. He shifted in his chair, jaw working, suddenly finding the floor fascinating.
No one answered.
I straightened slowly. "Don’t make me repeat myself."
Cameron sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "She was discharged two weeks ago. Physically, she’s fine. Comes in for regular check-ups. Kassel’s people are monitoring her progress."
"Progress?"
Gray’s voice came next, quieter, as if each word weighed more than it should. "She... lost her memory, sir."
For a second, I thought I’d misheard.Then the words registered — and every sound in the room went distant.
"What do you mean, she lost her memory?"
The sterile silence in the room amplified, pressing down on me like a physical weight. My own breathing seemed unnaturally loud, each inhale a struggle against an invisible force. Cameron and Gray exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them that spoke of shared dread and the unwelcome burden of bad news.
"Retrograde amnesia," Gray said carefully. "Kassel believes it’s a defense mechanism — her brain is protecting itself by blocking out trauma. She’s lost roughly a year of memory. Everything leading up to the past twelve months."
A sharp, heavy silence swallowed the room.
Cameron’s voice was lower when he spoke next. "She’s under observation for post-traumatic stress and cognitive rehab. Kassel said... her mind should heal at its own pace. Right now... she doesn’t remember much. She knows who she is, her name, her life... but not you. Not the last few months. Not what happened."
The words hit like slow, deliberate blows. I felt them, not in my head — but somewhere deeper, somewhere the drugs couldn’t numb.The monitor beeped beside me, steady and cruel.
"She doesn’t remember me," I said, not as a question.
No one answered.
Gray cleared his throat, his tone soft but professional. "She’s back working at the bakery. Dr. Kassel approved it — said structure and familiarity might help recovery. We arranged everything behind the scenes. Her father and brother know not to mention anything about the past year. The bakery owner was paid to take her back quietly, no questions asked."
He hesitated, then added, "We also have protective coverage on her. Ten personnel total — five men, five women — led by Comrade Lyera. They’re integrated into the bakery staff and the neighborhood. Her safety’s been uncompromised. They monitor everyone who interacts with her."
I said nothing. The weight in my chest wasn’t pain — not anymore. It was absence.The kind that doesn’t bleed, but hollows.
Cameron leaned forward. "Aria, her brother, and her dad have been doing their best to trigger memories naturally — mentioning your name, vantage and cole, a place you might have been to together— but nothing’s worked so far. Kassel thinks she’s subconsciously resisting the gap."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because what’s missing hurt her," he said quietly. "And maybe some part of her mind doesn’t want to go back there yet."
The silence after that was different — heavier, darker.
My hands curled slightly against the blanket, nails pressing half-moons into the fabric. "And Kassel?"
"She said something about you being the key," Cameron said. "That familiar faces, emotionally charged interactions — especially with someone tied to the lost memories — can stimulate neural pathways. But it has to happen naturally. You can’t force it. You can’t tell her who you are. It has to be triggered by something she associates with you from that period."
"So," I said, my voice a low rumble that held no trace of its earlier rasp, "I have to make her remember me, without telling her I exist."
Gray nodded. "Yes. Which is also why we’ve kept her from seeing you until you were stable enough. The first week after discharge, she was fragile. Easily overwhelmed. Kassel advised gradual exposure — and now that you’re awake... she believes it’s time."
The room was quiet again.
"Understood," I said finally. My voice was hoarse, but steady. "I’ll see her."
Cameron studied me, cautious. "You can’t just walk in there."
I leveled a look at him.
He held up his hands. "I’m just saying—if she sees you suddenly, a stranger paying too much attention? It might spook her, you know? Kassel said sudden emotional shocks could reinforce the mental block."
I knew he was right. But the thought of waiting — of doing nothing — clawed at me from the inside.
"So what’s the play?" Gray asked carefully.
I stared at the wall for a long moment before answering. "A customer. Regular. Slow. Familiar."
"I agree," Cameron said slowly. "But... don’t go flashy. A rich customer with an obvious expensive car and clothes might, you know—she’ll just see a stranger. A powerful, intense stranger who makes her feel things she can’t explain. It’ll scare her."
Gray exhaled slowly, as if bracing himself for my reaction. "We’ve prepared a cover for you, sir. A persona. Because we thought you might like the idea." He held out a slim manila folder. "A consultant temporarily assisting with the bakery’s supply chain. It gives you proximity without raising suspicions. You’ll be introduced as someone new."
I took the folder, flipping it open. Inside was a fabricated employment history, references, even a fake name—Daniel Vey. My fingers traced the letters like a ghost’s signature. Daniel. A harmless stranger.
"No," I said quietly. "I’ll only be a customer. With my real name. But I won’t distract her. Or disturb her. We still have other things to do."
"Gray," I continued, my tone shifting — from wounded to command. "I want you to investigate what actually happened years ago to Sophia Gate — how she really died. And I want every piece of dirt on my father and Caden."
He nodded immediately. "Understood, sir."
"Cam," I said, meeting his gaze, "tomorrow, we visit my wife’s family while she’s not home. I’ll properly apologize to her father for everything that’s happened. For now..." I exhaled slowly, a faint tremor caught in the breath, "...I will rest."
They both stood."Dismissed."