Chapter 44: The One Who Remembers

“You’ve been watching her for hours,” I said as I walked into the common room, holding two mugs of steaming coffee in my hands. The warmth seeped into my fingers, a small comfort in the quiet tension that had wrapped around the estate like a second skin.

Echo didn’t look away from the couch where Rhea sat, curled up in a gray hoodie two sizes too big. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, her bare feet tucked underneath her like she wasn’t entirely sure she was allowed to take up space. Her golden eyes didn’t flicker from the small fire burning in the stone hearth.

“She hasn’t blinked in twenty minutes,” Echo said quietly, accepting the mug without looking at it. “I’m not even sure she knows how to rest.”

I sat beside her on the edge of the worn sofa, handing her the coffee. “Then teach her.”

“She doesn’t trust me yet.”

“She picked you to speak to first.”

Echo finally turned her head and looked at me. Her eyes were tired but steady. “She picked you to lead.”

I sighed and leaned back, exhaling slowly as I watched the flames dance in the fireplace. “So what do we do? Let her sit there and analyze us like lab rats?”

“She’s not analyzing,” Echo said after a long pause. “She’s remembering.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“She’s trying to match the things she sees now to the fragments she has left. Faces. Voices. Words. She’s trying to build a map in her head. I know because… I did the same thing when I first got out.”

I turned to glance at Rhea. Her hands were curled around a throw pillow like it was a shield. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But I could see it now—the way her gaze followed small movements, how her head tilted when someone coughed in the next room, the way her body tensed slightly whenever the wind howled too loudly outside.

“You think she remembers Gregory?” I asked.

“I think she remembers everything,” Echo murmured. “Even if she doesn’t know what it means yet.”

\---

Later that afternoon, the quiet was broken by the loud clatter of metal.

Elena stormed into the kitchen, arms full of mismatched knives and daggers. “I swear, if one more person leaves weapons scattered in random places, I’m going to superglue them to your hands,” she said, dropping the pile on the counter with a loud clank that made both Echo and Rhea flinch.

Ethan didn’t even look up from his workstation near the far wall, where wires and blinking lights surrounded his laptop like a miniature battlefield. “That would be highly inefficient in combat situations,” he said calmly.

“You’re highly inefficient,” Elena snapped back without missing a beat.

Ethan grinned to himself. “That’s fair.”

I walked in just in time to see Elena rummaging through the utensils drawer, probably trying to find something sharp to sort by alphabet or blade length—or whatever system she’d invented this week.

“Elena,” I said, amused, “what are you doing with all those?”

“Inventory,” she muttered, glaring at a curved blade like it had personally offended her. “And venting. Also maybe trying to make a point.”

“She’s mad no one takes her knife organization system seriously,” Ethan added with a smirk.

“There is no system!” Elena groaned. “He was alphabetizing them by blade length!”

“Which is genius, if you think about it.”

“It’s not,” she deadpanned, narrowing her eyes at him.

Rhea walked in right then. Her steps were soft, but her presence was undeniable. Everyone quieted for a second. Her eyes took in the chaos, the banter, the half-unhinged family dynamics we’d somehow all accepted as normal.

She looked directly at Elena, who blinked and straightened up slightly. “Hey. You hungry?”

Rhea seemed to consider that question like it was a test. Then, slowly, she nodded.

Elena opened the fridge, grabbed a sandwich, and walked over to hand it to her without ceremony. “Ham and cheese. Don’t read into it. It’s all we had.”

Rhea stared at the sandwich in her hands for a second, as if surprised someone had just handed her food without demanding anything in return. Then she sat at the edge of the table, careful not to bump anything or anyone.

No one said anything for a moment.

Then she asked, “Why do you fight with each other if you’re friends?”

The silence that followed was heavier than it should’ve been.

Elena leaned back against the fridge and crossed her arms. “Because friends aren’t perfect. We argue. We annoy each other. We laugh. We forgive. Fighting doesn’t mean we’re enemies. It means we care enough to stay and work through it.”

Rhea tilted her head. “In the lab, people who fought were punished.”

“This isn’t the lab,” I said gently, meeting her eyes.

Rhea looked down at the sandwich again, then took a small bite. Her jaw moved slowly, like she wasn’t sure how to chew it. Then she looked up at Elena.

“I think I like you.”

Elena blinked. “Wow. Okay. I officially like you too.”

Ethan leaned toward me and whispered, “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to her.”

“Shut it, tech boy,” Elena muttered, but the corner of her mouth curled slightly, and she didn’t stop smiling.

\---

That night, I found myself out on the north balcony. The wind was sharp and cold, but I didn’t care. I leaned against the railing, staring out at the moon, my arms crossed over my chest as my thoughts churned like the clouds rolling across the sky.

I didn’t hear Aidan at first. He was quiet like that.

“She’s adjusting fast,” he said finally, stepping beside me.

“Too fast?” I asked.

“Maybe. Or maybe she’s just good at hiding the cracks.”

I turned to look at him. “You think she’s dangerous?”

“She’s a wildcard. But she’s not Gregory. That much I know.”

“He tried to make her into something else.”

“He tried to make all of you into weapons.”

I looked down at my hands. They didn’t feel like mine anymore. “Maybe he succeeded.”

“No,” Aidan said firmly, stepping closer. “He didn’t. You’re not a weapon. You’re the one who walked away.”

“I didn’t walk. I crawled. I bled. I screamed.”

“And then you stood. That’s what makes you different.”

I didn’t answer. The wind tugged at my hair, and I felt the familiar ache of memory crawl up my spine.

Aidan reached out and gently tucked a loose strand behind my ear. His hand lingered for a second longer than necessary. “You’re not alone in this, Roxanne.”

I nodded, though I still wasn’t entirely sure I believed it. But the warmth of his touch lingered longer than the cold.

\---

The next morning, the alarms went off.

Not the panic-screaming kind. Just one sharp alert from the perimeter system, enough to jolt everyone awake but not yet full-blown crisis mode.

By the time I made it down the hall, Rhea was already standing near the exit, her posture alert but calm. She hadn’t even put on shoes. Just stood barefoot on the cold floor like it didn’t bother her.

Ethan was hunched over the console, fingers flying. “Camera’s up. Looks like… one person.”

Elena stormed in, still strapping on her thigh holster. “What the hell is it this time?”

“Not Gregory,” Ethan said, squinting at the screen. “Just one person. Alone. Looks… hurt?”

“Zoom in,” I ordered, already pulling on my jacket.

The screen sharpened. A woman. Late thirties. Limping. Blood smeared down her jeans. Her dark hair was damp and clinging to her face. Her eyes were glassy, distant, like she hadn’t slept in days.

Rhea stepped closer to the monitor, her breath catching. “I know her,” she said quietly.

We all turned.

“From the lab?” Aidan asked.

Rhea shook her head. “Before. From before.”

Echo narrowed her eyes. “From where?”

“I don’t know… but she’s important.”

I didn’t waste another second. “Then let’s find out.”