50: Her
ALEXA
I awoke with a pounding headache. It was the kind that felt like a blade had been wedged into my skull and was being twisted slowly. My throat was dry, my limbs heavy, and for a moment, I couldn't even remember where I was.
Then I caught the faint scent of the cologne that belonged to Killian. The sheets were soft beneath me. I was safe.
For now.
I pushed myself up on shaking arms and sat against the headboard, squinting at the morning light bleeding through the curtains.
The folder which Dorian had given me sat on the bedside table. My fingers reached for it before my brain could catch up.
I dragged it into my lap and flipped it open.
Inside of it were photos. Dozens of them. Some of them were old and grainy. Others were newer and cleaner.
The first image was of me. I was younger. Maybe fifteen. Dressed in black combat gear while my face was bloodied. I was smiling as if I'd won the lottery.
The next was my father.
My heart pounded faster.
He was tall, dressed in an elegant black suit. My mother stood beside him, her dark hair swept back. She looked gentle and kind.
Then came the photos of my cousin. I knew because Dorian had taken his time to write his name on the photo.
The picture seemed to have been taken at a funeral.
A photo of Killian surfaced next. He looked younger, his jawline still hard, and his eyes... those eyes looked haunted.
I stared at his picture longer than I meant to.
Then I reached for the last one.
It was slightly torn at the edges, as though someone had handled it too many times.
The man in the photo had sharp features. A scar down one side of his mouth. Piercing blue eyes that felt like they were looking straight through the image. My stomach twisted. Worse, he held a strange resemblance to Killian.
There was something familiar in the way he held himself. The tilt of his head. The authority in his stance.
I flipped the photo over, my hands trembling.
A single word was scrawled on the back in black ink.
Phoenix.
The name punched through me like a knife.
And then the pain hit.
It was like a grenade had gone off in my skull.
I cried out, clutching my head as memories began slamming into me with vicious force. There were disjointed flashes of screaming, fire, blood on my hands, men kneeling before me, the weight of a gun...
My body collapsed forward onto the bed, my vision blurring over. My ribs rattled as I curled into myself, trying to breathe through the agony.
"Stop," I gasped. "Please... please stop—"
But the pain only got worse.
I felt like I was going to die.
A sob ripped out of my throat.
"Killian!" I screamed, desperate and breathless. "Killian!"
The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me was the photo of Phoenix slipping from my hand and the faint echo of a woman's voice in my skull:
‘You are a weapon, Sera. You were born to lead.’
…..
The steady beeping was the first thing I heard.
Then the smell of antiseptic hit me, almost suffocating. I blinked against the harsh hospital lights, my limbs heavy and my mouth dry. An IV needle tugged at the skin on my hand, the slow drip of fluid tracing rhythm with the monitor beside me.
I tried to sit up but failed.
"Alexa?"
His voice was rough and strained. I turned my head, and there he was.
Killian.
He was sitting in a chair that was pulled close to the bed, his sleeves rolled up. There was a look of raw relief painted across his features. His hair was slightly messy, like he'd run his hands through it too many times. But it was his eyes that undid me.
The worry. The panic still lingering at the edges.
"You're awake," he exhaled. "Thank goodness."
My throat worked around a dry swallow. "W-What happened?"
"You passed out. You had a seizure," he said softly, brushing strands of hair from my face with careful fingers. "You scared the shit out of me."
Before I could respond, the door opened.
A doctor in blue scrubs walked in with a clipboard. "Good. She's stable now."
Killian stood but didn't let go of my hand.
The doctor glanced between us and nodded, then he met my eyes. "Ms. Cross... we've reviewed your scans and neurological responses. The results are... unusual."
My fingers tightened around Killian's.
"What does that mean?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
The doctor's expression was grim. "Your memory loss…it wasn't natural. Your mind shows signs of chemical suppression. Someone intentionally shut down parts of your long-term memory. Likely through injections or medical interference."
I felt my lungs stop working.
"They erased my memory?" I whispered, trembling. "Someone... did this to me?”
"Yes," the doctor confirmed gently. "But what's happening now—your headaches, the flashes, the pain—that's your brain trying to reestablish neural connections. Something's triggering the return of your memories."
My nails dug into Killian's palm. His grip stayed steady.
"I don't want to remember," I admitted, tears welling up in my eyes. "I—Killian, I’m scared.”
He reached forward, cupping my cheek with his free hand. His touch was warm and grounding.
"You're mine," he said fiercely. "Whoever you used to be... whatever you've done... you're mine now. That's what I know."
I couldn't stop the sob that escaped my lips.
He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.
"I've got you, tesora. You'll be okay," he murmured. "Even if the world turns upside down, I'm not going anywhere."
But I was still scared.
Not just of what I'd forgotten, but of what remembering might make me become.
And deep down, I had the horrible feeling that this was just the beginning.
...
Darkness came in waves.
It was soft at first, like silk slipping through my fingers. Then it grew heavier, denser, folding over me until I couldn't tell where the haze ended and reality began. Somewhere beyond the fog, I heard the gentle beeping of the heart monitor.
And then... something else.
Movement.
It sounded too precise and controlled.
My lashes fluttered, my eyelids cracking open.
The room was dim now, cast in pale blue light from the machines beside me. My vision was still blurry, but I saw a figure standing beside the IV line. A man in a doctor's coat.
But something about him was... wrong.
He wasn't the one from earlier. This one was taller and leaner. His hands were gloved too.
His back was to me as he adjusted something on the drip, a syringe in his hand. He flicked it, watching a thin stream of liquid shoot into the air before sliding it into the port.
Every nerve in my body screamed.
"W-what are you doing?" My voice cracked.
He froze.
Then slowly, he turned to face me.
His expression was void of empathy. I could tell even though he was wearing a face mask.
"Oh," he said flatly. "You're awake."
Then he lunged for the pillow.
My scream caught in my throat as the pillow came crashing down over my face, smothering me.
Panic exploded in my chest. I thrashed, kicking my legs frantically while my hands clawed at his. But his weight pinned me down. I couldn't breathe or think. My lungs begged for air.
And that's when it hit me.
The memory.
Water.
I was underwater. Drowning. Strapped down, submerged in a tank. My screams bubbled up in silence. Someone was watching behind glass.
The memories were pouring in waves now, choking me. And finally, I was whole again.
I thrashed again on the bed, this time harder.
The pillow shifted just enough. I turned my head and bit his wrist. Hard.
He yelped and jerked back, giving me the space I needed.
I moved on instinct.
Adrenaline surged as I flipped, my knees on the mattress as I grabbed his wrist and twisted until he cried out.
I maneuvered him onto the bed in a blind, ruthless motion, straddling him and pinning his wrists on the bed.
His eyes widened.
Because in that moment, I wasn't Alexa.
I was HER.
The woman who'd once made trained killers beg for mercy.
My hand gripped the IV pole like a weapon.
"Didn't they tell you, darling? I don't stay dead.” I drawled.
Then I raised the pole and brought it down with full force.