My eyes flick back to it. Max doesn’thavea scar above his eyebrow.
Tensing, my head pulls back. I run my fingers over his face. There’s a surprising amount of strength within them, my movements strong and certain.
The weakness… that’s all in my head.
I focus on Max’s face. Because Iknowhis face. I’ve studied it too many times to count, trying to learn every line. And it must have worked. Because this isn’t it.
His throat flexes as I jerk back. Max doesn’t stop me when I shift, rolling over, pushing against the solid chest in my way until it moves so I can turn. His words follow me, with an apology I can’t define hidden in them. “Kenny. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
But it’s not. I turn my attention to Jake. His hair has grown out, the cropped brown strands longer on top now, streaked with slivers of gold. Messy. He has the same dark circles under his eyes. No scars. But there are lines on his forehead that don’t smooth out as he watches me. Even his gaze looks darker, although I know that’s impossible.
You don’t know anything, Kennedy. Not anymore.
The blankets that felt cozy and comforting a moment ago suddenly feel stifling. As if they’re locking me in, holding me down and forcing me to face the thought that creeps into my mind with clawed, painful talons.
I shove them away, my movements turning frantic and jerky before I scramble back, away from them. From the changes in their faces. My palms meet cold, rough stone as I look around.
Bright light, above my head. Strips of long, blinding light that sends orbs dancing across my line of sight when I look away.
A bed, empty of bedding. Just a mattress, made up with a single sheet.
They follow me. I hear them talking. Hear the murmurs, the worry. But my head is shaking, my hand raising in a plea to keep back. “Please.”
Wrong.It’s all wrong. Their faces. My voice.
“Kennedy.” Dark eyes meet mine as I wrap my arms around my legs, drawing them up to my chest. Oscar kneels slowly opposite me, not looking away.
I can’t… look at him. My eyes latch onto his glasses, onto the thick black square frames.
His glasses. I know those. I keep my eyes on them as he speaks, his words coaxing. “Kenny. Look at me.”
I can’t. A small sob breaks free as I shake my head.
“Baby.” He says it so gently. So… naturally. As if he’s said it a hundred times before, as familiar to him as my own name. It should sound new to me too. But… it doesn’t. Instead, it starts to soothe my racing heartbeat. “Look at me.”
The thin thread of steel behind those words has my eyes moving. Just enough to catch on his. Those are the same, too.
“Breathe.” Gentle, soft. “Take a breath, Kenny. You can do this.”
Except I can’t. I shake my head, silently pleading.
“Yes, you can.” Oscar edges closer. Reaches for my cheek, brushing it carefully in soft strokes with the back of his fingers. “After everything, Ken. You can face this part, baby. I promise.”
He sounds so certain. So sure of me. So much more certain in my own abilities than I feel right now that I cling to the words.
I almost choke on the air I inhale.
“Good,” Oscar murmurs. But he doesn’t look away. His hands raise to cradle my face. “That’s good.”
And then he rips the band-aid off, with clear, concise words. “It’s been one year. Today. Three hundred and sixty-five days, to be exact, since we found you in the forest and you came here.”
I stare at him, not moving. A year. A whole year of my life.
Gone.
And I was… here. Not me. Something else. A version of me.
I crumple into him, my sobbing starting silently but growing until my cries fill the entire room.
