Nothing. Just a stranger’s face. Meant nothing.
Except my body had eased when I saw her. The defensive tension I hadn’t noticed carrying had loosened, some part of me recognized safety I couldn’t consciously remember.
Didn’t trust that response. Didn’t trust any of this.
Tried to speak. Ask where I was, who she was, what happened.
My throat worked. Jaw moved. Tongue formed shapes behind teeth.
Nothing came out.
Not even a whisper. Not even air shaped into sound. Just silence, absolute and terrifying.
Tried again. Harder. Concentrating, willing vocal cords to cooperate.
Still nothing.
The panic I’d shoved down earlier surged back. My fingers moved to my larynx, pressing against it. Everything felt intact. No visible damage. But sound wouldn’t come, couldn’t come, that part of me had been cut away.
When? How long have I been like this?
No memory. Just blank space and this horrible silence.
My lungs worked faster. Shallow gasps that made my side scream. Didn’t care. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t call for help, couldn’t explain, couldn’t,
The woman’s lashes lifted.
One moment asleep, the next alert. Her focus found me immediately, sharpening with awareness that suggested she’d been half-awake the whole time. Monitoring even in sleep.
Nurse instincts or something else?
She straightened in the chair, movements careful. Non-threatening. Palms visible, forward.
Reading my body language as threat assessment.
How does a civilian know to do that?
“Hey.” Her voice came soft. Steady despite the exhaustion. “You’re awake. That’s good.”
I stared at her. Noted, golden-brown irises, assessing me right back. Wariness underneath the professional calm. She was afraid. Not of me specifically, maybe. Just afraid in general, the low-grade terror of someone in over her head and knowing it.
But she didn’t back away.
“If you remember, I’m Clare,” she said. Slow, as though talking to someone concussed. Fair assumption given the head wound. “I found you in the alley. You were dying.”
Clare.
The name should connect to something. Should trigger memory, recognition, anything.
Nothing came.
She waited. Patient. Watching my face for understanding that wasn’t there.
“You told me your name was Xavier. Do you remember?”
Xavier.
The word felt... almost right. Like clothes that fit but weren’t mine. Something borrowed, tested, not quite settled.
