“Who is it?” Sy asks.
The question hits a wall.
Everything shuts down at once.
The walkway collapses. The sweetness vanishes. The sense of space snaps closed like a door slamming in my mind.
There’s nothing.
No movement.
No people.
No car.
Just darkness, thick and smooth, where the memory should be.
Just an endless, vast void.
“That’s it,” I say weakly. “There’s nothing else.”
Sy tries once more, soft and careful–but there’s nowhere else to go. Just emptiness where the rest should be.
He brings me back, slowly.
The room comes into focus. The chair beneath me. The quiet hum of the space. Hunter is standing nearby, quiet and watchful–calculating–while Sy is still in front of me, solid and real.
I feel shaky. Hollow. Like I’ve left pieces of myself somewhere I can’t reach.
I look up at Hunter, needing something–approval, reassurance, proof I didn’t fail.
“Did I do good?” I ask.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Very good.”
My chest warms at the compliment, a small, fragile glow spreading outward. Even Sy looks pleased, like we uncovered something important instead of running headfirst into a wall.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more,” I say, my voice still thin around the edges.
“It was fine, Arianette,” Sy assures me. “Now we know the memories are in there, and you can access them. Hopefully, they’ll start to emerge on their own. Or, if you want, we can do another session.”
I look over at Hunter. “How long was I under?”
He checks the time. “It’s been a few hours. Longer than you probably realize.”
My stomach flips. “A few hours?”
“Time loss is normal,” Sy explains calmly. “Really, you’re the one who sets the pace. It just depends on how long it takes for the details to come to the surface.”
Sy gives me a moment to steady myself, and when I’m ready, Hunter and I make our way out front into the tattoo parlor. The space feels louder now, brighter, like my senses are turned up too high. Remy’s at one of the stations, methodically cleaning instruments.
“Where’s DK?” Hunter asks, looking around.
“He left a while ago,” Remy replies without looking up.
A small knot tightens in my chest. “Is he still angry?”
“Nah.” Remy opens a small metal box, closes it with a soft click,and sets it aside. “He said to tell you he’ll meet you back at the house.”
