We left the house together.

  The moment I stepped outside, a strange sensation washed over me—not fear, not comfort, but something in between. The air felt heavier than I expected, carrying a faint metallic scent I couldn’t place. The sky above was pale, almost washed out, as if the world itself had been left unfinished.

  I paused without realizing it.

  Claire noticed immediately. “Too bright?” she asked with a small laugh. “You always say that after staying inside too long.”

  “Yeah,” I replied, unsure if that was true. “Maybe.”

  We walked down a narrow street lined with buildings that looked familiar in shape but empty in meaning. I knew what they were—shops, apartments, cafés—but none of them felt familiar

  Claire chatted as we walked, filling the silence. She talked about A new bakery that opened nearby. A place she wanted to visit later. Things that people normally talk about.

  I listened carefully, hoping something—anything—would click.

  Nothing did.

  Eventually, she stopped in front of a small café tucked between two buildings. Warm light spilled from its windows, and the smell of coffee drifted into the street.

  “This place,” she said, smiling, “you used to like it a lot.”

  Used to.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  We sat by the window. Claire ordered for both of us without asking, and when the drinks arrived, she slid one toward me.

  “You always drank it like this,” she said. “Said it helped you think.”

  I took a cautious sip.

  My hand tightened around the cup.

  “You okay?” Claire asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Just a bit tired.”

  She nodded, accepting the answer easily.

  As she looked away, my gaze drifted to my hand.

  The mark was still there.

  Unchanged.

  A quiet sense of relief settled over me. If it stayed the same, then I could trust my memory—at least a little. That thought alone grounded me more than anything else had since waking up.

  People passed by outside the café window, laughing, talking, living their lives. I watched them carefully, searching for something out of place.

  Everything looked normal.

  “Sorry, Rey,” Claire said suddenly, her voice softer. “I keep doing things the original you would’ve liked. I’m not trying to deliberately remind you.”

  I looked at her, surprised. She wasn’t smiling now—just watching me, worried she had crossed some invisible line.

  “It’s okay,” I said after a moment. And I realized I meant it. “I don’t mind.”

  She let out a small breath, relieved. “I just don’t want to pressure you. You’ll remember things when you’re ready.”

  “Rey,” Claire said softly, pulling me back. “You don’t have to force yourself to remember. Today is just a date.”

  A date.

  I nodded slowly. “Okay.”

  For now, I would play this role. I would walk, talk, observe. I would write everything down later, compare it to what I remembered, and look for cracks in the story.

  If my memories were gone, then the present was all I had to work with.

  And somewhere in this world—between the mark, the mirror, and the life I was living—there was a truth waiting for me to notice it.