Chapter 99: Recovery

Kael did not move.

He couldn’t. His whole body had forgotten how. He stood in a stone room under a city that had tried to erase him, looking at a woman in a too-big sweater holding a mug of coffee, and every plan he’d ever made for this moment fell out of his head at once.

"You’re staring," Mira said.

"Sorry."

"It’s okay." She gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "I’d stare too. I just woke up in a drawer."

"You... woke up in a drawer."

"I know. I’m trying not to think about it." She looked down at the mug. "I don’t know where I got this. I don’t know how I got here. I remember a kitchen, and a window, and somebody making coffee too sweet, and then..." She lifted her eyes again. "And then you."

"Me."

"Your face. I know your face. I just can’t find your *name.*"

Behind Kael, Darian drew a breath. Cassian put a hand on his arm.

"Don’t," Cassian murmured. "Let him."

Kael swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper.

"Kael," he said. "I’m Kael."

Mira’s mouth moved, shaping the syllables. Her brows drew together.

"Kael," she repeated. Then, slowly, as if setting a stone on a table: "Kael."

Nothing happened.

She waited. He waited. The little lamp hummed.

```

[MEMORY FRAGMENT: 7%... 7%... 7%]

[RECOVERY REQUIRES: TRUTH]

```

"Truth," Ethan said, from somewhere at his shoulder. "It’s asking for truth."

"I heard."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I have to tell her what I did."

"What did you do?"

"I wiped her." Kael didn’t turn around. "I made her forget me. I made her forget all of it. Her, Dana, Nadia. I thought it was the only way to keep them safe."

Nobody said anything.

"I thought that if I loved them enough I’d be able to walk away and they’d be fine." He was speaking to the floor now. "I was wrong. And I’m so sorry."

He lifted his head.

"Mira," he said. "That’s the truth. I took your memories. I did it on purpose. I did it without asking you. And it was the worst thing I’ve ever done."

Mira looked at him for a long, long moment.

The mug tilted. A little coffee ran over the lip and onto her sleeve, and she didn’t notice.

```

[MEMORY FRAGMENT: 31%... 58%... 76%...]

```

Her face changed.

It was slow. Like a window being unfrosted from the corner. A flicker of confusion, then something sharp that crossed her eyes like a blade crossing light, then the whole structure of her expression rearranging itself around a single, devastating fact.

"Oh," Mira said.

The mug hit the floor and shattered.

"You *absolute* idiot."

She crossed the room in three steps and hit him.

Not a slap. A full open-handed shove, both palms in the chest, and Kael, who had fought guardians and Erasers and Choir and a cheerful man in a cardigan, stumbled back into the wall and went down on one knee, because it was the first thing in a month that had actually hurt.

"I *remember,*" Mira said. Her voice was shaking. "I remember the shop. I remember the doors. I remember you standing in the doorway with that stupid, noble face saying ’it’s for the best,’ and I remember *you putting your hand on my head,* and..." She pressed the back of her wrist against her mouth. "You didn’t even let me say goodbye."

"I know."

"Do you? Do you know what it’s like to wake up and have a *hole* in you? To know there’s someone missing and not be able to say who?" She was crying now, furious and shaking. "I made coffee for two for three weeks. *Three weeks,* Kael. I’d get to the second mug and not know why."

"Mira..."

"Don’t. Don’t apologize. I’m not done being angry."

"Okay."

"I’m going to be angry for a *very* long time."

"Okay."

"And you’re going to *let* me."

"Yes."

"Good." She wiped her face on her sleeve, ruining the sweater. Then she took a long, uneven breath and, abruptly, knelt down in front of him on the stone and put her arms around his neck.

He didn’t breathe.

"I hate you," Mira said into his shoulder.

"I know."

"I really, really hate you."

"I know."

"Don’t ever do that again."

"I won’t."

"*Promise.*"

"I promise."

She held on. He held on. Behind them, eight people suddenly discovered a great deal of interest in the ceiling.

"Right," said a voice from the green door. "I’d like to register an objection."

Dana stood in the doorway with a wrench in one hand and a grease-stained jacket over her shoulders. She had a long scratch down one cheek, and the look of a woman who had spent the last hour fighting something with a tool she had no business using for it.

"I woke up in a *shelf,*" she announced. "A shelf. I had a *tag* on my toe. And then I had to hit a... thing... with a pipe... and now there’s a *crying* happening and nobody’s explained anything."

"Dana," Kael said, over Mira’s shoulder.

Dana squinted at him.

"Oh, *you.*" She pointed the wrench. "I remember you now. You owe me for a carburetor."

"I what?"

"You *broke* it. You said you’d fix it. You *left.*" She stalked across the room, jabbed the wrench at his chest, and then, very abruptly, dropped it, and hugged him around the neck with the other arm so hard that his spine cracked. "Idiot," she said, thick-voiced. "You absolute, *disgusting* idiot."

"I know."

"We were *worried.*"

"I know."

"Don’t *know* at me. Say sorry."

"I’m sorry."

"Louder."

"I’m *sorry.*"

"Better." She sniffed hard, let go, wiped her nose on her wrist, and turned to the room at large. "Okay. Introductions. Who’re all these people? Why’s that guy holding a crowbar? Is the one in the corner *you,* but cleaner? That’s creepy."

"That’s Cole," Kael said.

"Is he safe?"

"Mostly."

"That’s the best anyone gets." She marched over and shook Cole’s hand with undue force. "Dana. Mechanic. I don’t care what you are. If you hurt anybody I’ll put you through a transmission."

"That’s very reasonable," Cole said.

"It’s *the rule.*"

A third figure stepped through the green door, quietly, and the room went still without anyone deciding to.

Nadia Torres.

She had a notebook under one arm and a pen behind her ear, and her expression was unreadable, which on Nadia meant she’d already made several decisions and was waiting for everyone else to catch up. She looked at Kael. She looked at Mira, who was still kneeling on the floor with her forehead against his collar. She looked at the broken mug, the wrench, the dozen strangers, the three empty drawers.

"I want three things," she said.

"Nadia..."

"One. A full account. In order. No dramatic omissions."

"All right."

"Two. Whatever you said that made Mira look like that, I want it on the record."

"I’ll write it down."

"Three." Nadia met his eyes. Her mouth tightened. For one second something moved under the careful surface, like a fish turning in deep water. "Three. When it’s over. You *stay.* You don’t get to be noble again. I’ll put it in the contract."

Kael looked at the three of them.

At Mira, tearstained and furious. At Dana, blotchy and loud. At Nadia, with her notebook and her terrible, wonderful, unyielding steadiness.

"Yes," he said.

"Say it properly."

"I’ll stay."

"Good." Nadia opened her notebook, clicked her pen, and wrote one line. "That’ll hold."

Ethan, who had been trying very hard to be furniture, made the mistake of coughing.

Nadia’s head turned. "And you are?"

"Ethan. I’m... new. I died in a car. It’s a long story."

"I’ll need it in order."

"There’s a lot of order."

"I have a lot of pages." She looked him up and down. "You’re the one with the eyes."

"How do you...?"

"Mira’s been saying it for three minutes. ’The boy with the eyes will know.’" Nadia tapped her pen against her lip. "She’s not usually wrong about people."

"I haven’t done anything."

"That’s usually the sign."

Ethan opened his mouth, closed it, and looked at Darian for help. Darian shrugged, all innocence.

"I told you," Darian said. "She’s frightening."

"You didn’t say she was *this* frightening."

"I said it nicely."

Owen, from the corner, made a small, strangled sound that might have been a laugh. It was the first one anyone had heard from him since the old man died, and Mira looked up at the noise and smiled at him, a real one, tired and watery and kind.

"You’re the one who’s angry at the old man," she said.

Owen blinked. "How do you...?"

"I woke up in the dark with eleven strangers’ memories still in the walls. You get a lot of hearsay." She tilted her head. "For what it’s worth, I think the anger’s allowed. I think it’s the part of him that was right."

Owen looked at her for a long moment.

"Thanks," he said, roughly.

"Don’t mention it."

Cassian cleared his throat.

"I hate to interrupt," he said. "But there’s a thing."

"What thing?"

"The ceiling."

They looked up.

The little lamp was still burning. But the plaster around it had begun, slowly, to *write itself.* Neat blue letters spread across the white like ink across wet paper, curling into a line of precise, clerical handwriting.

*Reunion noted.*

*Congratulations.*

*Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to talk.*

"Oh, no," Ethan whispered.

The writing kept coming.

*I am not going to hurt anyone. I am simply going to remind you of the schedule.*

*Fifty-three hours. I’ll see you at the end of them.*

*Do bring the little key. I’ve grown rather fond of it.*

The green door slammed shut behind Nadia. Somewhere beyond the walls, a very great distance away, a cold, patient tapping began, soft as fingers on a desk.

```

[WINDOW: 53:02:17]

[INDEXER: APPROACHING]

[NOTE: EDITOR IS WATCHING]

```

Kael got to his feet. Mira’s hand was in his. He didn’t remember taking it.

"Okay," he said, and his voice, for the first time in a long time, did not shake. "Everybody listen. I need a plan, and I need it now."

"I have one," said Cole.

They all looked at him.

"It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever thought of," Cole said. "But I think it might work."