Chapter 2 The Boy with the Scar

Morning arrived cloaked in gray. Rain tapped against the hospital window like restless fingers, adding to the unease that had rooted itself in her chest.

She hadn't slept.

The note lay hidden under her pillow, its message echoing in her head:

"Don't trust them. You weren't supposed to survive."

She read it again in the early light, as if a second or third glance would reveal some secret between the lines. It didn't. The words remained sharp and terrifying.

She didn't tell the nurse. Or Dr. Meyers. Something inside her-something deeper than memory-told her not to.

It was the first instinct she trusted.

Later that morning, a social worker arrived.

Her name was Mrs. Clarkson, and she looked like someone who spent most of her time carrying other people's pain. Her eyes were kind, but tired.

"We'll get through this together," she said gently, handing her a paper cup of hot cocoa. "Until we find someone who knows you, or until your memory returns, you'll stay in temporary care."

"Like... foster care?"

Mrs. Clarkson nodded. "It's just a safe place. You'll have privacy, meals, a room of your own."

The girl wanted to ask: What if no one ever comes for me? What if there's nothing to remember?

But instead, she asked, "Do I have to go now?"

"Not yet. A few more tests. Then I'll take you."

That afternoon, a knock came at her door.

She expected another nurse. Or maybe Mrs. Clarkson again.

Instead, a boy walked in.

He was around her age, tall and lean, with unruly dark hair and a bandage on his arm. He wore a hoodie and jeans, his hands in his pockets. There was a scar just below his left eye-a thin, silver line that looked like it had been there for years.

"I'm not supposed to be in here," he said, closing the door behind him. "But I needed to see you."

She stiffened. "Do I know you?"

"No," he said. "But I know what it feels like. Waking up and having no idea who you are."

She stared at him. "You lost your memory?"

He walked toward the chair beside her bed and sat down. "Two years ago. Car crash. I forgot everything. Parents, school, friends... gone."

Something in his voice told her he wasn't lying.

"How long did it take to remember?"

"I didn't," he said simply. "Not everything, anyway. Bits and pieces come back sometimes. Dreams, flashes. But mostly, I had to rebuild."

"Rebuild?"

"Yeah. I made peace with the fact that I might never be who I was. So I started becoming who I wanted to be."

She swallowed. "That sounds... lonely."

"It was," he said. "Still is."

They sat in silence for a moment, the rain still falling steadily outside.

Then he added, "They'll try to make decisions for you. Tell you what's best. But this is your story now. You get to choose who to trust."

Her pulse quickened. "Why are you really here?"

He looked at her with those storm-gray eyes. "Because someone left you a note last night. Right?"

She went still.

He reached into his hoodie and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper-nearly identical to hers.

His read:

"Don't let her remember. She's dangerous."

Her blood ran cold.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

He hesitated.

"Call me Eli."

"And me?" she asked. "Do you... know my name?"

"No. But someone clearly does."

She looked down at the necklace still looped around her neck. The silver star.

"I think I've been lied to," she said softly. "I think I was left to die."

Eli's jaw tightened. "Then we need to figure out why."

He stood, walking to the window. "They'll release you soon. Maybe into a house with cameras. Maybe into the arms of someone who claims they knew you."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, turning to her, "your life didn't just vanish. Someone erased it. And they might be trying to do it again."

She stayed by the window after he left, her thoughts spiraling.

Someone was hiding something from her.

And Eli-mysterious, scarred, and somehow connected-was the first person who made her feel real again.

But who was she really?

Victim?

Liar?

Danger?

The truth was waiting. And now she wasn't sure if she wanted to find it.