I do not speak at first.
The memory forms slowly, like old film warming to light. I stare at the map long enough that Damian steps closer, watching me with a focus that tightens the space between us. His presence feels heavier than the room itself, as if he already senses the direction my mind is slipping toward.
“There is another place,” I say quietly. “One he used to brag about.”
Damian stands still, waiting, patient in a way that feels intentional rather than gentle.
I press my fingertips to the printed image of the industrial zone he circled earlier. A cold shiver runs along my spine as the memory sharpens. Rusted metal. Tall broken windows. A wide door that sagged on one side. The hollow echo of gravel under the car the one time we passed it. A structure that looked too decayed to
