ELENA
There was terrible art on the walls—beige and pastel expressionist reproductions that were meant to soothe. I did not find them soothing. I sat stiffly in the reclining chair, the soft hum of the lights above us barely registering in my ears.
Another session. Another attempt to unlock the past that felt just out of reach. The doctor’s voice was calm and steady, guiding me through hypnosis, pulling at the frayed edges of my memories.
A day in the woods with my brother when we were still kids. Mason daring me to step past the tree line—the edge of our pack territory. I’d smirked at him and dashed off, running far past where he’d expected me to go.
Another memory, coming on faster than the one before it.
Flashes of light. A warm hand clasping mine. Laughter carried by the wind. A
