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Scrambling, I sift through my most recent memories. I’m slipping. Missing chunks of my days. But the most pressing worry right now is not losing more.

Finally, a name clicks back into place, my mind reasserting some stability. Ananke.

She’s my employer. The person responsible for my recent conditioning. She’s dangerous. I cannot let this woman take more from me.

What I saw on that video tells me all I need to confirm my suspicions.

Someone fucked with my head. Now, Ananke seems to be able to use that to control me.

“You can open up to me, Ero. I only ever wanted to help you. I still do.”

“Being back in Russia just made me uneasy, that’s all.”

“‘Back in Russia’? What do you mean by that, exactly?”

Shit. Wrong wording.

“I mean that I know that’s where Circe found me when I almost died. She told me that. It bothered me that I can’t remember.”

“I see.”

Ananke eyes me for a while, looking into my fucking soul. I can tell she’s debating whether or not to punish me.

“We’re getting close, aren’t we?” I ask, distracting her.

“Yes, a lot closer than I hoped we would be at this point. You and Circe have been most effective. If a bit reckless.”

“We just want to please you.”

“Hm. Perhaps you deserve the carrot instead of the stick, then. A reward.”

“Thank you, my lady,” I tip my head down, not meeting her eyes. Play the part. Pander.

She laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t believe for one minute that you’re being genuine, but I cannot say that I don’t like the gesture. When you arrive in Portugal, you’ll have a package waiting for you. Instructions for a very special mission.”

“I live to serve.”

“Somehow, I strongly doubt that, but I’m glad you’re at least playing along. Be careful, boy. I’d hate to have to punish you for lying to me.”

“There’s no purpose in me lying to you.”

“Yet you always seem to find a way to defy me, Fiero,” Ananke mutters, leaving me staring after her.

I set down my bag,only partially registering the layout of the townhome we’re staying at in Lisbon. My mind hasn’t stopped racing since we left Italy again.

And the more time I have to let the swirling tide of emotion and fugue fade, the more of myself I am able to consolidate. I can separate feelings from fact, false memories from reality.

The results so far leave me more confused.

Two versions of me exist. The youngest brother of four. A gangster. The other man is a provider, a protector. He had a wife. Kids. Scenes from both lives play out in static clips. Garbled like an old television signal.

One of those lives has to be false.

Ananke knows who I am. Circe knows more than she’s let on.

“Any idea what this new mission is?” I ask absently, digging through the cabinets, the fridge. Need a drink.

“Should be in the file on the table.”