Page 27 of Lost Echoes

I freeze mid-gesture, my hand raised like I’m holding a mask to my face. The hum dies in my throat.

My gaze locks on Claire, who morphs into Laurel. Then back to Claire. No, Dr. Hanson. And for one sharp, searing moment, my eyes are mine again.

“I didn’t want to.” The words rip out of me, raw and shaking. My knees buckle, and I collapse to the floor, gasping. “I didn’t want to hurt them. I couldn’t stop myself… I couldn’t…. It wasn’t my fault!”

Air shreds in and out of my lungs, each breath sharp and too fast.

Dr. Hanson drops beside me instantly, her voice steady even as my world tilts. “Kenzi, stay here with me. Look at me. Feet on the floor. Can you feel the ground?”

My bare feet brush against the tile. Cold, solid, and real.

“That’s it. Good. Name three things you can see.”

I look around. “Window. Light. Y-you.”

“Perfect. Now three things you can hear.”

My own ragged breaths. The hum of the fluorescent lights. Her calm, anchoring voice.

Bit by bit, the theater dissolves, peeling away until I’m back in the white room. My chest still heaves, but I’m not drowning anymore. This is real. It is.

Dr. Hanson squeezes my hand. “That was a memory breaking through. Traumatic, yes. But it means your mind is letting it surface without hypnosis.”

Tears sting my eyes. My throat aches. But this time, I believe her.

Maybe I can actually break free.

14

Ember

The screen still pulses with Project Elysium—Restricted, loading like it’s taunting us. I force myself to look away, focusing instead on the smaller threads and usernames drifting across the forum. Anonymous voices, half-screams, half-whispers. Survivors trying to stitch together broken memories to make themselves whole again.

Luke leans back, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in thought. “If we just lurk, we’ll look suspicious. Communities like this... they can smell outsiders. We need a cover.”

My stomach twists. “You mean pretend to be a patient?”

He nods slowly. “Not just any patient. One who lived it. It’s the only way they’ll trust us enough to share.”

The idea makes my throat go dry. Lying feels wrong when these people are bleeding their pain onto the screen. But I know he’s right. Without trust, the door stays closed.

Luke swivels toward me, studying my face. “We’ll build a persona together. You know what Kenzi went through and what she’s been remembering. We can create something believable from that. Nothing that traces back to you. No real details, just echoes.”

I bite my lip. My heart pounds at the thought of putting words out there, even fake ones. What if someone recognizes me? What if they can tell?

He rests a hand over mine, steady. “We’re not doing this to trick them. We’re doing it to get close enough to understand. To find the truth and maybe even help them, but if you were never a patient, what other choice do we have?”

“Okay.” I swallow, though the knot in my stomach stays. “So, where do we start?”

Luke’s eyes glint with something fierce. “We start with what they’ll believe. Someone young. Confused. Memories that don’t add up. A place that feels like theater, like performance.”

My breath hitches. “Someone like Kenzi.”

“Exactly.” He pulls his laptop closer. “We’ll give this persona a name and a voice. Someone who sounds like she’s still trapped inside it.”

I picture my mom’s face, Kenzi’s blank stares, the half-dreams that have haunted me since I was little. I let those fragments bleed into the words. Together, we type:

I remember the lights. The stage. They told us to smile even when it hurt. I still don’t know whether I was acting or if it was real. Does anyone else remember the bear with one eye?