Page 45 of Lost Echoes

For the kids who don’t have voices yet.

Luke types a reply:

For Phoenix, for the kids, for all the victims.

Now I feel clarity. Terror, yes. But also a logical mind.

That’s when it happens.

A new message appears under Phoenix’s username:

The performance isn’t over. Watch the wings.

No greeting. No context.

Luke stiffens. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

I stare at the words until the screen blurs. Performance, wings. The language of the theater—the language of the programming.

The cursor blinks, waiting for a reply.

But I can’t type.

Because I don’t know if Phoenix is warning us… or if someone else is already pulling his strings.

Luke gives me a knowing look. He wants to bring my dad in.

My dad will make me walk away.

I can’t do that. I’m in too deep.

23

Kenzi

All of this feels too clean, too safe. It’s the same every time. The walls are blank, the windows narrow, the air so temperate I can’t even feel my skin.

I sit across from Dr. Hanson, staring at the folder of the Radley “script.” Every session we circle the same fragments, careful, controlled. It helps a little. But it also feels like scratching at the edges of a locked door.

Finally, I blurt it out. “This isn’t enough!”

Dr. Hanson blinks, looking startled. “You’ve been making progress, Kenzi. Small steps matter.”

“Small steps won’t get me there.” I lean forward. My chest is tight, but the words push through anyway. “If I want to break this, if I want to see it all, I have to go back to where it started.”

Her brows knit. “What do you mean?”

“The theater.” My voice wavers, but I don’t back down. “The old one. The condemned Radley stage. That’s where she trained us. That’s where the script lives. If I want to tear it out of me, I have to stand where it happened.”

A flicker of alarm passes over her face. She shakes her head. “Kenzi, exposure like that could be destabilizing. You’re already struggling with flashbacks in safe environments. Placing you in the exact location where the trauma occurred, without full support, could be catastrophic.”

I clutch my knees, digging in my nails until it hurts. “But don’t you see? That’s why nothing’s working. I’m still performing in my head because I never left that stage. If I stand there now, as me, as an adult… I can end it by stopping playing my part.”

She exhales slowly, clearly choosing her words with care. “Or it could pull you deeper into the role. Into the programming. Kenzi, you could lose yourself.”

I meet her gaze, feeling the heat of tears threatening. “Then maybe that’s the only way I’ll know if there’s anything left of me to save. I have to press forward, move on, get back home. This is the fastest way. You can’t deny it.”

The silence between us stretches.