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“LVdances53slash,” I mutter and hit enter.

A beep sounds from my laptop.

Access denied.

“Dammit!”

Our driver safely deposited me in front of my apartment an hour ago.

At first, I had my night planned out—a bubble bath with my favorite lavender bath salts, spending quality time with a new stack of romance novels that arrived this morning.

And maybe some sexting with Ethan, which is probably a bad idea considering he’s busy with his work and needs to focus.

So, scratch the sexting.

But ever since half an hour ago, my heart has been racing and something’s churning in my gut, like I ate a bad piece of cheese or am on the verge of getting sick.

Then, the flashes of memories started up out of the blue.

This time, I didn’t even have a headache to warn me about them.

A desperation burns inside me—to keep busy, to do something useful that may help me get my memories back.

With the way I’m feeling, I’m leaning toward walking away from the medical trial in favor of knowing the past—whether it be from photos or family and friends telling me what they remember.

And that’s how I spent the last hour trying to get into the flash drive again.

One last attempt before I ask Liam to help.

Something in my gut tells me I’ll have the answers there .

But none of my passwords work.

My mind drifts to those horrifying visions again, and my hands tremble.

“They’re in the past,” I mutter.

“The past can’t hurt you.”

“Stop it,” someone moans.

Acid rushes up my throat as I creep toward the cracked open door, the thumping beats of the music sounding far away.

Screams. More screams.

I look down and see my silver heels.

Slapping sounds. Crying.

Thumping—but that may be my pulse in my ears.

Water. Lots of water rushing in from the closed windows and doors.

Me screaming, pain exploding over my body.

My leg is trapped.

I can’t get out.

It’s so dark—I can’t see.

Then the images change.

Hummingbird window. Dreariness outside.

It’s freezing, but I’m happy.

“Stop daydreaming, Nova. Don’t you have work to do?”

Ethan.

I turn around, finding him staring at me, a boyish grin on his face.

His hair is disheveled.

He looks so lighthearted and happy.

“You’re no fun,” I grumble, turning back to my laptop.

“Why are you even here?”

“I’m the keeper of your dreams. Your north star.”

My breath stalls in my throat and my eyes tear up as I relive this precious scrap of memory.

The only piece of the past Ethan—the past us—I remember.

This smallest flash tells me the precious memories I’ve lost are still buried inside me.

“Keeper of my dreams,” I whisper.

What a beautiful sentiment.

But then I startle, goosebumps pebbling my forearms from a sudden awareness.

Can it be ?

My fingers shake, and I click on the USB drive folder again, the password prompt popping up on the screen.

“Keeperofdreams,” I murmur and hit enter.

No beeping.

“Yes!” I pump my fist in the air, elation sweeping through me as the explorer screen opens, showing the contents of the mysterious drive.

“Photos, assignments, journals,” I mumble, scrolling through the many folders I have in there.

But then I stop when I come across one particular folder.

Dayton’s Important Stuff.

I frown. Why would he have important items with me?

I must’ve accidentally backed up his folders in the past.

After clicking it open, my eyes widen when I take in all the PDFs and screenshots.

I click on a few of them and gasp.

There are bank statements, wire transfer receipts, and financial records of accounts in the Cayman Islands.

My muscles seize, and I think back to Ethan and Elias’s warnings about their investigation.

“No,” I whisper, inspecting the documents, “Fleur Entertainment Holdings Operations Account.” One of the originating bank accounts’ sender’s information is Ethan’s company.

“But why?”

These items are over a decade old.

What was he involved in?

I click on a jpeg file.

My heart stops when I flag the words, “The Association.”

I remember reading about it, the suspected shadowy organization that allegedly murdered a high-profile businessman.

Then I read the text messages in the folder.

My heart stops. I slap my hands on my desk, accidentally jolting the laptop, and the flash drive topples to the floor.

“Shit.” Quickly, I squat down and pick it up.

How did I not know about this?

Did I never open this folder in the past?

Something in my gut tells me this is the first time I’ve seen this information .

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” I need to talk to Ethan and Elias.

I need to tell them what I’ve found.

Without looking above me, I get up.

And accidentally slam my head on the hard edge of my desk.

Pain explodes across my skull.

I drop to the floor, the sharp pain robbing me of my breath.

The past drags me under again.

The music thumps loudly.

Muted conversations and clinking of glasses filter through the walls.

The hallway is dark, like someone purposely turned off the lights.

I should turn around.

A sixth sense tells me I’m not supposed to be here.

But my body refuses to listen.

My feet inch forward of their own accord.

I need to find Tay Tay.

The party is over. Everyone from the ballet studio went home, and we’ve had our fun.

There’s still school tomorrow.

I should turn around and leave.

I’m obviously lost.

Then I hear it.

Screams. Gut-wrenching screams. The sounds of fabric ripping, skin slapping against skin.

My blood curdles and my breath freezes in my lungs.

Before I know it, I’m standing in front of the door at the end of the corridor.

The cries are louder and whatever’s going on inside the room is utter terror.

It’s something that’ll change everything as I know it.

Holding my breath, I peek through the gap, and what I see has me slapping my palm over my mouth.

Men over women—multiple women, all drunk or incapacitated.

An orgy—an unwanted orgy.

My feet inch backward.

I need to get out. I need to call the cops.

They can’t see me.

But then, something stops me.

Thick raven hair, slender willowy limbs, the beautiful dress I lent her earlier that night.

No !

I bolt forward, not caring about my safety.

I need to rip the man off her.

Shit, he’s tucking himself back into his pants.

The deed is done.

It’s too late.

Then I see the blond hair.

The familiar frame. The profile I recognize.

No. No. No.

My mind spins, frantic, I blink, hoping I’m actually asleep and in the throes of a nightmare.

But no, he’s still there.

I need to stop him… I need to stop him.

I need to put him away.

Another man steps into my vision.

He’s murmuring something, a slimy smirk on his face.

Uncle Ian grunts, his face flushed.

He responds in rapid French…

calling the guy Archambeau.

Something about The Association.

Evidence. I need evidence.

Hands trembling, I take out my phone, swipe to my camera app, and click record.

Then I hear thundering footsteps coming from my right.

My mind blanks, my head still throbbing, and the next thing I know, I find myself curled up on the floor of my apartment, my fingers knotted in my hair, tears soaking my face.

Tay.

Tay.

Oh my fucking shit.

Tay.

I draw in quick breaths—one right after the other—but my lungs don’t seem to be intaking enough oxygen.

I can’t breathe.

This can’t be real.

These can’t be memories, can they?

It can’t be.

Then I think about Taylor’s face in the hospital whenever I brought up the past. My gut feeling that she’s been through something dark but doesn’t want to tell me.

The way the blood rushed from her face at the Christmas Ball when I told her I was remembering things from my accident.

Is this what she’s been hiding ?

The fragments of my memories collide with each other in my mind—the threatening phone call, what I witnessed—and a sudden wave of nausea threatens to purge my stomach of whatever I ate earlier today.

My accident wasn’t an accident.

I suspected that from the brief flash of memories, but there was always an element of uncertainty.

Why would anyone want to hurt me?

Now I know. I saw something I shouldn’t have seen.

I was supposed to die in the car crash.

My fingers shake. I quickly scramble back up and grab my phone from my desk to pull out my contacts.

Tay. I need to talk to Tay.

I need to find out what happened.

Screw the medical trial.

I. Need. To. Know. Now.

But before I press dial, an incoming call flashes on the screen, a number I don’t recognize.

“H-Hello?”

“Alexis, are you with Ethan?”

I recognize the gravelly voice—dark, mysterious, a thread of danger in them.

“Elias.” His name comes out in a shout.

“I-I think I remember what h-happened.”

“I need you to calm down right now and explain in the clearest and quickest way possible.”

“I have a flash drive.” I grab my hair, pulling it.

“I didn’t remember the password until now. And I opened it. There’s all this evidence against Dayton and The Association. I don’t know why he’s involved. Then I bumped my head, and I remembered what happened to Taylor…and Uncle Ian, and I…I—”

“The Association? Fuck!” The sound of glass shattering comes across the line.

“Elias? ”

“I need you to listen very carefully. I’m not in the city right now, but Ethan sent me a message saying he’s meeting with Dayton for information. But if what you saw on your flash drive is legitimate and The Association is involved, then Ethan’s in danger. Do you have any idea where he might be? The last location I have of him is at his office. But his phone is off.”

My pulse riots, my lungs feeling like they’ll give up on me at any second.

Where would he be? Why does Dayton want to meet him?

Think, Lexy. You know Ethan better than anyone.

You know this. Think.

Suddenly, I remember something.

I put Elias on speaker and swipe to the track my phone app.

Polaris. Last seen ten minutes ago.

A singular blue dot.

“H-He’s at the pier.” I snap my head up.

“I know where he’s at. The Delfina. It’s still docked there.”

“Alexis, I’ll call my guys. Whatever you do, stay put and don’t—”

I hang up.

Ethan’s with Dayton.

He might be in danger.

Dayton knows me…he cares about me.

I might be able to talk some sense into him.

I need to find Ethan.

I need to save him. I can’t let him get hurt.

Standing up quickly, I grab my keys and rush out the door.