The drive to my old house took twenty minutes.
Neither of us spoke much.
The city passed outside the windows—cafés, buses, students carrying backpacks, people laughing on sidewalks.
Normal life.
It felt strange knowing that beneath all of it was a secret world I had spent six years trying not to remember.
Adrian kept both hands on the steering wheel.
Finally, he said: —You can still change your mind.
I looked at him.
—About what?
—Going inside.
I looked through the windshield.
—It’s my house.
—That doesn’t mean you have to enter it.
I almost smiled.
—Since when are you so reasonable?
He glanced at me.
—Since you started running toward danger every five minutes.
—That’s not true.
—You chased a girl who looks exactly like you into a library.
—Fair.
He smiled briefly.
Then his expression became serious again.
—Sophia.
—Yeah?
—If we find something about your father…
He hesitated.
—Don’t assume it’s the truth just because you want it to be.
I understood what he meant.
I nodded.
—You too.
He looked at me.
—What?
—If we find something about your family.
His jaw tightened.
—Fair.
We reached the street.
My old house stood at the end of the road.
It looked exactly the same.
The white paint.
The small garden.
The cracked stone steps.
But something felt wrong.
The front door was open.
Adrian stopped the car.
—Someone’s inside.
I stared at the house.
—The message was right.
He turned off the engine.
—Stay close.
We walked toward the door.
The house was silent.
Too silent.
I stepped inside.
Dust covered the furniture.
The curtains were closed.
But there were fresh footprints on the floor.
Adrian crouched beside them.
—These are recent.
I looked around.
—Someone’s been living here.
A noise came from upstairs.
We both froze.
Adrian looked at me.
—Stay here.
I shook my head.
—No.
—Sophia— —We’re doing this together.
He sighed.
—Of course we are.
We climbed the stairs.
The hallway looked smaller than I remembered.
My old bedroom was at the end.
The door was slightly open.
I pushed it.
Inside, everything was exactly as I had left it.
My old desk.
My books.
The faded posters on the wall.
A stuffed rabbit sitting on the bed.
I walked toward it.
I remembered that rabbit.
My father had given it to me when I was seven.
I picked it up.
Something rattled inside.
I froze.
Adrian looked at me.
—Open it.
I carefully turned the rabbit over.
There was a small zipper hidden beneath the fabric.
Inside was a tiny memory card.
Adrian stared.
—Your father hid it there.
I nodded.
—Apparently.
We found an old laptop in the desk.
It still worked.
I inserted the card.
One file appeared.
CLARA_01.
I clicked it.
A video opened.
My grandmother appeared on screen.
She looked tired.
Older than in the photographs.
But her eyes were clear.
—Sophia.
I held my breath.
—If you’re watching this, then you’ve found the house again.
I frowned.
Again?
Clara continued: —You probably don’t remember this place.
She smiled sadly.
—That’s because Daniel asked Evelyn to make sure you didn’t.
I looked at Adrian.
The video continued.
—But I didn’t trust Daniel.
My heart stopped.
—Not completely.
Clara leaned closer to the camera.
—If Daniel tells you that he erased your memories to protect you, believe him.
I blinked.
That wasn’t what I expected.
—But remember this: protecting you wasn’t the only reason.
The screen flickered.
—Daniel was afraid of what you would discover about him.
The video ended.
I stared at the screen.
Adrian was silent.
Then he said: —Your grandmother trusted your father.
I nodded.
—But she didn’t trust him completely.
A noise came from downstairs.
We both turned.
Someone had entered the house.
Adrian closed the laptop.
—Stay here.
—I’m coming.
We moved toward the stairs.
A man’s voice came from below.
—Sophia?
I froze.
My father’s voice.
Exactly as I remembered it.
—Sophia, it’s me.
Adrian immediately shook his head.
—Don’t answer.
The voice came again.
—Sweetheart, please.
My chest tightened.
Nobody had called me that in years.
I stepped toward the stairs.
Adrian caught my arm.
—It’s not him.
I looked at him.
—How do you know?
—Because Daniel never calls you sweetheart.
I stared at him.
He was right.
My father always called me kiddo.
Never sweetheart.
The voice downstairs laughed.
—Very clever, Adrian.
Adrian’s expression hardened.
—Show yourself.
Footsteps approached the stairs.
A man appeared.
He looked like my father.
Same face.
Same height.
Same gray eyes.
For a second, my mind refused to understand.
Then I noticed the buttons.
Black.
Not silver.
The photograph.
Adrian was right.
It wasn’t my father.
The man smiled.
—Hello, Sophia.
I stepped backward.
—Who are you?
He sighed.
—That’s complicated.
Adrian moved in front of me.
—You’re using his face.
The man looked at him.
—Not exactly.
—Then what?
The man’s expression changed.
For a moment, his face flickered.
Not physically.
Like an image on a screen.
Then he looked completely different.
Older.
Sharper.
I recognized him from somewhere.
Adrian whispered: —Thomas Hale.
I frowned.
—Who?
—Victor’s brother.
The man smiled.
—So you’ve heard of me.
Adrian shook his head.
—I thought you were dead.
—That’s what everyone was supposed to think.
I looked at him.
—Why are you here?
Thomas looked around the house.
—Because your grandmother left something here.
I held the laptop tighter.
—The archive?
He smiled.
—No.
He looked at me.
—Something much more important.
—What?
He stepped closer.
Adrian blocked him.
Thomas stopped.
—Your first memory.
I frowned.
—What does that mean?
Thomas pointed toward the bedroom.
—You were seven when Clara brought you here.
—Yes.
—She gave you something.
I shook my head.
—I don’t remember.
—Exactly.
He smiled.
—Because the memory isn’t inside your mind anymore.
My stomach tightened.
—Where is it?
Thomas looked at the stuffed rabbit.
—Inside that.
I looked down.
Adrian immediately reached for it.
—The memory card?
Thomas shook his head.
—Not the card.
He pointed toward the rabbit.
—The memory itself.
I stared at the toy.
—That’s impossible.
Thomas smiled.
—In your world, perhaps.
He turned toward the hallway.
—In theirs, memories are objects.
I looked at Adrian.
—What does he mean?
Adrian didn’t answer.
Thomas continued: —Your grandmother discovered that a memory could be extracted and stored.
He looked at the rabbit.
—Clara stored yours here.
I picked up the rabbit.
—Why?
—Because she knew someone would eventually try to erase you.
My fingers tightened around the fabric.
—What memory?
Thomas’s expression became serious.
—The one thing Clara discovered before she disappeared.
I swallowed.
—What?
He looked directly at me.
—The identity of the person who founded the organization.
Adrian stepped forward.
—Who was it?
Thomas smiled.
—You already know.
Adrian frowned.
—No, I don’t.
Thomas looked at me.
—Yes, you do.
Then he walked toward the front door.
I followed him with my eyes.
—Wait.
He stopped.
—Why are you helping me?
He looked back.
—I’m not.
My stomach dropped.
—Then why tell me?
—Because Victor wants the memory.
Adrian’s expression hardened.
—And you?
Thomas smiled.
—I want what comes after it.
He opened the door.
Before leaving, he said: —When you remember, don’t trust the person standing closest to you.
Then he disappeared.
The door slammed shut.
Silence.
Adrian and I looked at each other.
He spoke first.
—I hate mysterious people.
I almost laughed.
—You’re one of them.
—I’m trying to improve.
I looked down at the rabbit.
Something was hidden inside.
I could feel it.
A faint vibration.
I carefully opened the seam.
A tiny glass capsule fell into my palm.
Inside was a thin silver thread.
It glowed faintly.
Adrian stared.
—That’s new.
I touched it.
The room vanished.
I was seven again.
Clara was kneeling in front of me.
She held the silver thread.
—This will keep your memory safe.
Young me nodded.
—Will I forget?
—For a while.
—Will I remember later?
Clara smiled.
—When you’re ready.
Then another person appeared behind her.
A man.
I couldn’t see his face.
But I heard his voice.
—You shouldn’t have brought her here.
Clara turned.
—She deserves to know.
—She’s a child.
—She’s already seen enough.
The man stepped closer.
—If she remembers, everything changes.
Clara looked at me.
Then she whispered: —That’s why she must remember.
The memory changed.
I saw the man’s hand.
The black ring.
The silver line.
I knew that ring.
Adrian’s father.
But then the man turned slightly.
And I saw his face.
It wasn’t Adrian’s father.
It wasn’t Victor.
It wasn’t Thomas.
It was someone else.
Someone I knew.
Someone who had been helping us from the beginning.
I gasped.
The memory shattered.
I returned to the bedroom.
Adrian was holding my shoulders.
—Sophia!
I looked at him.
—What happened?
I could barely speak.
—I saw him.
—Who?
I looked toward the door.
—The person who founded the organization.
Adrian’s eyes widened.
—Who?
I whispered the name.
—Evelyn Carter.
Adrian froze.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
GOOD.
NOW YOU KNOW WHO TO FEAR.
Another message followed.
BUT YOU’RE WRONG ABOUT ONE THING.
I stared at the screen.
The final message appeared.
EVELYN DIDN’T FOUND THE ORGANIZATION.
YOUR MOTHER DID.