The worst part about forgetting your entire life isn’t the blank spaces where memories should be. It’s the feeling that something precious was ripped away while you slept. When I opened my eyes in that forest clearing, my name felt like a word I’d once known but couldn’t quite speak. The trees whispered secrets in a language my bones understood but my mind couldn’t translate. Blood on my hands. Symbols carved into bark. A compass that pointed nowhere. Three strangers emerged from the shadows, and each one looked at me like I was supposed to recognize them. Like I’d betrayed them. The girl with silver scars said I had twenty-one days to remember, or everyone I’d ever loved would die. The problem? I couldn’t remember loving anyone at all.
