Amirah Pov
With trembling hands, I reached for my phone, needing answers, needing something solid to cling to amid the confusion swirling through me.
Jackson answered on the first ring. "Mira? Everything okay?"
"I need you to look into someone," I said without preamble, my voice tighter than I intended. "Kaison Monroe. Specifically, any connection to Crystal City three years ago."
"What's happened?" His tone sharpened instantly, professional concern replacing casual greeting.
I explained how this man—this stranger—had approached me in the mansion, how he claimed to know me intimately, how he knew things about me that no one outside my team should know. I told him about Crystal City, about this supposed year we had spent together.
"He says I lived with him for almost a year," I said, pacing the small area of my bedroom not visible from the door, keeping my voice low as Lani continued to sleep. "He says I called myself Mira there. But that's impossible. I was in Greystone until the fire. I never left... I would remember if I had."
But even as I said it, doubt crept in. There were gaps in my timeline, blank spaces I had never been able to fill. The hospital had kept me heavily medicated during my stay—or so I had always believed. What if...?
No. I couldn't allow myself to go down that path. Not yet. Not without proof.
"He has to be one of them," I continued, more to convince myself than Jackson. "One of the people who have been after me since I escaped. Maybe connected to Dr. Johns somehow."
"We'll dig into it," Jackson promised. "Every record, every connection, everything about Kaison Monroe. If he's been tracking you, we'll find out why."
I thanked him and disconnected, but didn't set the phone down immediately. Instead, I stared at it, debating whether to call the others. Catanlia would want to know about any potential threat. Briyah would insist on coming to the mansion immediately for additional protection. Mikeal would probably suggest moving Lani and me to yet another safe house.
But I wasn't ready to explain everything—the way Kaison had looked at me, how his touch had felt familiar, how he had kissed me... and how, for one bewildering moment, I had kissed him back.
"It's nothing," I whispered to myself, setting the phone down. "Just another mind game. Another trap."
My fingers drifted unconsciously to my lips, tracing where his had pressed against mine. The kiss had felt... right, somehow. Not frightening, not invasive, but like returning to something known. My body had responded to him in ways it hadn't responded to anyone since—
Since when? I couldn't remember. Another blank space in my memory.
I shook my head, trying to clear the confusing thoughts. Whatever game Kaison Monroe was playing, I wouldn't be a willing participant. I had Lani to protect. I had finally found some measure of stability here with my family, despite the lingering tensions and uncertainties. I couldn't afford to be distracted by a handsome stranger with compelling lies and kisses that made me doubt my own memories.
Moving to the bed, I settled beside Lani, watching the gentle rise and fall of her small chest as she slept. My beautiful daughter, my reason for everything. If what Kaison suggested was true—if we had been involved as he claimed—the timing would align with Lani's conception. The possibility made my stomach twist with anxiety and something else... something almost like hope.
No. I couldn't think like that. I didn't know this man. I didn't remember him. If he was Lani's father, wouldn't I remember something so significant?
Exhaustion washed over me suddenly, the emotional strain of the encounter taking its toll. I lay down beside Lani, careful not to disturb her, and closed my eyes. Just a few minutes of rest, I told myself. Just enough to clear my head and think properly.
Sleep came more swiftly than I expected, and with it, dreams.
I stood in a spacious foyer with soaring ceilings, marble floors, and blue-tinted light filtering through tall windows. Rain lashed against the glass, the storm outside contrasting with the warmth within. I moved through unfamiliar rooms that somehow felt like home—a library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a kitchen with gleaming copper pots hanging above a center island, a bedroom decorated in soothing shades of blue and silver.
In the kitchen, I reached for something on the stove, feeling a sudden burning sensation on my palm. Before I could react, hands took mine—gentle, strong, sure—guiding it under cool running water.
"Why are you so nice and caring to a person you don't even know?" I heard myself ask, the words rising unbidden from some locked memory.
The face before me remained frustratingly blurred, but the voice was clear, deep and resonant: "I don't usually trust other people this openly. My life... doesn't allow for many genuine connections. Perhaps that's why I recognized something in you that first night. Someone else who understands what it means to live in isolation."
The scene shifted. I stood in what appeared to be an entrance hall, rushing forward as a tall figure entered. My arms wrapped around a solid chest, my face buried against a crisp shirt that smelled of sandalwood and something uniquely him. Strong arms encircled me hesitantly, then with more confidence, one hand stroking my hair with tender care.
"I missed you too," that same voice murmured, the warmth in it wrapping around me like a physical embrace.
Another shift. Moonlight bathed a rooftop terrace, stars scattered across the night sky like diamonds. I stood beside him, our shoulders nearly touching as we gazed upward. The words came from my lips, surprising even me with their honesty:
"I love you."
He turned to me, his face still frustratingly indistinct, but his voice clear and certain: "I love you too, Mira."
One final scene—his bedroom, dim lighting, my heart racing with anticipation and fear as I closed the door behind me. His questioning look as I approached. The feeling of his lips against mine, gentle at first, then with growing passion. His hands cradling my face, his eyes searching mine:
"Are you sure about this? I don't want to cross a line that would make you uncomfortable."
My answer, more certain than I had been about anything since escaping the hospital: "I'm sure. I want this. I want you, Kai. Before you go."
I jerked awake, a gasp tearing from my throat as consciousness slammed back into me. Tears streamed down my face, though I hadn't realized I was crying. My heart raced painfully, emotion threatening to overwhelm me—longing, confusion, and a bone-deep ache for something—someone—I couldn't fully remember.
Kai. I had called him Kai in the dream, not Kaison. And it had felt right, natural, as if I'd said it a thousand times before.
Was Kai the same man who had approached me today? Was Kaison Monroe the mysterious "Kai" I had called out for in my delirium, the name that had haunted my team's recollections of my darkest moments?
I looked down at Lani, still sleeping peacefully beside me, unaware of the storm raging inside me. Her features—so like mine, yet with subtle differences. The shape of her eyes, the curve of her lips when she smiled... were they reflections of the man from my dreams? Of Kaison Monroe?
The possibility was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating. If he was the man in my dream was indeed Lani's father, if we had shared the connection my dreams suggested, then much of what I believed about my past was wrong. But if he wasn't—if this was an elaborate deception—then he represented a threat more dangerous than any I had faced before, because some part of me wanted to believe him.
I brushed a gentle hand over Lani's curls, deciding to wake her. I needed her warmth, her innocent chatter, her uncomplicated love to ground me against these confusing emotions.
"Lani," I whispered, stroking her cheek. "Wake up, treasure."
She stirred, blinking sleepily up at me, a smile instantly forming when she saw my face. "Mama," she murmured, reaching small arms up to hug me.
I gathered her close, breathing in her familiar scent, letting her presence center me. "Did you have nice dreams?" I asked, deliberately pushing my own disturbing dreams aside.
"Mmhmm," she nodded against my shoulder. "I dreamed about butterflies in a garden. Blue ones."
Blue. Like the décor in the mansion from my dream. Like the flame I thought I'd seen flickering in Kaison Monroe's eyes.
"Mama, are you okay?" Lani asked, pulling back to study my face with that unnervingly perceptive gaze of hers. "You look sad."
"I'm not sad," I assured her, forcing a smile. "Just thinking."
Her small hand patted my cheek.
My breath caught.
I hesitated, uncertain how to explain something I didn't understand myself. "I don't know," I finally said, choosing honesty over protection.
"Maybe you just forgot."
Out of the mouths of babes. The simplicity of her perspective made me smile, despite the complexity of the situation.
"Maybe," I conceded "But for now, it's just you and me, like always. And that's all that matters."
She nodded, accepting this as she accepted most things, with the resilience of childhood. "Can we have cookies for dinner?" she asked, completely changing the subject in that mercurial way of hers.
I laughed, grateful for the distraction. "No, but we can have cookies after dinner. How about that?"
As we got up to prepare for the evening, I tried to push thoughts of Kaison Monroe—or Kai, if that was truly what I had called him—to the back of my mind. I needed time to process, to investigate, to determine if the dreams and flashes of memory were genuine or merely my subconscious playing tricks.
But the business card he had left remained on my bedside table, a tangible reminder of his presence in my life, of questions unanswered and possibilities unexplored. And despite my best efforts, I found my gaze returning to it throughout the evening, drawn by the promise of answers—and the fear of what those answers might reveal about my past, about Lani's origins, and about the man who claimed to have loved me.