Something was wrong instantly. His voice sounded hollow, almost broken.
“Did it fail?” I asked.
“No. It worked.”
Then silence.
He sat beside me, breathing unevenly.
“Before I remove the bandages, I need to tell you something.”
I smiled weakly. “Can it wait until I can see your dramatic face?”
“No.” His voice cracked. “Please… don’t hate me.”
My pulse raced.
“What are you talking about?”
“Everything isn’t the way you think.”
Hands trembling, he began unwrapping the bandages.
Light stabbed through my eyelids. I cried out and squeezed them shut. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Slowly, carefully, I opened them again.
Shapes appeared first. White walls. Blue curtains. Silver rails on the bed. A vase of flowers near the window.
Then a man standing in front of me.
Brown hair threaded with gray. Tired eyes. Scar near the chin. Hands shaking.
And suddenly, memory surged through me like lightning.
An older face, yes—but the same eyes. The same mouth. The same voice aged by time.
I gasped so hard my chest hurt.
