"Don't trust them. Not everyone has good intentions like you. I have my reasons. Too much trust could kill you,"
a voice, ragged with distortion, ripped through Joey's sleep. The words weren't just sound; they were a physical presence, twisting through a distorted tableau in her mind. A man and a woman, both cloaked in the grim fabric of mourning, locked in a silent, agonizing argument. Joey's breath hitched, her own hair damp with sweat as she was flung into the fractured memory. Their faces remained a blur, yet a chilling sense of familiarity settled in Joey's chest – it felt like her.
"They're my family. They're all I have left. I don't have time for this now, please." The woman's voice, though distant, held a sharp, raw edge of desperation as she turned to leave. But the man lunged, grasping her hand, his plea a desperate whisper against the static of the dream. "Believe me, please. Don't trust him too much. At least, let me protect you!"
"From what? He's my brother. They are my family regardless!" The woman's cry was a broken echo, and then, the dream fractured, dissolving into the terrifying vision the grim reaper had forced upon her: the imposing back of a man, the sickening plunge through glass and steel.
Joey gasped, body seizing with a cold sweat, her throat locked in a silent scream. The heavy plummeting dust of the dream still clung to her subconscious, a suffocating shroud. A hand found hers, squeezing, grounding her. It was Regina, who had clearly spent the night. Regina pulled her close, clutching her tightly, her own heart thumping a frantic rhythm against Joey's back. She patted, almost pounded, Joey's back, a desperate tenderness in the force of her touch, trying to drag her back from the abyss of sleep.
"WAKE up, Joey! Come on! You're okay, baby. You're okay. Just breathe!" Regina's voice, though trembling, was a lifeline. She kept repeating the words, a fervent prayer, desperately trying to keep her own fear from spilling over and alarming Joey's mother or Jay. Slowly, agonizingly, Joey's breath hitched, then steadied. The terror remained, a cold anchor in her chest, but consciousness returned.
The dream's distortions still clouded the man's identity, but the falling woman… Lyra Vale. Nathan's words from last night echoed in her mind. And the place – the Lumina Tower, her company's HQ, a place she'd never set foot in. She was just an invisible senior designer, or a glorified intern in the eyes of her colleagues, even the team supposedly under her.
Why am I having memories of Lyra? Why do these memories feel like my own? Joey clutched her hands to her chest, the questions a frantic drum against her ribs. Regina's face was a canvas of raw fear as she held Joey's hand.
"Are you alright? You had a nightmare, didn't you? The scene from that night?!" Regina's voice was a barely audible whisper.
Joey, desperate to spare Regina any further worry, forced a brittle smile. "Yeah! But I'm good now. Really." The lie tasted like ash. I don't understand any of this yet, Reggie. I can't tell you the truth. I'm sorry. She squeezed Regina's hand, then, trying to shift the conversation, offered, "You're dressed. Leaving already?"
Regina let out a shaky sigh, then a soft smile touched her lips as she stood from the edge of the bed. "Yeah, I have to go clear groceries for the restaurant." She picked up her bag, turning back to Joey, her eyes still clouded with concern. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay? I can get someone else to do it."
Joey's smile softened, a genuine warmth pushing through the lingering fear. "I'm okay, really. It's just a nightmare. Nothing serious!"
"Alright then." Regina's voice was still laced with caution. "Call me if you ever need anything. I'll be here before you open 'em eyes." Joey nodded, and Regina added, "Selene went to the store, said she needed a few things and wanted to see some of the elders. And Jay, he's back to training. So, now, will you be okay by yourself?"
"What am I? A kid?" Joey laughed, the sound a little shaky, a little forced. "Come on, Reggie, get going already!"
"Yeah, you are to me!" Regina shot back, a grin spreading across her face as she headed for the door. "I love you!"
"Love you too!" Joey called out as Regina exited.
Joey let out a long, shuddering sigh, the echoes of the dream still clinging to her. She headed out of her room, drawn by an unseen pull to the second floor. There, she paused in front of the hallway mirror, her mind a chaotic storm of questions.
She stared at her reflection. The woman staring back was undeniably Joey, her own face, her own features. Yet, eerily, it wasn't. A sharp, almost predatory glint seemed to ignite in her eyes, a restless energy thrumming beneath her skin. She found herself noticing details she never would have before: the slightly warped frame of the mirror, the faint, almost imperceptible dust clinging to its edges, the way the overhead light cast an unflattering, almost grotesque shadow across her face.
"Shoddy design," a new voice in her head critiqued, a voice that was both undeniably hers and chillingly foreign.
Nathan's words from last night replayed, a relentless loop. "Lyra Vale!" she whispered, the name feeling akin to a hot coal in her mouth, scorching her tongue, yet strangely familiar.
What do I have to do with the CEO's daughter? Why does her name bring such a profound sense of anguish and betrayal? And why did Stiles' presence trigger the same visceral memories? The questions spiraled, each one heavier than the last.
Why was I the one running to warn her when I never even looked any of these people up nor personally? I was never curious about this family, nor do I know what they look like. So, how do I know Lyra Vale to the extent I hurried to the HQ to warn her? And how do I even know my way to the HQ? I've never been there!
Her mind, already a maelstrom of unanswered questions, was suddenly pierced by a sharp, agonizing pain. She clamped her hands to her head, a desperate attempt to staunch the agony, but it only triggered another memory, a sudden, blinding flash: A car horn blaring, a deafening shriek as she stepped onto a pedestrian crossing across from a towering building. Brake lights, blindingly bright, obliterated everything. Startled, mind blank with terror, she was suddenly yanked violently out of the way, barely escaping the impact. A voice, distant but urgent, screamed: "Lyra!"
Another fleeting scene: a distorted woman, rising from beside her on the pavement, extending a hand with a gentle smile. "Are you alright? Let me help you up!" Her face was a blur at first, then slowly, agonizingly, it sharpened. The side of her mouth was busted, a thin line of blood marring her lips from the force of the pull.
Joey gasped, the sudden pain in her head receding, replaced by a different kind of ache. Her eyes, still laced with tears from the physical pain, widened in a sudden, breathtaking realization: It was Lyra Vale. That evening. It was Lyra who saved her.
A primal urge, sharp and undeniable, seized Joey. She had to know more now. Her room became a blur as she lunged for her laptop, fingers a frantic, desperate blur over the keyboard: Lyra Vale. The search results exploded across the screen, but one headline, stark and cold, slammed into her like a physical blow: "Lyra Vale Pronounced Deceased at St. Jule's Hospital."
The same hospital. The following night.
"She's... dead?" The words clawed their way out, a strangled, guttural sound. A pain so profound, so wrenching, tore through her chest that it eclipsed thought. It wasn't just shock; it was a visceral agony, as if the news of Lyra's death had struck her own heart. Hot tears, raw and searing, streamed down her face as she repeated the mantra, "She's dead?! She's dead?!" each syllable a fresh shard of glass twisting in her gut.
Then, a flicker at the edge of the screen. A linked article. Her eyes, blurred with tears, focused on it. "Edric Vale Appointed Interim President." A photograph of a man with eyes as cold and sharp as chipped ice accompanied the headline. A sudden, volcanic surge of anger and betrayal, so potent it stole her breath, erupted within Joey. It was a rage she didn't recognize, yet it felt undeniably hers.
Why this fire? she raged internally, even as her fingers, driven by an instinct she couldn't explain, scrolled further. The Vale family. Mr. Koby Vale, the CEO. Lyra's stunning smiling face, then Edric, his sister Talia, their mother. Each image tightened an invisible vise around her chest, a suffocating, magnetic pull she couldn't escape.
The air in the room became thin, suffocating.
Joey stumbled, gasping, bursting out onto the compound, desperately trying to draw a breath. Her heart hammered, a frantic drum against her ribs, threatening to burst.
This is Lyra's family. So why do I feel this? This fury, this pull, this gut-deep connection?
Then, amidst the chaos, a new, fierce resolve ignited. A burning ember in the swirling storm.
Whatever this was, whatever link bound her to Lyra Vale and this dead girl's family, she wants to know. She would tear it apart. She would expose every hidden truth. But she would do it as Joey. This body, these hands, this mind, this unshakeable certainty: she was Joey.
And she would reclaim her own reality, even if it meant navigating a labyrinth of borrowed memories and echoing pain. The past was a phantom limb, aching with Lyra's loss, but the future belonged to Joey. She would untangle this web, one thread at a time, as herself.