*Chapter 4: The Name I Almost Remembered*
The alley twisted into a dead-end.
I spun, heart hammering, breath coming in sharp gasps. The fog was so thick I could barely see two feet in front of me. Footsteps pounded in the distance. Too close. I pressed against the cold brick wall, listening — straining to hear anything beyond the thudding in my chest.
Then silence.
Whoever had chased me… stopped.
Or worse — was waiting.
I inched toward a dumpster, climbed atop it, and hoisted myself over the low wall behind it. I landed hard in a gravel lot behind an old auto repair shop, skinning my palms. But I didn't stop. I kept running. Through alleys, across streets, through parking lots until I collapsed behind a row of shipping crates near the waterfront.
It wasn't until I stopped moving that I noticed I was crying.
Not out of fear — out of exhaustion, out of *frustration*. Out of that bone-deep ache of not knowing who you are, but being terrified of finding out.
*Eva.*
That name again. Whispered in my mind like a prayer.
I closed my eyes and focused.There was something there — a fragment. A voice. Warm, familiar. Someone saying my name... no, calling it. In the distance. Not in anger. In panic. In fear.
It wasn't just a memory. It felt like it had happened seconds ago.
Then came another flash. A kitchen. White tiles. Bright sunlight. A man pacing, phone in his hand, his voice low but urgent. I could almost see his face — tall, sharp features, but always slightly turned away. And that feeling… that unmistakable pull toward him.
Was that Declan?
I curled tighter against the crate, knees to chest, the sound of the waves nearby grounding me.
Something had changed in me since the chase. I was no longer just drifting in this city. Someone had followed me. *Watched* me. Maybe they had been doing it all along. And if that were true… it meant someone still saw me as a threat.
But to what?
I pulled out the crumpled newspaper clipping I had stuffed in my coat pocket. Declan's face stared back at me from the page, still calm, still unreachable. I hated how familiar he felt and how completely unaware he seemed to be of me. But deep down, I couldn't shake the belief that he *had* known me. Before the accident. Before the surgery. Before I became this stranger to the world — and to myself.The fog finally began to lift as dawn crept in. The city slowly came alive with the sounds of distant horns, street sweepers, and the chatter of early risers. I emerged from behind the crates, my limbs stiff and sore, and started walking again. I didn't know where I was going — only that I had to keep moving.
And that I had to find answers.
Hours later, I found myself standing in front of a familiar café — one I couldn't explain knowing. It was a quaint, ivy-covered place with wooden chairs, golden lights, and the smell of fresh bread wafting out into the street. I stood across the road, heart racing.
Had I been here before?
The name rang something in me: *Hollow Grounds*.
I crossed quickly and slipped inside.
The woman behind the counter, a barista in her late twenties, looked up with mild interest and a smile that faltered when her eyes landed on me.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said softly.
I froze.
Had she recognized me?
"You alright?" she asked after a moment. "You need water or—"
"Have I been here before?" I blurted out.
She frowned, taken aback. "I… I don't know. You look familiar, but…"
I leaned closer. "Do you know someone named Eva?"
Her face paled."That was... a regular here. A while ago. But she hasn't been in for months. We thought she left town or something."
My throat went dry. "Do you remember who she came here with?"
The girl hesitated. "Usually alone. But sometimes… sometimes she came with this tall guy. Wore a suit. Looked like money."
"Declan?" I whispered.
She blinked. "That might've been his name. Yeah. Always looked stressed. The two of them—there was tension. Like something big was always on the edge of happening."
My knees nearly buckled.
So I *had* been Eva. I *had* known Declan.
And this café… was a piece of my past.
"I'm sorry," the girl said quietly. "Are you—?"
"I don't know who I am," I whispered, turning to leave.
She didn't stop me. Just stared.
Back on the street, I sat on a nearby bench, trembling. The pieces were falling into place faster now, and every one of them pointed to one truth: I had been erased. Surgically altered. Forgotten. And Declan, for all his power and precision, didn't even realize I was back.
Or maybe…
He did.
And he was just pretending not to.