SAREYA
"DON'T forget this boy's eyes… remember his face, Sareya."
My grandmother's voice echoed inside my head as I stared blankly at the ceiling.
Even now, I could still picture it so clearly—how serious she looked, how her hands trembled slightly as she held an old photograph in front of me. I remembered the fear in her eyes, the way her voice lowered as if the walls might hear her.
She had pointed at the picture of a young man.
A boy who looked too calm for someone she spoke about with so much dread.
"Remember him."
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.
Those eyes…
Golden.
Bright.
My heart clenched painfully.
Because I had seen those eyes again.
The man who saved me—Kazer—had the same gaze. The same terrifying glow, the same cold intensity that made my skin crawl.
But I wasn't sure.
I wasn't sure if he was the boy in the photograph. Or if I was simply desperate to connect the pieces of my broken memory.
The door to my hospital room suddenly opened.
A nurse stepped in.
Her eyes widened the moment she saw me awake.
For a second, she just stood there frozen, shock written all over her face. Then she quickly stepped back out, closing the door behind her as if she had seen a ghost.
My heart began to race.
What is happening?
Moments later, the door opened again.
This time, a woman entered—older, maybe in her mid-forties. She was wearing white.
And the moment I saw that color, my entire body tensed.
My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe.
The memory of blood-stained coats… syringes… cold hands… echoed in my mind.
My hands trembled beneath the blanket.
The woman paused when she saw my reaction.
Her eyes softened immediately.
Without hesitation, she removed the white coat and placed it over a chair nearby, as if she understood exactly what it meant to me.
Only then did I feel like I could breathe again.
She stepped closer, her movements careful and slow—like she didn't want to scare me further.
Behind her stood the younger woman who had entered earlier, her expression quiet and uncertain.
The older woman looked at me gently.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice calm and professional.
I opened my mouth to answer.
But nothing came out.
Not a sound.
My throat tightened in panic.
I tried again, forcing air through my lungs, but my voice was gone—as if it had been ripped out of me along with everything else.
My eyes widened, fear rising in my chest like fire.
The woman noticed immediately.
"It's okay," she said softly, her voice calm and reassuring. "Don't force yourself."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small flashlight. Leaning closer, she gently lifted my eyelid and shone the light into my eyes, checking my pupils. Her expression was focused—professional—but there was no panic in her face, as if she had expected this.
"Do you remember what happened to you?" she asked gently.
I nodded in response.
A small smile formed on her lips, relief flickering across her features. But it didn't last long. "And me?" she continued carefully, her voice still soft, but this time I could feel her studying my reaction. "Do you know who I am?"
I stared at her, forcing myself to search my mind—digging through memories, faces, voices… anything.
But no matter how hard I tried, nothing came.
This was the first time I had ever seen her. Slowly, I shook my head.
Something dimmed in her eyes. Sadness flashed there for a brief moment, like a wound reopening. But she quickly covered it with a smile.
"Don't worry," she said, her tone gentle and warm. "Your voice will come back." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "You just woke up, after all… you've been asleep for two months."
Two months.
The words slammed into me like a punch.
My entire body went cold.
My mind struggled to process it.
Two months?
I had been unconscious for two months.
"Your body needs time to recover, but you're going to be okay," the doctor said the moment she noticed the panic rising in my expression. "Your body went through a lot of stress, which is why your recovery has taken so long. Even now, your body still needs plenty of rest."
Her voice was calm—too calm—like she had said those words a hundred times to patients who woke up terrified and confused.
I forced myself to nod, even though my chest still felt tight, even though my thoughts were spiraling out of control.
She smiled gently.
"I'm Elen," she introduced herself. "Your doctor."
Her smile was warm, but the way she looked at me made my skin prickle. It wasn't the kind of look doctors usually gave—neutral, professional, distant.
No.
She stared at me like she knew me.
Like she had been waiting for me to open my eyes.
"You seem stable," she continued, checking the monitor beside my bed. "Your vitals are good. I'll come back regularly to monitor your recovery."
Her words sounded simple enough, but my mind was too foggy to absorb everything. She said more after that—medical terms, explanations, reminders—but the moment she mentioned two months again, everything else became noise.
Because my head was already filled with questions.
Two months.
Two whole months while I was unconscious.
What happened during those two months?
What happened to that place?
Did the facility burn down completely?
Did the people inside die?
Did anyone survive?
And the girl…
The young girl trapped in the cage across from mine.
My stomach twisted painfully as her face flashed in my mind—pale, trembling, whispering sorry like a prayer even in her sleep.
Did she make it out? Or did I leave her behind?
The thought made my chest ache with guilt so sharp it felt like a blade digging into my ribs.
When the doctor finally left, the room fell silent again.
I stared at the ceiling, my hands clenched beneath the blanket. My throat felt tight—not just from the bruising… but from the weight of everything I couldn't say.
Everything I couldn't ask.
Everything I couldn't scream.
My mind was still drowning in unanswered questions when the door opened again.
I stiffened immediately.
My eyes snapped toward the entrance, my pulse rising.
A man walked in.
The first thing I noticed wasn't his clothes or the basket he carried.
It was his hair.
Red.
Not bright or childish—deep, rich red, like dark wine under the light. It made him stand out in a way that felt unnatural, like he didn't belong in a sterile hospital room.
Then I saw his eyes.
Dark gray.
Cold and sharp, like storm clouds.
He was carrying a basket filled with different kinds of fruit—apples, oranges, grapes—like he was visiting someone who mattered.
But the moment his gaze met mine…
He froze.
His footsteps stopped mid-stride.
Surprise flickered across his face so quickly it was almost invisible, but I caught it.
He wasn't expecting me to be awake.
Not yet.
I didn't move.
I didn't smile.
I simply stared at him, my expression empty—not because I didn't feel anything, but because I felt too much.
He slowly walked closer, setting the fruit down on the small table beside my bed. Then he leaned forward slightly, studying me.
His eyes scanned my face, my bruises, the IV attached to my hand.
But his expression didn't change.
Blank.
Unreadable.
I couldn't tell if he felt relief, suspicion, or disgust.
Then he finally spoke.
"You're awake."
I stared at him like he had just said the most pointless thing in the world.
Of course I was awake.
I was looking right at him.
He didn't seem offended by my silence.
Instead, he straightened and exhaled softly, as if he had been holding his breath for a long time.
"Everyone is waiting for you," he said.
My brows furrowed instantly.
Everyone?
Who was he talking about?
Who would be waiting for someone like me?
I didn't have anyone.
Not anymore.
My throat tightened, and I tried to speak—to ask him what he meant, to demand answers—but when I opened my mouth, only air escaped.
No voice.
No sound.
Nothing.
Panic flickered through me again, but I forced myself to stay still.
The man noticed.
His eyes narrowed slightly, and for the first time, something crossed his face—something close to irritation… or pity.
He shook his head slowly, almost as if he had expected it.
Then he turned his back on me.
I watched him, confused and frustrated, wanting to grab his arm, wanting to stop him.
I had so many questions.
Where am I?
Who brought me here?
What happened to the facility?
What happened to the girl?
And most of all…
Who is waiting for me?
But my voice refused to return.
And all I could do was lie there, helpless, as he walked away—leaving me alone with silence and fear.
***
ELEN
I rubbed my temples slowly, contemplating what I should do. My office felt too quiet—too sterile—like the walls were holding their breath along with me. On the desk beside my elbow, my phone lay face up.
The screen was dark.
But it felt heavier than it should have, as if it carried the weight of a decision that could destroy everything.
I kept staring at it, my fingers hovering near it more than once… but I never picked it up.
Because I didn't know if I should tell them.
I didn't know if I wanted to.
My chest tightened as her name drifted through my thoughts again.
Sareya…
That girl…
She wasn't the same anymore.
Not even close.
The child I once knew—the quiet, composed girl with dangerous eyes and soft words—was gone. The one who used to cling to life even when the world gave her every reason to give up…
She had changed.
Two months of unconsciousness couldn't erase everything she had been through in her life. If that's the case... I'm sure there's a deeper reason why she doesn't recognize me.
I've been her doctor since she was a child. I had been the one watching her from the sidelines, pretending I was only doing my job… pretending I wasn't involved.
I shut my eyes as I remembered what had happened before… before that tragedy.
I exhaled shakily and leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment.
I had already made up my mind.
I wouldn't tell them yet.
Not until I was sure Sareya was stable.
Not until I could speak to her properly.
Not until I could prepare her.
Because if they rushed to her room the moment they heard she was awake…
I didn't even want to imagine what would happen.
Just as I reached for my phone again, the door suddenly swung open.
I froze.
The sound of boots against the floor echoed once, twice… and then a familiar presence filled the room.
One of them had arrived.
He didn't knock.
Of course he didn't.
They never did.
He walked in like my office belonged to him, like this hospital—and everyone in it—was merely another territory under their control.
The man's red hair was the first thing I saw, striking even under the dull lighting. His sharp gray eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on me.
Then he spoke.
"She's awake."
It wasn't a question.
It was a statement.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the desk, but I forced my expression to remain calm. Professional. Controlled.
I didn't let the shock show on my face, even though my stomach dropped.
He walked toward the long couch against the wall and sat down like he had all the time in the world. The leather creaked beneath his weight. He casually placed the basket he brought on top of my table—fruits, neatly arranged, like this was some normal hospital visit.
As if Sareya was simply a patient recovering from a fever.
Not a girl who had been tortured until her body nearly gave up.
I swallowed hard.
This was Zython.
One of Kazer's sworn brothers.
The kind of man who smiled easily, spoke casually, and carried himself like violence was second nature. Like blood didn't bother him. Like screams were nothing but background noise.
I straightened my posture, forcing myself to meet his eyes.
"I was about to call Kazer," I said carefully, keeping my voice gentle. "I was going to inform him that she's awake."
Zython leaned back against the couch, looking far too relaxed for the tension filling my chest.
He lifted his phone lazily and waved it in the air, almost teasingly.
"No need," he said with a shrug. "I already informed them."
My heart skipped.
Them.
Not just Kazer.
All of them.
My breath caught, and I stood up so fast my chair scraped against the floor.
"What?" The word came out sharper than I intended.
Zython's lips curled into a faint grin, amused by my reaction.
"They're probably on their way here now," he added, sounding completely unbothered. Like he had just announced the weather.
Alarm shot through me like electricity.
No.
No, they couldn't go straight to her room.
Not yet.
Not when she had just woken up.
Not when body was barely holding itself together.
Not when her mind was still fragile.
If Kazer saw her in that condition…
If he looked at her the way he used to… I didn't even want to think about what he might do—or what she might do.
I must have looked horrified, because Zython raised an eyebrow at me.
Then he tilted his head slightly, watching me like I was some kind of entertaining puzzle.
"Relax," he said, his tone almost mocking. "I told them to come here first."
My shoulders sagged slightly, and I released a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
But even then, the relief didn't fully reach me.
Because here first didn't mean they wouldn't go to her room right after.
It only meant I had a few minutes.
A few minutes to prepare myself.
A few minutes to decide what to say.
A few minutes before Sareya's fragile peace was shattered by the very people who claimed they needed her alive.
I looked down at my phone again.
The screen was still dark.
But I already knew…
It wouldn't stay silent for long.
To be continued...