Rafael didn't sleep that night.
Neither did I.
The mansion stayed awake with us, lights burning low, guards shifting in silence, guns loaded with the kind of patience that only came before bloodshed.
I sat on the edge of the bed he no longer remembered sharing with me.
He stood by the window.
Shirtless.
Bandages stark against his skin.
Hands braced against bulletproof glass as if the city itself was trying to get in.
"Don't come closer," he said without turning around.
"I wasn't," I replied softly.
He exhaled sharply.
"Every time you move," he said, "my body reacts before my mind does."
I stayed still.
"That scares me," he continued. "I don't trust instincts I can't explain."
"You trusted them before."
"Before I was broken."
I swallowed.
"You're not broken."
He laughed quietly.
"I don't know my enemies' faces," he said. "I don't know my allies'. And I don't know the face of the woman I married."
He finally turned.
His gaze locked on me.
"But when you're not in the room," he said, "I feel like something essential has been taken from me."
I said nothing.
He stepped closer.
Slow.
Careful.
Like approaching something fragile.
"Explain that," he demanded.
"I can't," I whispered. "You have to feel it."
His jaw tightened.
"I hate feeling things I can't control."
"You loved me anyway."
That word again.
Love.
He stopped an arm's length away.
"Did I ever hurt you?" he asked suddenly.
The question sliced deep.
"Yes," I answered.
His eyes darkened.
"How?"
"By loving me like I was the only thing keeping you alive."
His breath hitched.
"That sounds familiar," he muttered.
He raised his hand.
Paused.
Then let it drop.
"Don't touch me," he said. "If I touch you… I don't know what I'll do."
My heart ached.
"Then look at me."
"I can't."
"Listen to me," I said instead. "You don't need to remember my face. You never did."
He closed his eyes.
"When I was afraid," I continued, "you used to press your forehead against mine. You said faces lied, but bodies didn't."
His breathing grew uneven.
"Stop," he growled.
"I won't," I said softly. "Because you asked me not to disappear if you ever forgot."
His eyes flew open.
"I said that?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"On our wedding night."
Silence shattered.
His throat worked.
"What else did I say?"
"That you would know me," I whispered, "even in the dark."
His restraint snapped.
He crossed the distance between us in two steps.
His hands gripped my arms.
Hard.
Not hurting.
Claiming.
"Don't lie to me," he said hoarsely.
"I'm not."
His hands slid down.
To my wrists.
My waist.
He froze.
Like touching something sacred.
"Why does this feel right?" he demanded.
"Because it always was."
His forehead dropped against my shoulder.
He inhaled sharply.
My scent hit him.
And it destroyed him.
A low sound tore from his chest.
Pain.
Need.
Recognition without memory.
He backed away abruptly.
"No," he said. "This is dangerous."
"Yes."
"And you're letting it happen."
"Because it's already happening," I replied.
A sharp knock echoed.
Marco's voice cut through the tension.
"Boss. We found something."
Rafael straightened instantly.
"What?"
"A transmission," Marco said. "Encrypted. It came through an old channel."
Rafael's face hardened.
"The Cleaner," he said.
"Yes."
"Play it."
I froze.
"No," I whispered. "Rafael—"
He turned to me.
"I need to know."
Marco entered, tablet in hand.
He hesitated when he saw me.
Rafael didn't care.
"Play it," he ordered again.
The screen flickered.
Static filled the room.
Then—
A sound.
Soft.
Broken.
A baby's cry.
My knees buckled.
I grabbed the bed to stay upright.
Rafael went completely still.
The sound pierced him.
Not memory.
Instinct.
His hand flew to his head.
"No," he whispered. "No—"
The cry continued.
A small gasp.
A hiccup.
A sound every parent knew.
"Turn it off," I cried.
Rafael didn't hear me.
Blood roared in his ears.
Images exploded behind his eyes.
A hospital room.
My scream.
His hands shaking.
"Stop!" he shouted.
Marco cut the audio.
Silence crashed down.
Rafael staggered.
I rushed forward.
He caught me this time.
Pulled me into his arms like I was the only thing anchoring him to reality.
"That sound," he whispered into my hair. "It hurts."
"I know."
"I don't remember him," he said. "But my body knows he's mine."
Tears soaked into my shoulder.
"They took him," I whispered.
Rafael's grip tightened.
"They're using him."
His voice dropped.
"And they want to see how much I'll bleed."
Marco cleared his throat.
"There's more."
Rafael didn't let go of me.
"Speak."
"They left a message," Marco said carefully.
"A message?" Rafael repeated.
"Yes."
Marco swallowed.
"He said… if you want to hear the rest of the recording…"
Rafael lifted his head slowly.
"…you'll have to come alone."
The words echoed like a death sentence.
"No," I said immediately. "You're not going."
Rafael's eyes locked on mine.
"They're baiting you," I insisted. "That's what they want."
"And they succeeded," he replied.
He cupped my face.
Didn't recognize it.
But touched it like he'd done it a thousand times.
"I can't let them keep hurting him," he said.
"You won't survive this," I whispered.
He leaned his forehead against mine.
Just like before.
"I won't survive if I don't."
My hands fisted in his shirt.
"I won't lose you," I said.
"You already did," he replied softly.
Then he kissed me.
Not gentle.
Not slow.
Desperate.
Like a man anchoring himself before drowning.
The kiss burned.
When he pulled away, his eyes were dark and resolved.
"I'll come back," he said. "I promise."
I shook my head.
"You don't make promises you can't remember."
His lips curved faintly.
"I don't need to remember," he said. "I'll recognize you when I return."
And for the first time since the ambush…
I was afraid he wouldn't.