I still don’t know why we’re watching this memory, but I’m learning so much from it. I can’t look at Smith, too scared of what I’ll see on his face. Too scared of the reasons why he never told me about our history—too scared to find out if he has any recollection of these events, or if he’s been manipulated into forgetting as well.

“I know Theo’s your best friend,” Riley continues, “so you’re not going to like what I have to tell you next.”

I jolt with surprise. Best friend? Smith? That’s just … That’s just bizarre.

This time I can’t help glancing at him from the corner of my eye. I’m amazed he’s still standing, given the look on his face. Our hands remain connected, but he feels a million miles away. I consider asking if he’s all right, but I already know the answer.

“Just tell me,” my younger self whispers, clearly fearing the worst.

Riley looks as if he’d rather do anything else. But he still answers, “Theo woke up before you did. It … It wasn’t good, Lyss. I told you that Nana and Papa Smith are shaken, but Theo … he was beside himself. After everything with his parents …” He trails off and then sighs loudly before declaring, “He wants me to use my ability on him.”

My younger self’s eyes widen—whether in shock or dread, I can’t tell. Perhaps both.

“He doesn’t.”

“I don’t want to, I swear,” Riley says. “But Mum and Dad and his grandparents all agree. They’re saying it’s his choice to make. I only managed to stall until you woke up, but now …”

She closes her eyes and when they open again, there’s a mix of emotions in them—sorrow, fear … and anger. The last blazes like blue flames as she says, “Take me to him.”

Riley nods as if expecting this, and stands, helping her to her feet.

I follow them out of the room and along a corridor that looks eerily similar to those at Lengard, Kael and Smith walking silently with me. I can’t look at the latter, still fearing what I might see. Instead, I wonder what Speaking power Riley has, and why Smith’s younger self wants him to use it. Why my parents and his grandparents believe it’s for the best.

We pass two closed doors and turn a corner before we reach another door, this one also reading “SCARS In-Patient Care” but with the addition of “Critical” in italics beside it. Beneath, Smith’s name is scrawled onto the whiteboard in large capital letters: THEODORE SMITH.

Riley knocks quietly and pushes the door open, allowing my younger self to walk in first, with him following behind.