She releases a shaky breath but then straightens her spine. “Even if that happens, I’ll have you there to help me. You’ll— You’ll always be with me, right?”

“Always,” he tells her, and there’s nothing uncertain in his voice. No knowledge of what will eventually happen, that one day he’ll be parted from her—from me. “I will never, ever leave you, Lyss. I promise.”

My knees buckle at the weight of his words, at the look in his eyes. He’s looking at her, but she’s me. His promise is to me.

I vaguely feel Smith squeeze my fingers, his pincer-grip still painful, but this time I know he’s making an effort to offer me comfort. Even in the midst of what must be a revelation to him—his own missing memories—he’s telling me he understands. That he’s with me. I wonder if perhaps there was a reason we were best friends once upon a time, after all. Even if, like my younger self, I have a hard time accepting his selfish decision to forget what happened, to forget me.

But … if his parents really did die in a fire … and after what he went through himself this night … Part of me understands. I’ve wished too many times for my own chance at a fresh start. If my brother could provide him that, then who am I to condemn him for his choices?

“Please, Riles. Do this for me.”

I refocus in time to see younger-me begging to forget. I wish I could tell her not to do it, not to let anyone mess with her memories, but it’s too late to change anything about my past.

“I think we should talk to Mum and Dad first,” Riley tries. “Please, Riles,” she repeats.

He sighs with resignation, something that tells me he has a hard time saying no to her. To me. “Promise you won’t hate me for this later?”

“I promise I won’t remember to hate you,” she returns, offering a soft smile.

He doesn’t return the smile. Instead, his face is grim as he focuses on her face and says, “Forget tonight. And forget Theodore Smith.”

Light flares.

And then darkness descends as the memory ends and I’m falling, falling, falling once more.

When the blackness fades, I’m in my old bedroom again, but it’s daylight this time, and instead of Riley being with me, both my parents are lying beside me on my bed, their arms wrapped around me.

I’m roughly the same age as in the previous memory, twelve, maybe thirteen. I’m crying, my eyes bloodshot and my face swollen, indicating that, just like in the last memory, I’ve been upset for some time.

“I hate it,” I sob. “I h-hate it, I hate it, I hate it.”