We don’t enter another memory. I’m actually relieved, since I’m unsure if I can take any more right now. But the moment my consciousness returns to Smith’s room, my confusing array of emotions is eclipsed by the stabbing pain in my head.

It’s significantly worse than last time, enough that I can’t help letting out a whimper as I lean forward, holding my head in my hands and breathing deeply to keep from vomiting.

“Lyss? Lyss!”

I want to tell Kael to keep his voice down, to give me a minute, to stop shaking me. But I can’t get any words out around the agony.

He kneels in front of me and tilts my head back, swearing loudly before unzipping his jacket and tearing it from his shoulders, pressing it against my face.

It’s taking everything within me to keep from throwing up or passing out, so I don’t ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing. Instead, I just focus on getting through the waves of torture as they slowly—slowly—start to fade.

Finally, I’m able to see clearly through my teary eyes, the pounding in my head reduced to a steady but dull ache.

I push at Kael somewhat weakly, but he gets the message and moves away. As he does so, I see that his jacket is covered with blood. My blood.

Whatever just happened to me, it was bad enough to make my nose bleed.

“So … do you believe me now?” I ask, my voice hoarse. I manage to keep from wincing as a dagger of pain shoots through my head.

“About Riley?” Kael says. He doesn’t wait for me to respond before he goes on, “It’s hard not to, after seeing all that.”

I feel vindicated, but then I turn to find Smith looking at me with the same horror-struck expression he wore inside my memories.

“Smith …” I trail off, not sure what to say.

He jolts at the name, as if waking from a daze. He shakes his head and pushes his glasses up his nose—and now I understand the déjà vu—before seeming to come back to himself. “Right. So that happened.”

“Do you want to—” I start to ask if he wants to talk about what we saw, what we heard, what we did, but he cuts me off.

“—get some sleep? Yes. I’d like that very much. If you don’t mind …” He waves toward the door, his implication clear.

If his hand wasn’t shaking so visibly, I’d be inclined to make him wait a little longer. But I can tell he’s barely holding it together right now, and he doesn’t seem like the type who wants to be comforted by his forgotten ex-best friend and a guy who now knows as much about his past as he does.