And with that, he turns back to me and says the words that redirect the course of my life. He paints a picture of my parents’ deaths in my mind, exactly how I believed this scene played out for over two and a half years. He plants the thought that we left Sydney long ago to live elsewhere, and that I’m so horrified by what I did that I checked myself into a local psychiatric hospital, only to be collected by government agents two weeks later and relocated to an underground testing facility called Lengard. Lastly, he commands me to forget everything that happened this day, to forget his face, to forget Riley, to forget Falon, to forget ever knowing anything about Speakers. He reminds me that I’m alone—and I always will be.

As the twin orbs of light flare and speed toward my younger self, the last thing I see is my dad’s pale eyes fluttering shut as the security guard whispers to me, “I will come for you soon, my little weapon. And when I do, with your help, vengeance shall be mine.”

And with that, the man raises his gun and slams it into the back of my head, the room turning black as together Smith and I fall through the endless darkness, leaving the memory behind.

Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I can’t breathe.

I.

Can’t.

Breathe.

“Alyssa! Snap out of it!”

A rough shake of my shoulders has me gulping in a desperate lungful of air. My face is wet with tears, and sticky with the blood that’s dripping from my nose. I feel as if I’ve been stabbed in the head, but the pain is secondary to the onslaught of emotions overwhelming me.

I finally know the truth about that day.

And yet … the answers I’ve received have only resulted in more questions.

Who is the security guard? Why does he seek revenge? What does he think my dad stole from him?

My dad …

Renewed tears roll down my face as I recall the blood soaking his shirt … his paling features … his eyes closing …

That man … he killed my dad.

He murdered my dad.

My dad is dead.

“ALYSSA! Pull yourself together!”

Smith shoves a box of tissues into my chest, the action jolting me back into his room. I move as if on autopilot to soak up the blood on my face, forcing myself to continue breathing, to stay in the moment.

I spent over two and a half years grieving for my dad, and yet, for the past week, hope had blossomed within me. Hope that he and my mum might be alive.

That hope is now gone.

But … my mum, my brother—they’re still out there. We can be together again, a family once more.

I will come for you soon, my little weapon.