At that, I turn to Riley, waiting for him to say something, anything. When he remains mute, I remember what Ward said and croak out, “Why were you at Luna Park, Riley?”

He gives a jolt when I say his name, but he doesn’t try to step closer again. Instead, he swallows, then straightens his shoulders, visibly pulling himself together.

“Our contact inside Lengard went silent,” he says, his deep voice washing over me, the new familiarity of it causing me to shiver. Arryn notices and moves away to grab me a towel, which I wrap around myself as Riley continues, “We were worried about him, especially when …” He trails off, as if deciding how much to tell me, before saying, “Alvin Manning is dead, Lyss. We found his body five days ago.”

His death is not new information to me, so I keep my face neutral and wait for him to continue.

“With that … development … we were concerned about our contact when we didn’t hear from him,” Riley goes on. “Plus, we needed an update about Vanik’s progress with the … with the samples he took from you”—he swallows again—“and how far along he’d come in refining his Creator serum.”

My heart skips a beat at the mention of the serum. “You seem to know a lot.”

“We’ve been monitoring the situation inside Lengard for longer than you can imagine.”

“And yet, in over two and a half years, you never clued in about me?”

It’s a low blow, and one I instantly loathe myself for, especially when I see him rear back as if struck.

“I’m sorry,” I quickly say. “I didn’t mean that. I know your memories were changed. Our memories. We were both made to believe things that never happened.”

Seeing the desperate look on his face and knowing exactly how it feels to be so uncertain, so confused, I pull my towel tighter and look anywhere but at him as I give a brief overview of what Smith and I just witnessed. I share what was said to modify Riley’s memories of me, and how I lost all memories of him. When I’m done, I still can’t look at him. But then he whispers my name, and I tentatively glance up to see that he’s moved closer and is standing right before me, tears in his eyes.

“You have no idea—no idea—how much I’ve missed you,” he chokes out.

And then I’m in his arms.

He doesn’t care that I’m soaking his clothes or that I’m gripping him so tightly that it must be painful. He just holds me close, saying my name over and over as if to remind himself that I’m really here, that I’m really alive.