The words leave my mouth before I fully understand them.
“She wasn’t supposed to wake up.”
Silence floods the boardroom.
Not confusion.
Not disbelief.
Recognition.
Adrian’s hand tightens slightly around the edge of the table.
“Repeat it,” he says quietly.
My throat feels dry. “They said… she wasn’t supposed to wake up.”
Margaret exhales slowly. “That’s not someone checking on a survivor.”
“No,” Adrian says. “That’s someone confirming a failure.”
The meaning lands heavily.
The crash didn’t go the way they planned. And whoever stood beside my car that night—expected me to die.
A cold shiver moves through my spine.
“I remember rain,” I say slowly.
Adrian steps closer. “Take your time.”
My fingers press lightly against my temple as the fragments try to rearrange themselves.
“I
