Present Day - Tuesday Morning, 3 AM
Aria sits on the concrete floor of the warehouse, surrounded by photographs of a childhood she doesn't remember living.
Each image feels like a piece of someone else's life.
A six-year-old Aria at what looks like a government facility, working on puzzles that seem impossibly advanced for her age.
An eight-year-old Aria in a classroom with other children, but the adults supervising them wear military uniforms instead of teacher clothes.
A twelve-year-old Aria shaking hands with men in expensive suits who have the cold eyes of people who view children as assets.
"I don't remember any of this," she whispers.
Elena sits across from her, organizing documents with the methodical precision of someone who's done this before.
"Memory suppression was part
