S e l e n e
—
Walter was there the night of my father’s betrayal. I remembered that golden wolf cane anywhere. Except, no one would ever believe me if I mentioned it. The more I thought about that encounter, the harder my head ached.
Malore had questioned me a thousand times about the fateful night, but nothing came to mind. When he brought me to specialists, they all mentioned the same thing—trauma-induced memory loss.
A pity.
As the jam settled in my mouth, I stared at the glass. Walter knew I was deathly allergic to nuts. What else did he dig up about me? I sliced through the steak and ate like a robot, not once daring to look in his direction. My utensils nearly slipped from how clammy my palms were. Cold sweat gathered on my forehead, my stomach churning with anxiety.
“You sme
