Ethan's POV
I set the plate down on the nearest surface and crossed the room before I'd decided to, some instinct pulling me toward him that had nothing to do with the contract or the cameras or any version of us that existed for anyone else to see.
"What do you mean you don't remember," I said. "You have to remember something. A place. A name. Anything."
"I've tried." He rubbed a hand over his face, and for the first time since I'd met him he looked genuinely lost, not performing lost, not the kind of vulnerable that photographed well. "There are pieces. A dock. The smell of pine needles. A laugh I can't attach to a face no matter how hard I try." His jaw worked. "My therapist, back when I still had one before my grandfather decided therapists were a liability, called it dissociative a
