“Alias, please?"
“J. Walker," Julian said, tugging the hoodie lower over his eyes.
The clinic nurse typed, eyes skimming over his trembling hands.
“You're scheduled for a PET scan and cardiac workup?"
He nodded.
Ten minutes later, Julian lay in the scanner's cold chamber, the hum of imaging equipment spinning like judgment. Each pulse of light traced more than neurons—it traced guilt, memory, love.
*Don't let her near this.*
The echo of his old command burned worse than his arrhythmia.
---
“Your hippocampus is showing increased scarring," Dr. Lang said, flipping the tablet. “It's trauma-related. The crash did more than your spine and heart—it erased pieces of your memory you still haven't retrieved."
Julian inhaled slowly. “Can I function?"
Lang exhaled. “Yes—for now. But prolon
