Aria.
He didn't rush.
That was the first thing I noticed about him. He sat in that chair with the patience of someone who had nowhere else to be and nothing else to want and he watched me try to piece together the inside of my own head and he waited.
I tried again.
My name. Where I came from. What I looked like before I saw my own hands. What voice I heard in my head when I thought of the word home.
All of it came back the same way. A wall. Smooth and solid and offering nothing.
"Stop trying to force it," the man said. His voice was low. Rough edged. The kind of voice that had been worn down by years of something.
"I can't remember anything," I said.
"I know."
"Who are you."
He looked at me for a moment. The scar shifted when his expression moved, pulling the left side of his fac
