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“WelcometoSolace,”Rachelsays softly as she closes the door behind me.
Afew months later,Solacehas become my home.Afterfinding me almost dead in the forest,Rachelbrought me to the underground headquarters.Thephysical wounds healed quickly, but my head took longer.Theconcussion was bad, andIspent weeks with my brain wrapped in fog, my thoughts stumbling over themselves asItried to piece together fragments of a lifeIdidn’t even remember.
Butnow,I’mwhole again—physically, at least.Idon’t get dizzy anymore, and the headaches are gone.Butdespite all the healing,Istill can’t remember.Idon’t know whoIwas before waking up in that sterile room with those men chasing me.Nomatter how hardItry to push through the haze, nothing comes.
Idon’t know my real name.Idon’t remember whereIgrew up, what my family was like.Ican’t even remember what the men who were after me looked like.Theirfaces are shadows in the back of my mind, blurry and unrecognizable.
Sometimes,Iwonder ifIever mattered to anyone.Ithas been months sinceIescaped that place, and there hasn’t been a single missing person report or news article mentioning me.Nosearches, no flyers, no pleas for help from a frantic family.Nothing.WhoeverIwas before, it seems like no one’s looking for her.
Partof me wonders ifIever had a family at all.MaybeIdidn’t.MaybeIwas just another lost girl no one cared about.Orworse—maybe whoever they were wanted to get rid of me, and they succeeded.I’mgone.
So,Igave myself a new name.Itstarted whenRachelasked whatIwanted to be called, andIhad nothing.Nomemories, no identity, just this empty space where a person was supposed to be.Inamed myself after somethingI’dalways loved: horror films.They’rea comfort somehow, even in the middle of this nightmareI’mliving in.Idon’t remember anything about my past, butIdo remember loving the movieVerónica.
So,IbecameRonnie.
15
VALERIA
Verónica’swords hit me like a sledgehammer.
Myheart stops, and it feels likeI’msuddenly outside my own body, watching this moment unfold from a distance.No.No, it can’t be.Itry to speak, but nothing comes out.Mythroat is tight, my mouth dry.Ifeel the blood drain from my face, leaving me cold.
“Camila?”Ifinally manage to croak. “That’snot possible.”
ButasIsay the words, something inside me shifts, like a piece of a puzzle finally sliding into place.Theway she moves, the way she talks, the way she always seems to know just a little too much—I’dfelt it from the start.Thatfamiliarity tugged at me, like an old memory buried deep.Iwas drawn to her, even when it didn’t make sense.Ijust couldn’t figure out why—until now.Myhead spins asIgrab the edge of the table to steady myself.
“Ididn’t remember,”Ronnie—no,Camila—says, her voice soft. “NotuntilIsaw the tattoo.Then, it all came back.TheWhitmorestaking me away.Myname.Ididn’t know whoIwas for so long, butI’mher,Valeria.”
Istare at her, my heart breaking and mending all at once. “Thiscan’t be real.”Myvoice cracks, tears welling in my eyes.Ishake my head, trying to fight them back, but they spill over anyway. “You’renot her.Youcan’t be her.She’sdead.”
“Theywanted everyone to believe that,”Camila—Ronnie—says, her voice tight.Sheleans forward, desperation in her eyes, pleading with me to believe her. “ButIsurvived.Theymight’ve erased whoIwas, but they couldn’t break me.Camilamight be dead, butI—Verónica—am very much alive.”
Myvision blurs, andIpress my palms to my temples, trying to wrap my mind around this as my body trembles with disbelief.Howcan this be real?Allthese years of searching, of mourning, of thinking she was gone, and now, she’s here, sitting across from me.
“Ilooked for you,”Iwhisper, the tears choking me now. “Inever stopped looking for you.”
Shereaches for my hand, andIdon’t pull away.Themoment her fingers touch mine,Ifeel it—somethingI’dlost so long ago.Awarmth spreads through me, even thoughI’mstill shaking.
“I’mhere now,” she says, her voice barely audible, but it hits me like a tidal wave. “I’mhere,Valeria.”
Asob escapes my throat, andIthrow myself at her, wrapping my arms around her neck likeI’llnever let go.She’sreal.She’shere.Afterall this time, after all the pain, she’s back.Sheremembers.
Wehold each other, andIcan’t stop crying.It’severythingI’vebeen dreaming of, everythingIthoughtI’dnever get.
“Whatdid they do to you?”Imanage to ask between ragged breaths, my face buried in her shoulder.
“Theymust’ve drugged me enough to cause a memory lapse,” she says, her voice shaking now too. “Idon’t remember everything, but they messed with my head.Ididn’t know whoIwas for years.Ibecame someone else.Butyour tattoo brought me back.Itmade me remember.”
Ipull back to look at her, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. “Ican’t believe this.IthoughtIlost you forever.”
Ronniesmiles, but it’s sad, full of everything we’ve been through. “IthoughtIwas gone too, butIfound my way back.Ifound my way to you.”
Everythingclicks—the strange feelingIhad the first time we met, the inexplicable pull toward her, even whenIdidn’t know why.Iknew her, on some deep, instinctual level, even ifIcouldn’t explain it.
“Thenecklace,”Imutter.
Ronnielets out a sigh. “Itwas the only belongingIhad whenIleft that place.Ididn’t know where it came from or what it even meant, butIkept it all these years.Now,IknowIwas wearing it for you.Imissed you every fucking day afterIwas taken fromGloomwood.”
