Strange lights flickered and glinted, the harsh glare of cameras bouncing off the polished lobby walls. Reporters, dressed in crisp suits, pencil skirts, and pressed blouses, surged forward like a tide, their microphones extended like weapons. Their voices overlapped, a cacophony of demands and accusations.
"Who is the suspect who pushed you?"
"Was it the child of a politician or a wealthy family?"
"Did your school turn a blind eye to the bullying?"
"Why was the case closed so quickly after you were declared dead?"
"Why are witnesses and evidence only appearing now?"
Maerwyn squinted against the relentless flashes of light, her hands gripping the armrests of the wheelchair so tightly her knuckles whitened. The overwhelming noise ricocheted in her mind, each word sharp and invasive. Was this chaos meant for her—or Kaelyn?
Her heart pounded in her chest as the crowd pressed closer. More than fifteen people surrounded her now, their movements hurried, their shoes clicking against the marble floor. Some onlookers in the lobby paused to watch, their curious whispers adding to the din. Cameras hovered dangerously close, their black lenses like soulless eyes, recording her every flinch.
Kaelyn's father stood behind her, his firm grip on her shoulder an anchor amidst the chaos. His face was stony, his jaw tight, his voice a low growl of authority. "Don't be afraid, my child. Tell them... Tell them who pushed you so they can face justice."
The weight of his words settled heavily on Maerwyn, but she couldn't respond. She didn't know who they were talking about, didn't understand this world, this situation. Her lips remained sealed, trembling slightly, as her eyes darted across the scene.
Her breaths came shallow and quick as she took in the towering walls of the spacious lobby, its cold, gleaming tiles stretching endlessly beneath her. The crowd's faces seemed to blur together—some impatient, others calculating—each one demanding answers she didn't have.
She had never seen anything like this before. In her world, there were no bustling lobbies or flashing lights—only the damp darkness of the caves she called home. There, people spoke in harsh whispers, their faces twisted with cruelty, their questions barbed with malice. Life was merciless, a constant battle for survival where every word and action carried the threat of pain.
"What kind of life did Kaelyn have before all this?" Maerwyn wondered. "Had the world been as cruel to her as it had been to me? Had she endured the same struggles and pain?"
The noise swelled around her, the questions stabbing into her like jagged shards of glass. Her chest tightened, and confusion mixed with fear, forming a storm that threatened to consume her. The relentless questions and suffocating atmosphere reminded her of the relentless judgment she had endured in her past life—but this was different.
The glint of a camera lens caught her eye, its flash blinding and invasive, reminding her cruelly of her entrapment—trapped in a body that wasn't hers, a life she didn't understand, surrounded by people demanding answers she couldn't provide.
Four men in black uniforms pushed through the crowd, their movements brisk and purposeful. They looked serious, their sharp eyes scanning the chaos as they tried to control the growing mess. Maerwyn noticed the faint glint of something in their ears and the shiny badges on their chests. They stood firm, raising their arms to block the people pressing forward.
"Step back!" one of them said in a strong, commanding voice. The others moved quickly, waving the reporters away, but the crowd didn't seem to care. Cameras and strange black devices were shoved forward, flashing and buzzing as the voices grew louder.
The men didn't flinch, their faces unreadable, but Maerwyn could sense the tension in the way they held their ground. They were trying to keep things under control, but it felt like the chaos was winning.
"My daughter Kaelyn, speak up now," Kaelyn's father urged his voice firm but hurried. "Don't be afraid. I'm here… I'll protect you." His hand on her shoulder tightened as if trying to instill courage in her.
Protect me? The word struck something deep within Maerwyn, sending an unfamiliar jolt through her chest. The idea of someone offering her protection felt foreign, almost absurd. She didn't trust the sincerity behind his words.
Why would I need protection? I've always protected myself. The thought was both comforting and isolating. I don't need anyone else's help.
Still, she remained silent, her gaze fixed on the sea of faces and the chaotic storm of questions that weren't meant for her but for Kaelyn—a girl whose life had ended in tragedy, leaving Maerwyn to piece together the fragments of her past.
As the men in black approached, they quickly dispersed the reporters from various news outlets. Kaelyn's case wasn't an ordinary one—it had drawn widespread attention because the incident occurred in a prestigious school known for catering to the children of influential personalities. Among its students were the offspring of politicians, wealthy entrepreneurs, and renowned professionals. The public clamored for the truth, demanding answers to the mystery surrounding Kaelyn's death.
The case had initially been closed, deemed an accident due to a lack of sufficient evidence pointing to foul play. But now, a pivotal piece of evidence—a cellphone recording—had surfaced. The revelation reignited public outrage and reopened the investigation. People demanded justice, horrified at the thought of a murderer walking freely in one of the country's most esteemed institutions. The only one who could provide answers to their questions was the victim herself.
"Sir, please escort the victim inside," one of the men instructed Kaelyn's father. "This area is off-limits to chaos. Other patients are being disturbed."
Kaelyn's father began to protest. "She hasn't spoken yet—"
But his words were cut short as the man leaned in and whispered something to him. Maerwyn overheard it.
"Sir, you must comply. If not, you'll face charges for damages caused by summoning the reporters." The man's voice was cold, his tone leaving no room for argument. Kaelyn's father tightened his grip on Maerwyn's shoulder, frustration evident in his silence.
With no other choice, he relented and followed the men. Maerwyn remained quiet, observing everything with a growing sense of unease.
One of the men in black guided her, a faint smile on his face as if attempting to put her at ease. She didn't trust it. The group moved to a different room—spacious, clean, and polished. A long table dominated the center, flanked by chairs on either side. The atmosphere was sterile yet heavy, tension hanging thick in the air.
As they entered, more people followed—some dressed in black, others in white coats, likely the medical staff who had treated her earlier. Maerwyn could feel the weight of their gazes as they passed her. Cold, scrutinizing stares mixed with faint glimmers of pity.
She sat motionless in her wheelchair, her thoughts swirling. What kind of place is this? What do they expect me to say when I have no answers?
Each look she received, whether cold or compassionate, reminded her that she was caught in a story she didn't fully understand—a story that belonged to someone else.
"Why did you bring us here? Can't you let my daughter speak first?" Kaelyn's father demanded, his voice brimming with anger.
At the head of the room, a man spoke up, his tone cold yet laced with irritation. "I thought the reporters came here to interview about how our excellent doctors saved Kaelyn's life—not to reopen an old case!" He stood from his seat, his sharp voice reverberating through the room. "So, you're the one who called them? Do you even understand what you're doing?" His anger caused an almost palpable tension, silencing everyone as if they were too afraid to make a sound.
"I just want justice for my daughter's case!" Kaelyn's father shouted, his hands trembling as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. "They staged it to look like an accident! They buried her case, thinking my daughter would take the truth to her grave. But now she's alive, and everyone knows it wasn't an accident! Are they scared now? Are their knees trembling because she survived? So why won't you let her speak?"
Despite the overwhelming tension, Maerwyn remained silent, her eyes scanning the room. She had no clear idea of what was happening, but she could feel the weight of the situation. Everyone's gaze was fixed on them, waiting for what would happen next.
If I speak, will they stop? If I answer, will this chaos finally end? she wondered, but no answer came.
"Tell me the truth, Kaelyn," her father pleaded, his voice breaking. "Don't be afraid. Who did this to you?"
Maerwyn's pulse quickened as the weight of Kaelyn's father's question bore down on her. She felt his trembling hands grasping hers tightly, his eyes filled with a mix of desperation and hope. The intensity in the room was suffocating, and the gazes of the people around her pierced through like daggers, demanding an answer she couldn't give.
How could she answer? She wasn't Kaelyn. She didn't know who had pushed her. She didn't even belong here.
Her throat went dry as she tried to swallow the lump forming there. What should I say? The thought repeated in her mind, a frenzied loop of panic. She felt the sweat on her palms, the oppressive silence waiting to be shattered.
Tears welled in her eyes, not from the pressure but from the realization that she was about to disappoint him. "I…" she began, her voice cracking. "I don't know…"
The disbelief in Kaelyn's dad's expression cut through her like a blade. His brows furrowed, and his grip on her hands faltered slightly. "What do you mean, you don't know? Kaelyn, look at me! Please, tell me!"
Her voice shook as she whispered, "I don't…"
The tension in the room shifted, and the silence that followed was deafening. Whispers began to ripple through the people present, doubt creeping into their faces.
Her father's face fell, the determination in his eyes dimming. He looked broken as if the fragile thread of hope he'd been clinging to had finally snapped.
But then, a jolt—not memory, but a fragmented glimpse, sharp and cold as a winter wind. A rooftop, the city sprawling beneath like a dark, glittering tapestry. The wind whipped around her, tugging at Kaelyn's hair as she stood precariously close to the edge. The wind carried the faint echo of laughter, a cruel mockery of the terror that followed. Blurred figures pressed in, their faces obscured by shadows, but one detail pierced the fog: a hand, pushing. A small, dark mole sat just above the wrist. The hand was strong, forceful, and the shove was deliberate. Fear, raw and suffocating, choked her, not her own fear, but Kaelyn's. The image dissolved as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a chilling emptiness, a cold dread that settled deep in her bones.
"What was that?" she thought, a gasp escaping her lips. "Is that Kaelyn's memories? Why did I see that?"
The vision dissolved, leaving Maerwyn breathless, her heart pounding. The strange sensation lingered a cold echo of a moment she hadn't lived yet somehow knew.
She blinked rapidly, unsure of what she had seen or why it had come to her. "I don't know," she whispered again, her voice wavering. "But… someone pushed me."
Her father stiffened, his jaw tightening as he absorbed her words. "Who?"
"I don't know!
" Maerwyn blurted, frustrated by that glimpse of memories. "I don't remember anything else!"