The ward was too bright. Too sterile. Maerwyn squinted as Kaelyn's father guided her to one of the six neatly arranged beds. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic—sharp and unwelcoming. He helped her sit, his hands trembling as they lingered on her arms, as though afraid she might slip away.
She stared at him, unsure how to respond to the storm of emotions swirling in his eyes—grief, regret, and something heavier, darker. His voice, when it came, was raw and quiet.
"Kaelyn, are you sure you don't remember anything? Not a face, a voice... anything?"
Maerwyn hesitated. The weight of his gaze pressed down on her, but she couldn't give him what he wanted. How could she? She wasn't Kaelyn. The memories he sought belonged to someone else, someone she was merely borrowing. Her throat tightened, but she nodded anyway, letting the silence fill the gap where an answer should have been.
His face crumpled. He let out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "This will make the case harder," he muttered, almost to himself. "Without your testimony, the court won't have enough evidence to convict them."
Convict who? Maerwyn's pulse quickened. There was so much she didn't know, so much of Kaelyn's life that hadn't been shared with her. She looked away, her hands gripping the edge of the bed as he straightened, his grief shifting into resolve.
"You'll need to go back to school," he said firmly. "To the people who were there. Someone knows what happened. Someone saw something. If they realize you don't remember, they'll come to you. They'll slip up."
Maerwyn's heart pounded. School? She hadn't thought that far ahead. The idea of navigating Kaelyn's life—her relationships, her memories—felt impossible. Yet the determination in his voice left no room for argument.
"My daughter, Kaelyn..." His voice cracked, and his shoulders shook as he lowered his head. "Why didn't you tell me? Why did you let this happen?" His sobs came fast and hard, each one cutting into the stillness of the ward. "You always smiled. Always told me you were okay. I thought you were happy. I thought—" He stopped, his breath hitching. "I didn't know. I didn't know you were suffering."
Maerwyn's chest tightened. She wasn't Kaelyn, but the raw anguish in his voice made her feel as if she were. Her fingers dug into the mattress as he wiped at his face, his tears refusing to stop.
"I should have seen it," he whispered. "I should have known."
When he finally looked up, his eyes were bloodshot, but his voice steadied. "You need to remember. Or at least find out who they are. Watch them. Don't trust anyone. This is your fight now, our fight."
A fight? The lump in Maerwyn's throat grew. She wasn't sure she could fight anyone. Her entire existence in this body felt borrowed, fragile. But his words carried a desperation that hooked into her, refusing to let go.
"If they come for you, fight back," he continued, his voice trembling. "Make them pay for what they've done. But don't lose yourself. Don't stoop to their level."
She wanted to protest, to tell him she wasn't the person he thought she was. But that wasn't an option. Not now. Not when his grief demanded answers she couldn't give.
"I'll try," she murmured, barely audible. Because in the life I had before, I fought without a blink, without mercy. But now, I don't know how I can help Kaelyn with this body of hers. She looks fragile and thin. She has broken bones. How can I protect this body? It looks like she can't even run with her thin legs.
His shoulders sagged with relief, and a faint smile broke through his pain. "That's all I ask, Kaelyn."
He pulled her into an embrace, his arms strong despite their trembling. For a moment, she sat stiffly, unsure how to react. But as the seconds stretched on, she found herself relaxing in the warmth. It wasn't hers to claim, but it was real. And right now, it was enough.
When he released her, his red-rimmed eyes lingered on hers. "We'll find them. Together."
Maerwyn didn't answer. Instead, she looked down at her hands, at the unfamiliar skin she now inhabited. His words echoed in her mind, pressing into her like an unspoken vow.
Was she here to uncover Kaelyn's truth—or to rewrite her fate?
Either way, one thing was clear. The life she now wore demanded justice. And if that was the price of her second chance, she would pay it.
They heard three knocks before two strangers stepped inside. Maerwyn's gaze shifted to them, her curiosity tinged with unease. Their appearance was so foreign, their clothes and demeanor so polished that it was difficult for her to understand their roles.
The woman led the way, moving with authority that filled the room. "Good day, Mr. Santaniel. I'm Detective Luna Vergara," she introduced herself, pulling a small object from her jacket. It gleamed faintly, etched with symbols and an image that Maerwyn assumed marked her as someone important.
Maerwyn's eyes studied the woman. She wore a black jacket unlike anything she had seen before, its glossy surface catching the light. It looked sturdy yet soft, nothing like the leather used for shields or sandals in her time. The strange quilted pattern on the shoulders reminded Maerwyn of ceremonial armor, though the woman bore no sword. Beneath the jacket was a plain black shirt, devoid of decoration—simple but purposeful.
Is this what soldiers look like now? Maerwyn wondered, her attention drawn to the badge clipped to the woman's belt. A mark of authority, perhaps, like the banners of her people, but far smaller and more intricate.
The detective's sharp gaze swept the room, briefly landing on Maerwyn. It made her feel exposed, as if the woman could see beyond her skin, past the secrets she didn't yet understand herself.
"This is Attorney Damian Cruz," the detective added, gesturing to the man who followed her.
Maerwyn shifted her focus to him. He wore a black suit that seemed impossibly perfect—every fold precise, every seam invisible. The white shirt beneath it was so crisp and clean that it felt unnatural, almost too flawless to belong to someone who walked among the common folk. His shoes gleamed like polished metal, though they were made of some unfamiliar material.
Is he a scholar? she thought, noting the strange knot of fabric around his neck. The tie looked decorative, but why would a man choose to wear something so restrictive?
Unlike the woman, the man's expression wasn't sharp. His face carried a calmness that eased the tension in the room, though his posture remained upright, commanding. His hair was neatly combed, his movements deliberate, and when he stepped forward to shake hands with Kaelyn's dad, he smiled politely.
"Good day," he said in a measured voice. "We're here to assist with your situation."
Maerwyn watched them carefully, her mind swimming with questions. These people had no swords, no visible weapons, yet they exuded power. Were they warriors of justice in this world, or something else entirely? The tools they carried seemed dangerous in their own way, but how could they deliver justice without drawing blood?