I don't remember standing up.
One moment I'm sitting on the couch, Dr. Keene's words still echoing—the person who didn't survive—and the next, I'm on my feet, the room swaying like it's drunk, my heart beating so violently it hurts.
"You're lying," I say.
The words feel weak the second they leave my mouth.
Dr. Keene looks like she wants to disappear. Elias doesn't move at all.
"Noa," she says gently, "I know this is overwhelming—"
"Who?" I demand. "Who didn't survive?"
Silence.
The kind that answers everything.
My chest tightens, breath turning shallow. "Elias," I whisper. "Tell me she's wrong."
He doesn't.
Instead, he reaches for the folder on the table—the one with my name on it—and calmly slides it out of my reach.
"That's enough for today," he says.
Something in me snaps.
"No," I shout, lunging for it. "You don't get to shut this down now."
He catches my wrists easily.
Too easily.
Firm. Controlled. Not angry.
"Stop," he says sharply. "You're escalating."
I laugh, hysterical. "I just found out someone is dead and I'm the problem?"
Dr. Keene stands. "Elias, she needs to know—"
"She needs to be stable," he cuts in. "Or none of this matters."
My nails dig into his arm. "Who. Is. Dead."
He looks at me then.
Really looks at me.
And for the first time, I see something flicker behind his calm.
Regret.
"You knew him," Elias says quietly.
The word him lands heavy.
"Knew who?" I whisper.
"The man from the parking garage."
My head spins. "What man?"
"You used to talk about him," he says. "You said he followed you."
A memory flickers—footsteps behind me, breath too close—but it shatters instantly.
"I was paranoid," I say weakly.
"No," Elias replies. "You were right."
Dr. Keene inhales sharply. "Elias—"
"He stalked her," Elias continues, voice low and precise. "For weeks. She documented everything."
My stomach churns. "Then why—why would I—"
"Because no one believed you," he says. "Including the police."
My legs give out and I sink back onto the couch.
"So I killed him?" I whisper.
"No," Elias says. "You pushed him."
The room goes eerily still.
"Pushed him… where?"
He doesn't answer immediately.
My voice trembles. "Elias."
"Down the stairs," he says.
The image slams into me so violently I gasp.
A stairwell. A body falling. A sickening sound.
I clutch my head as pain explodes behind my eyes.
"I remember… screaming," I whisper.
"Yes," he says softly. "After."
Dr. Keene looks pale. "Noa, it was ruled an accident—"
"Because he made it one," I snap, pointing at Elias.
He doesn't deny it.
"You tampered with the footage," I accuse.
"I corrected it," he says calmly.
My blood runs cold. "You destroyed evidence."
"I protected you."
"You let a man die and then erased my memory," I whisper.
He kneels in front of me again. "You were already dead inside after."
My chest heaves. "That doesn't give you the right—"
"You were going to prison," Elias interrupts. "And you were going to kill yourself before the trial."
The words hit harder than anything else.
I look at Dr. Keene. "Is that true?"
She hesitates.
That's all the answer I need.
"I can't breathe," I whisper.
Elias's hand finds my knee. Grounding. Familiar.
"You asked me to make sure you never remembered the stairs," he says. "Or his face."
"Why?" I sob. "Why would I ask that?"
"Because you knew you'd break if you did," he replies.
My vision blurs. "And you agreed?"
"I agreed," he says. "Because I love you."
The word love feels obscene.
"You turned me into a criminal with no memory of the crime," I whisper.
"You turned yourself into a survivor," he says.
Dr. Keene clears her throat shakily. "Elias… the remaining materials need to be handled properly."
He stands slowly.
"What materials?" I ask.
He doesn't answer me.
He walks to the hallway.
"No," I say, scrambling up. "What are you doing?"
"Finishing what we started."
I follow him, panic clawing up my throat.
He stops at the locked door I tried to open earlier.
"This room," I whisper. "This is where you hid it."
He unlocks the door.
Inside is a small office.
A laptop sits on the desk. External hard drives stacked beside it. Folders. Documents.
My entire life. Archived.
Elias crosses the room and plugs in one of the drives.
"What's on that?" I ask.
"The unedited footage," he says. "Your statements. The original police files."
My heart slams. "Why do you still have them?"
"In case you remembered," he says. "Or in case I had to disappear."
Dr. Keene steps forward. "Elias, if you delete this now—"
"I know," he replies. "There's no undoing it."
My voice shakes. "Then don't."
He looks at me.
"You're shaking," he says softly. "You're dissociating again."
"I'm not," I whisper.
"You are," he insists. "And if you see this, you'll never come back."
He places his hand on the keyboard.
I rush toward him. "Please."
"You told me," he says quietly, "that if I hesitated, I'd be killing you."
Tears stream down my face. "I don't trust that version of me."
"I do."
He presses the key.
The screen flashes.
Files vanish one by one.
I scream his name.
"It's done," Elias says.
I collapse to the floor.
The silence after is unbearable.
"You erased the proof," I whisper.
"Yes."
"You erased my crime," I say.
"Yes."
My chest tightens painfully. "Then what am I now?"
He crouches in front of me, cupping my face gently.
"Free," he says.
I stare at him through tears.
"And trapped," I whisper.
His thumb brushes my cheek.
"You always were," he says. "You just didn't know it."
I shake my head. "I should be in prison."
He leans closer.
"You would've died there," Elias whispers. "This way, you get to live."
My voice breaks. "At what cost?"
His eyes darken.
"Me," he says.
Then, softer—
"And the truth."
I swallow hard.
"You didn't erase my memories to save me," I whisper.
He doesn't pull away.
"You erased them," I continue, "to make sure I could never testify."
Silence.
He exhales slowly.
"Yes."