They tell me her name three times.
A nurse says it once, gently, like she's afraid the word might shatter if she drops it too hard. A teacher says it louder, frustrated, convinced I'm in shock. Luna doesn't say it at all.
She doesn't have to.
Because no matter how many times I hear it—
It doesn't attach.
The girl sits across from me in the infirmary, wrapped in a blanket that's way too big for her. Her hands are still shaking. There's a scrape on her cheek. Dirt on her shoes.
She keeps looking at me like I'm the ground she almost disappeared into.
"…Ren," she whispers.
The sound hits my ears.
Stops there.
I know that voice is important.
I just don't know why.
"They say you're my…" I start.
The word won't come.
My throat tightens. My chest feels wrong. Heavy in a way that doesn't hurt—just exists.
The girl's eyes fill.
"…Your sister," she says.
The word lands.
And slides.
No spark.No pain.No warmth.
Just a fact.
"Oh," I reply.
The sound I make after that—half sob, half gasp—doesn't feel like it belongs to me.
She covers her mouth with both hands and turns away.
That's when Luna steps in.
"That's enough," she says quietly to the adults crowding the room. "He needs space."
They hesitate.
Something about her voice makes them listen.
Soon, it's just the three of us.
Silence stretches.
The girl—my sister—can't stop shaking.
I watch her.
And hate myself for how neutral it feels.
"Say something," she pleads. "Please. You were holding me. You said you had me."
I search my head.
There are memories.
A small child holding my finger.A laugh at the breakfast table.A promise made too easily.
They're there.
But they're not mine anymore.
"I believe you," I say carefully. "I just… can't feel it."
Her face breaks.
That hurts to see.
I think.
I think it hurts.
Luna kneels in front of her, taking her hands gently.
"He saved you," Luna says. "That much is real."
The girl nods, crying harder. "I know. He always does."
Always.
The word echoes.
I stand abruptly.
"I need air," I mutter.
No one stops me.
Outside, the festival is being taken down like nothing happened. Banners folded. Music silenced. Life continuing out of habit.
I grip the railing until my hands ache.
"This is permanent," I say without turning.
"Yes," Luna answers behind me.
I swallow. "Can it be fixed?"
"No."
"Ever?"
She hesitates.
"…Not without breaking you completely."
I let out a shaky laugh. "Feels like I'm halfway there already."
She steps closer. I feel her presence like gravity.
"You kept the promise," she says. "You showed up."
"And lost her anyway."
"Yes."
I stare at the sky.
"So this is how time wins," I whisper. "It lets me save people… but takes away why I wanted to."
Luna doesn't argue.
That tells me everything.
After a while, I ask, "Am I still dangerous?"
She answers immediately. "More than before."
I turn to her. "Because I don't feel it."
"Because," she corrects gently, "you'll keep going."
I think of the future me.The empty street.The calm eyes.
"I don't want to forget everything," I say.
"You won't," she replies.
I laugh bitterly. "You sound confident."
She meets my gaze.
"You'll keep one thing," she says. "No matter how much time takes."
"What?"
She reaches out, hesitates—
Then places her hand over my chest.
"Your will," she says. "To fight."
It's not comforting.
But it's honest.
Inside the infirmary, the girl I was supposed to know is crying softly, surrounded by adults who don't understand what was lost.
I don't go back in.
Not yet.
Because I don't know how to face someone I saved—
At the cost of forgetting how to love her.