Page 68 of Savage Saint
His footsteps fade away.
I pull myself out of the shower, cold water dripping down my skin in thin, miserable trails.
Reaching for a plush towel, I wrap it tightly around my body, shivering. The steam is long gone, leaving a sharp chill in the air that raises goosebumps along my arms and legs.
With another towel, I roughly dry my hair, avoiding the mirror entirely. I don't want to see her. Don't want to see the bruises that are still fading. Or the haunted look that has surely returned. The same one I saw the morning I woke up in the hospital bed, with no name, no past. Just silence and pain.
I used tocraveanswers. Used to ache to know who I was.
But now? I'm no longer so sure I want all the memories back. I wish they stayed buried. Wish I could have lived in the not-knowing a little longer.
My clean clothes are folded neatly on the bed. More kindness from Alessa. Dark jeans, underwear, and a simple grey top. I drop the towel and reach for the underwear first, then the bra.
The fabric slides against my skin and—
—The conference room is cold. Always cold. The walls are grey concrete, and there are no windows. Maps cover one wall, satellite images and blueprints tacked up with military precision. Red pins mark targets. Blue ones mark exits. Green ones mark something else I can't quite remember.
"Osiem tygodni." Eight weeks. Jerzy's voice cuts through the room as he slaps a folder down on the table. "That's how long you'll have."
I'm standing at attention, back straight, eyes forward. There are others in the room, but their faces blur when I try to focus on them.
"Our client has provided extensive intelligence." Jerzy paces, his footsteps echoing. "The target is well-protected but not impenetrable."
The folder opens. Photos spread across the table. I try to see what's in them, but they slip away from my vision like water.
"Kasia." My name is sharp in his mouth. "You will be alone in there."
"Yes, sir." My own voice sounds distant. Hollow.
"No room for error. And remember, they'reallmarked. No survivors."
No survivors? What kind of mission—
The jeans slip from my fingers, falling to the floor with a soft thud. I blink rapidly, trying to grab hold of the memory before it fades completely.
What mission? What target? I squeeze my eyes shut, concentrating until my head throbs, but all I get are fragments. Maps. Jerzy's cold eyes. A sense of dread in my gut.
"Fuck," I whisper, bending to pick up the jeans. My hands are shaking. This is the third time today a memory has slammed into me out of nowhere, each one hazier than the last. Each one leaving me with more questions than answers.
I step into the jeans, yanking them up my legs. The grey top slides over my head, soft cotton against my skin. I run a brush through my tangled hair, wincing when it catches on knots.
You will be alone in there.That's infiltration. The word bounces around my skull. What was I meant to infiltrate? Who was I working for?
I grip the edge of the bed, staring down at the plush carpet on the floor. There's something important hiding in that memory, something just beyond my reach. The frustration builds in my chest until I want to scream, to break the mirror, to smash through the glass walls of this perfect house.
Instead, I take a deep breath. Then another.
I'm not that person anymore. I can't be. Whatever mission Jerzy had for me, whatever I was supposed to do—it's gone now. Lost along with the rest of my life.
But as I walk around the bedroom, there's a hollow feeling in my stomach that tells me some things don't stay lost forever.
I count my steps as I make my way around the whole bedroom floor, blind to the world beyond the glass.
One, two, three, four, five.
The numbers ground me, keep the panic at bay. For now.
The stairs creak, and I wince, freezing in place. When no sound comes from below, I slip inside the bathroom. I avoid looking at my reflection. Not because I'm scared of what I'll see, but because I'm terrified I'll recognise the person staring back.
