The code

I've been here for a month, and my story is not giving me any clues as to where it is headed. The days blend into each other, each as uneventful as the last, as if I'm stuck in an endless loop. I might have an idea of who the villains are, lurking in the shadows of my life, but it's pointless if they don't make a move. The anticipation is maddening, like waiting for a storm that never comes. They act like they care, with their sympathetic words and concerned glances, but a strong part of me doesn't believe them. Their concern feels rehearsed, their kindness a well-played facade. I just have a strong feeling that they're acting, and the longer I'm around them, the more convinced I become of their duplicity.

Did I react like that when I heard that Keara is related to Kael because I almost remembered how I lost my memories? The connection between them stirs something deep within me, a flicker of a memory that dances just out of reach. I tapped my pen on the sheet, feeling uncertain again. What happened during those two years? How did I end up in Erries? Each unanswered question feels like a weight on my shoulders, dragging me down into the depths of my confusion. Why did someone find it necessary to wipe my memories? What could be so dangerous or so precious that my own mind had to be turned against me?

"Ah, I don't know," I complained, dragging my hair through my fingers in frustration. I rested my head on the table, the cool surface offering a small comfort, and wrote a bit before closing my eyes. The words came slowly, each one a small victory against the tide of my bewilderment. I hoped that by writing, I might find some clarity, but all I felt was the creeping dread of uncertainty.

…

I opened my eyes and stretched. I felt a cramp in my neck and tried turning it when I saw something on my note. I picked up the note and looked at what was written on it: W K P, in scratches. What's that supposed to mean?

I dropped the note and stood up to stretch, feeling the stiffness in my limbs. How can sleeping on a table once hurt this much? The discomfort seemed disproportionate, as if my body was rebelling against the harsh surfaces and rigid postures. I've had it easy, haven't I? Or was I locked up a lot and didn't have anything to do? The thought lingered, a ghost of a memory that hinted at a past filled with confinement and inactivity.

I lay on the bed and looked up at the ceiling, the shadows playing tricks on my eyes. My suspicion must be right. Every second of the day when I'm not reading, I think about everything that's going on in my life, and all fingers point to Kael and Keara. They weave through my thoughts like threads in a tangled web, pulling and twisting until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. By the looks of it, I was with Kael the day the incident occurred, so he's a prime suspect. His presence in my fractured memories is a constant, a looming figure that holds the key to the answers I seek.

Since I can't get my memories, I should at least figure out why they were taken in the first place. What were they trying to hide? What secret could be so dangerous that it warranted wiping my mind clean? Each question felt like a step deeper into the unknown, a path I had to walk if I ever hoped to reclaim my life. I resolved to uncover the truth, no matter how twisted or painful it might be.

I heard a knock on the door and looked up. Kael stood at the door, staring at me.

"Lilien," he called. "I heard what happened yesterday with Keara," he started. Will he finally break? "Don't be annoyed. She's just trying her best. If you don't want anyone to come and check on you, then I can arrange for that," he said.

"That'd be great," I said.

"Okay," he said, turning to leave.

"Any response from Lucy yet?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.

"No, but… never mind, there's no response," he said. What's he hiding?

"Okay," I said and lay back and grabbed the book I was reading. I didn't see the need to continue the conversation.

I turned when I heard the door close and sighed in relief. I stood up and walked to the table and picked up my journal to look at the writing again.

"What could it mean?" I muttered to myself, turning the note over in my hands as if a new perspective might reveal some hidden truth. Was it a code? A cryptic message from someone who knew more than they were letting on? Or was it simply gibberish I scrawled in my sleep, the remnants of a dream or a thought I couldn't quite grasp?

"W K P," I spelled out again, the letters feeling foreign on my tongue. "What Kael is up to? Maybe it's a code to tell me what Kael is up to?" The theory seemed flimsy, like a poorly constructed house of cards ready to topple at the slightest provocation. Why wouldn't the person just tell me outright? It seemed absurd, like a riddle with no answer. "Whatever," I sighed, tossing the book aside in frustration. I walked to my bed, picked up my book, and tried to focus on the words, but my mind kept drifting back to those three letters.

If I let everything bother me, I'd get frustrated when nothing works out, so I'd just stick to the facts. Overthinking won't help me in my current situation. It's like quicksand, pulling me deeper into uncertainty with every step. Since Kael has decided to play this game, I can play it as well. There are many ways to get answers, and I will find them no matter what. I'm moving to the oldest page in the guide to being a female lead, second only to crying: the one and only running away. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying, a step into the unknown that might lead to the truth or deeper into the mystery.