Echoes of the Past

The city stretched before them, familiar yet foreign. Evelyn's steps faltered as she took in the quiet streets, the flickering lanterns casting elongated shadows against the stone buildings. It was as if the world had shifted ever so slightly, as if reality itself was adjusting to the piece of her she had surrendered.

Lucien walked beside her, his presence a steady force, grounding her. He kept glancing at her, as if waiting for her to say something—perhaps waiting for her to realize what was truly missing.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Where do we even start?"

Lucien's gaze swept over the streets before settling on her. "If your tether was me, then maybe retracing our past will bring something back."

Evelyn bit her lip. The idea made sense, but the problem was she didn't know what she was looking for. If the memory was gone, how could she possibly recognize its absence?

As if sensing her hesitation, Lucien offered her his hand. "Let's start at the beginning."

She hesitated for only a moment before slipping her hand into his. A familiar warmth spread through her fingers, but it was tinged with uncertainty—like a melody she had once known but could no longer hum.

He led her through the winding streets, past the grand halls of the council district and into the quieter quarters of the city. They finally stopped in front of a modest building with ivy creeping up its stone facade. Evelyn frowned, trying to place it.

"This was your favorite café," Lucien said. "We used to sit here for hours, arguing over books and philosophy. You always insisted that fate was just an excuse people used to avoid making hard choices."

Evelyn blinked at him. "That doesn't sound like me."

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "It was. Before…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Come on."

They stepped inside, the scent of freshly brewed tea and warm pastries wrapping around them like a comforting embrace. The café was nearly empty, save for a few patrons lost in quiet conversations.

Lucien led her to a table near the window. "This was our spot."

Evelyn sat, her fingers tracing the smooth wooden surface. She could almost hear laughter—her own?—echoing in the back of her mind. A flicker of warmth stirred in her chest, fleeting yet undeniable.

The owner, an elderly woman with kind eyes, approached their table. She paused, studying Evelyn. "It's been some time, dear," she said warmly. "It's good to see you again."

Evelyn opened her mouth to respond, but she had no memory of ever being here. The woman's gaze flickered to Lucien, then back to her. "Still taking your tea with honey and a dash of cinnamon?"

A rush of familiarity hit Evelyn, so sudden that she gripped the edge of the table. Cinnamon. Honey. A shared cup of tea on a rainy afternoon. A quiet confession whispered between sips—

The memory slipped away before she could grasp it.

Lucien was watching her closely. "Something?"

Evelyn shook her head, exhaling shakily. "I… I don't know. It's like trying to hold onto a dream."

Lucien reached across the table, covering her hand with his. "Then we'll keep searching. We'll find the pieces."

She looked into his eyes, steady and unwavering, and for the first time since leaving the Shadow Broker, hope flickered within her.

Somewhere, buried deep, her past was waiting to be found.