Chapter Eleven: Fractured Memories

The night was still, the city outside a wasteland of dim, greenish lights and curling shadows. The others had long since turned in, but Tara and Landon sat side by side on the floor, backs against the cold steel of the warehouse wall.

The silence between them was thick—not awkward, not heavy, but familiar. Tara traced idle patterns on the dusty floor beside her, the rough texture grounding her in a way she hadn't expected. For the first time since she had been thrown into this hell, she didn't feel entirely alone. Landon had come back for her. That had to mean something.

"Do you remember the last time we stayed up like this?" His voice was quiet, a thread of warmth cutting through the cold air.

Tara tilted her head, thinking. She did.

That summer when they were younger, sitting outside her father's office building in the Middle Order, sharing stolen snacks from a government meeting. Landon had made her laugh so hard she nearly choked on a piece of bread.

She smiled faintly. "Yeah. I was seventeen and you got us caught sneaking out, and I took all the blame."

Landon huffed a quiet laugh. "And your dad didn't believe you for a second."

"No, he didn't," she admitted. "But he still let me pretend."

A silence stretched between them. The mention of Dominic Stele pulled something sharp into her chest. She didn't realize her hands had curled into fists until Landon's fingers brushed against hers. She swallowed, blinking hard.

"He would have hated this place," she whispered. "He spent his entire life trying to bridge the divide, trying to fix what they broke. Trying to keep me safe. But now—"

She exhaled sharply.

"He's gone. And I ended up here anyway."

Landon didn't speak right away. He just watched her, the same way he always had—like he saw through her, into the parts of herself she wanted to ignore. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, softer.

"Your parents were good people, Tara. Some of the best."

Tara closed her eyes. For a second, she let herself remember Marabella's gentle hands brushing through her hair, the way her voice carried in song. Let herself remember Dominic's tired but proud smile, his unwavering belief in a future that didn't have to be so cruel. Her throat closed up.

"They're never coming back," she murmured.

Landon's fingers curled slightly against hers. "I know."

She swallowed hard. "But you did."

His breath hitched, barely audible.

Tara turned to face him. "Why?"

Landon hesitated. Then—slowly, carefully—he reached for her. Not to pull her closer. Not to hold her. But just to brush his knuckles against her cheek. A touch so light it was almost hesitant.

"I told you," he murmured. "You're not alone."

Tara exhaled shakily. She wanted to believe him. But Landon had always been untouchable. That had never changed.

She shifted, looking up at him. "You were always different. Even when we were kids."

Landon stilled. Tara's mind drifted back, memories resurfacing like ghosts. Landon Frasier, the golden boy of the Middle Order, the untouchable one. The only one who could break every rule and never face punishment. Even after vandalizing Bailon's statue in broad daylight, covering the supernatural president's carved face in streaks of pink paint, he had walked away without a scratch.

"Why did you never get in trouble?" she asked.

Landon's expression didn't change, but something in his jaw tightened.

Tara frowned. "Landon?"

He hesitated for a long moment. Then—quietly:

"Because Bailon wouldn't let them touch me."

Tara blinked. "What?"

Landon exhaled slowly. His hand dropped back to his lap.

"I wasn't just some Middle Order kid, Tara." His voice was quiet, careful. "I was his ward."

The air in her lungs froze.

"What?" she whispered.

Landon finally met her gaze, something heavy and unreadable in his expression.

"I was a Fluorescent first," he admitted. "But I wasn't like the others. I wasn't—normal."

Tara's fingers dug into her knees. "What do you mean?"

Landon hesitated. "I wasn't born into their world. I was created."

Tara felt a cold wave crash over her. Created. She thought of Bailon. Of his calculated presence, his interest in supernatural evolution. She thought of herself. Her pulse pounded. Tara had always known Landon was different. But this—

"You were an experiment?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Landon's lips pressed into a thin line. "Something like that."

Tara swallowed hard. "So why were you with us? With the Middle Orders?"

Landon exhaled. "Because Bailon wanted to see how I'd adapt. On semi-neutral. What I'd become." He looked down, voice tight. "I think he learned of what I might turn into and wanted to use it."

Tara's stomach twisted. She stared at him, at the quiet weight he carried. She had never questioned it before. Never questioned why he had always been the outlier, why he had always seemed untouchable. But now—it made sense. Bailon had been watching him. Studying him. Using him. Just like everyone else in this broken system. Tara let out a slow breath, trying to steady herself.

"I don't care what he wanted," she said finally. "You're not what he made you, Landon."

Landon blinked.

"You never were," she continued. "You're you."

Landon exhaled sharply. For a moment, they just looked at each other. Then, before she could process it, he shifted, reaching up. His hand cupped the back of her head, his touch warm, grounding. A moment later, his lips brushed against her cheek. Tara's breath caught. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket. For the first time since losing everything, she felt something familiar again. Not home. Not safety. But him. The warmth she had thought she'd never feel again. She closed her eyes. And then—A voice shattered the moment.

"Go to bed."

Tara and Landon startled apart. In the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame, stood Skye. His black-glimmering eyes flickered between them, unreadable.

"You don't want to survive tomorrow's assessment," he murmured, voice low, calm—dangerous, "just to be too tired to fight after leaving the facility."

Tara's pulse thundered. Landon exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face.

"Right," he muttered. "Of course."

Tara swallowed hard. Skye watched her for a long moment. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the shadows. Tara let out a shaky breath. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, everything could change. And she wasn't sure if she was ready.