Dave stood up, ready to leave. He reached into his pocket, took out a pen, and quickly wrote his number on small piece of paper from his notebook. He slid it across the table.
"Call me when you're ready to help." His voice was calm, but there was urgency in his tone. Without another word,
he walked out and disappeared into the busy city streets.
Emma stared at the paper, her heart pounding. One question filled her mind: "How did he know?"
She glanced around, half-expecting someone to be watching her. But the café was the same as alwayspeople chatting, sipping coffee, and reading newspapers. No one was paying attention to her.
Since her parents left for the West Indies, life had been different. She had lived with her Aunt Bertha for ten years, and her parents never once checked on her. A tear
slipped down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away.
Her coffee sat untouched, now cold. She sighed, put some money on the table, and walked out of the café.
Outside, the city was alive. Cars honked, people rushed past, and in the distance, a street musician played a sad tune on his violin. Emma clenched the small paper in her
hand. She thought about throwing it away. She didn't owe Dave anything.
But she did.
When she saw him, a memory had rushed into her mind.
It wasn't hers-it was his. A feeling of fear, the scent of rain on the pavement, the glint of something sharp in the
darkness. She didn't know when or where it had happened, but the terror she felt wasn't her own.
She had taken his memory.
Or rather, it had come to her, as they always did, like a whisper in her mind, slipping into her thoughts until she couldn't tell where they ended and she began.
She turned into an alley and leaned against a cool brick wall, pressing her fingers to her temples. She had tried to block out the memories before, but this one clung to
her like a shadow that refused to disappear.
Dave needed it back.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. With shaky hands, she pulled it out and read the message.
Unknown Number: You know what I need. Please don't make me wait.
Her breath caught. She hadn't even called him yet. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She should ignore
him. Walk away. Pretend this wasn't happening.
But she couldn't.
Emma took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and typed one word: Where?
The reply came instantly.
Greenwich Park. Sunset. Come alone.
A shiver ran through her. He had expected this. He knew she wouldn't refuse. The memory inside her head
pulsed, unfinished, demanding answers.
She put her phone back in her pocket, pushed off the wall, and stepped into the moving crowd. One thing was
clear-whatever Dave had lost, she now carried it. And she needed to understand why.