Page 57 of Revenge of the Forgotten

A crash echoed through the cabin, glass shattering in the back bedroom. Bridger spun around just in time to see Arlet standing in the bedroom doorway, her eyes wide, face painted in horror. “Run!”

The front door blew open seconds after Arlet’s warning, splintering wood soaring through the room. Meyer dodged a shard before it could pierce through his eye.

“And how would you have preferred I handle this situation, son?” With his sword drawn, Lucius Dimico strode into the cabin with his blond hair full of ash from the burning capital.

“Father,” Bridger said with a deep breath.

Bridger awoke with a pounding headache, his vision blurry from the pain and his skin tingling from the memory of Vega’s body against his. He sat up in his bed, rubbing at the ache between his temples. “When will this shit end?” he asked himself.

He’d been searching for Vega and the rebels for almost an entire week. Bridger took his troop of soldiers to Imber multiple times, sniffing around the ruined territory for any signs of life. They found nothing, and neither did anyone else who Bridger tasked with finding Vega.

Marlena was eerily quiet during his search, staying out of his way like she knew it was best to leave him alone.

Vega’s touch wasn’t the only thing that stuck with him when he woke from the dream. Seeing the ghost of his father was also the reason Bridger couldn’t allow himself to fall back asleep tonight—because he knew what dream was up next, and he wasn’t sure he could stand to relive it.

Bridger groaned in frustration at the exhaustion setting in, throwing himself back against his mattress with a thud. The brand on his wrist itched, and no amount of scratching would sate him. Bridger snagged one of the extra pillows from his bed, pulled it to his face tightly, and screamed. He could’ve just put a sound shield up around the perimeter of his room, but this felt better.

He longed for the days he slept through the night, waking before his alarm, well-rested and ready to take on whatever challenge the day threw his way.

A beep from the comm-phone on his bedside table caught his attention. Bridger rolled to his side, peeking out from under the pillow to bring the small device to his face. A message rolled across the dull screen:

Commander, we’ve received word back from Halo Apsens. He will be here tomorrow morning to meet with you.

Bridger breathed a sigh of relief. “Finally.”

He dropped the handheld back on his nightstand and rolled onto his back. Bridger hadn’t heard from Halo since returning to Tolevarre from Earth, assuming he was lying low after getting caught by Arlet at the portal.

Tomorrow, he could finally end this hunt and work on returning to his normal life, focusing on rebuilding his shields and ridding himself of the memories he didn’t want to remember.

If he couldn’t return his shields, Bridger was sure the dreams would be his downfall—that Vega would be his downfall, like she’d always been.

The memories of her, the love he’d once had, would end him… but Bridger wasn’t going down without a fight.

22

Over the last week, Vega had slept better than she had in years, but she wasn’t sure if it was the training or the fact she somehow felt safe—even though she was in more danger here than she’d ever been in any of her lives on Earth.

They would be leaving to meet with a witch in Fraus tomorrow morning. Vega was hours from getting her memories back.

Her room was small, similar to all of the bedrooms here in Castra. There was nothing of importance in it, which led Vega to ask why she had nothing from her original life—or any of them for that matter.

It was Marlena’s ultimate goal to make sure Vega had nothing, even if that meant she took the pictures her sister was trying to hold on to.

The small bed creaked as she tossed and turned. Tonight, sleep eluded her. The anticipation of what was to come kept her brain from slipping into the deep slumber she’d been spoiled with lately.

Vega huffed, giving up. Her memories would just have to excuse the sleepless brain they were re-entering.

The brand on her wrist itched, an inkling of pain slipping through here and there, like one of the other three was trying to scratch the damn thing off. She knew the others could feel it too.

Vega opened her small closet and let her fingers dance over the clothing hanging inside. There was an extra training uniform, the flannel she’d worn on her trek back from Earth, and a few other odds and ends that didn’t strike a memory. These pieces were all she had from her lives over the years—outfits she was sure had meaning behind them, big or small.

Vega gripped a dress, velvety black with a dramatic slit up the leg. She pulled it out of the closet and held it up, taking in the low-cut V down the chest. She had never owned anything so beautiful.

She had to try it on.

Quickly, she stripped out of her sleepwear, and it pooled under her feet as she stepped into the gown. The sleeves were long, cutting just along the wrist. Parts of the fabric were singed with marks that looked like lightning.

Vega lightly traced the outline of the streaks, feeling the roughness under her fingertips. The mirror in her room allowed for a full view of the dress. She gaped at the reflection staring back at her.

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