Page 24 of Lost Echoes
Project Elysium—Restricted.
The blinking link pulses on the screen as if it’s alive.
Luke leans closer. “Project Elysium. Sounds like endgame-level stuff.”
A chill runs down my arms. “Or bait. What if this is how they track people who dig too deep?”
He tilts his head, studying me instead of the screen. “Do you want to stop?”
I don’t answer right away. The truth tangles within me—fear twisting with need. I want him safe, and I want myself safe. But more than anything, I want answers. I need to know what swallowed my mom, what threatens Kenzi, what still lurks in the shadows of my family’s past.
“If we open it, we can’t ever close it again.” My voice cracks. “You get that, right? This led Kenzi to where she’s at now, and this could even be what was behind my mom’s death.”
Luke threads his fingers through mine, grounding me. “I get it, and I’m not letting you carry it alone.”
For a long moment, the only sound is the hum of the computers. Then I nod, heart pounding. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Then Luke clicks the link.
The screen flickers. A loading symbol spins. Words form, slow and deliberate.
We both hold our breath, hands tightening together, waiting for the secrets to spill.
12
Billa
The box is heavier than it seemed before, or maybe I’m just tired and need more rest. That’s probably it. Dust billows as I tug it onto my bed, the faded cardboard soft at the corners from too many attic summers. I decided I was finished with these journals, these scraps of my forgotten younger self. But after Florencia’s confession, I can’t stop thinking about what I might have overlooked.
I flip through crayon drawings and messy handwriting, half memories I barely claim as mine. A house with windows too small. A figure with a long white coat and no face. Pages of scribbles where my pen dug so hard it nearly tore through.
Then I see something… creased in the corner, almost torn free. A drawing of a bear. Childlike and clumsy. One button eye staring, the other missing. Its stitched mouth crooked, its fur shaded darker on one side.
My breath hitches.
I’ve seen this before. Not this exact drawing, but something close—another picture, another time. The photo from Laurel before, the same one-eyed bear, taken many years ago.
Probably around the same time.
Why would I have drawn it here back then? Unless it was never just a toy. It had to have meant something at Radley.
I trace the outline with my finger, wishing I could ask the younger version of me what she meant. But she’s as unreachable as the rest of my lost memories.
My phone buzzes, startling me. Florencia’s name flashes on the screen. For a moment, I consider ignoring it. I’m not sure I trust her. Not sure I should.
I answer anyway.
Her voice is low, urgent. “I found something you need to know about. There’s a group that meets in person. Former patients—survivors. They’ve kept quiet, hidden, but they exist. I can’t believe I’ve found it.”
I clutch the bear drawing tighter. “What kind of group?”
“A support group. At least, that’s what they call it. But it appears to be more than that. They’re sharing pieces of the truth. Stories about Elias Radley, and about Laurel too. She’s taking the fall for everything the authorities know about—but it isn’t much. Barely a sliver of what really happened.”
I breathe out slowly. “So Laurel’s not the monster?”
“She’s a monster, for sure.” Florencia’s words are careful. “But not the monster. Just the one they could catch. The weakest link.”
I stare at the one-eyed bear, its crooked smile staring back at me. Somehow I know this is the beginning of something I can’t unlearn. Maybe even just what I need to unlock my own memories.
