It was a sad reality. No one had to teach Izara the right thing—she had to teach herself.
Izara had spent years trying to fight against the darkness that surrounded her. But every step forward felt like walking against a tide that threatened to drown her.
Edward shifted on the thin mattress, sensing her presence. His sharp, hollow eyes turned to her, filled with cautious curiosity.
"Who are you?" he asked.
Izara felt a lump form in her throat.
"Brother," she whispered, taking a hesitant step forward.
Edward's brow furrowed. "Who are you?" he repeated, his voice void of recognition.
Izara wasn't surprised. After everything he had endured, his mind had fractured. His memories were in pieces, scattered like shards of a broken mirror.
She swallowed hard. "Brother," she said again, her voice trembling as she took another careful step toward him.
Edward tensed instantly. His body, once so familiar and warm, was now rigid with fear.
