72. Who?

Callista.

The dark-haired man smells so nice. Like sea breeze and pinecones, mixed with hints of smoke. I remember the sea that I’d seen on my way out of the first city, how fresh it felt, how liberating. Now, he’s got his arms around me, and they are so nice. Strong. He’s tall and muscular, and so very warm around me. Something inside me sighs in relief upon seeing him. I feel happy.

Outside the room, rain pours. It’s so loud, and thunder and lightning flash. Involuntarily, I flinch. Something whines in my mind, but I can’t make sense of it. Instead, I turn to the safety of the man who is holding me.

But I can’t ignore it, not really. My mind is a mess. I can feel it. I can’t focus, my attention keeps darting. I can’t remember much; my memory is spotty.

I don’t know the man who’s holding me.

“Who are you?” I ask, voice polite and timid, because he’s nice. I really want to know who he is. He feels so familiar.

“What do you mean who I am?” The dark-haired man’s face scrunches, incredul