For several seconds, Laim couldn't move.
The name on the paper seemed to blur before his eyes, the ink twisting into shapes that felt strangely familiar.
He knew he had seen it somewhere.
Not recently.
Not in a photograph or a letter.
Somewhere deeper.
Somewhere he couldn't reach.
"Laim?"
Marco's voice pulled him back.
Laim blinked and realized he was gripping Marco's sleeve so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
"S-sorry."
He released him immediately.
Marco frowned.
"Don't apologize."
"But I—"
"You're allowed to be scared."
Laim looked up at him.
Marco's expression had changed. The usual sharpness in his eyes had softened, and his hand rested carefully against Laim's shoulder.
"And you're allowed to tell me when something's wrong," Marco added. "You don't have to pretend you're fine just because I'm standing here."
Laim swallowed.
"...What if I don't know what's wrong?"
"Then we'll figure it out."
Adrian cleared his throat.
"That was surprisingly sweet."
Marco slowly turned his head.
"Would you like to be thrown out of a window?"
"Never mind. Romance is dead."
"Adrian."
"Right. Serious business."
Adrian held up both hands.
Laim almost smiled.
Almost.
Because the moment he looked back at the paper, that strange feeling returned.
A voice.
A shadow.
And a pair of eyes staring at him through the darkness.
You promised.
Laim's breath caught.
"Marco?"
The taller man immediately faced him.
"What is it?"
"I think someone is trying to tell me something."
Adrian's smile disappeared.
"Someone?"
Laim pressed his fingers against his temple.
"I don't know. I can hear a voice, but I can't remember who it belongs to."
Marco glanced at Adrian.
Adrian gave him a grave look.
"That sounds familiar."
Marco's eyes narrowed.
"Explain."
Adrian hesitated before reaching into his jacket again.
This time, he produced a small photograph.
It was old, its edges worn and its surface scratched.
He placed it on the table beside the paper.
"I found this with the list."
Laim approached slowly.
The photograph showed a house surrounded by trees. Its windows were boarded up, and the front door hung crookedly from its hinges.
Three figures stood in front of it.
One was Zachary.
Even in the faded photograph, his appearance was unmistakable.
The second was someone Laim couldn't identify. Their face had been deliberately scratched out.
The third—
Laim stopped breathing.
It was him.
Or someone who looked exactly like him.
The same face.
The same eyes.
Even the small mark near his eyebrow.
Except the boy in the photograph looked younger, perhaps by several years, and he was holding Zachary's hand.
Laim stared at the image.
"...That's impossible."
Marco moved beside him.
His gaze traveled from the photograph to Laim's face.
Then back again.
"Is that you?"
"I don't know!"
The answer came out sharper than Laim intended.
He immediately flinched.
"I mean... I don't remember ever being there."
Marco didn't react to his tone.
Instead, he pulled out a chair.
"Sit down."
Laim obeyed, his legs suddenly feeling unsteady.
Marco crouched in front of him.
"Look at me."
Laim raised his eyes.
"You're here," Marco said quietly. "You're with me. Whatever that picture shows, it doesn't change that."
Laim stared at him.
For some reason, those words hurt more than they should have.
Because a tiny part of him was terrified that the picture would change everything.
What if he had known Zachary before?
What if the person in the photograph wasn't someone Zachary had mistaken him for?
What if Laim himself had forgotten something terrible?
He looked down.
"...What if I did something to him?"
Marco's expression tightened.
"Then we'll find out what happened."
"And if I hurt him?"
"Laim."
Marco reached for his hand.
"If you made a mistake, that doesn't mean you deserve to be hurt for the rest of your life."
Laim's eyes widened slightly.
Marco squeezed his fingers.
"And it certainly doesn't give Zachary the right to kidnap you."
Adrian nodded.
"Correct. We can investigate the mysterious past without endorsing the kidnapping. Those are two separate activities."
Marco looked over his shoulder.
"Why are you still talking?"
"Because nobody else is contributing."
"You're contributing to my headache."
"You're welcome."
Despite everything, Laim let out a small laugh.
Marco looked back at him, and for one brief moment, relief flickered across his face.
Then Laim's expression changed.
He was staring at the photograph again.
At the hand holding Zachary's.
At the way the younger Laim was leaning against him.
"...He looks happy."
Marco followed his gaze.
He did.
The boy in the picture wasn't frightened.
He wasn't struggling.
He was smiling at the camera while Zachary stood beside him with an arm wrapped around his shoulders.
It was a familiar sort of happiness.
The kind that suggested years of knowing someone.
The kind that couldn't have been built in a single afternoon.
Laim's voice grew quieter.
"Why would he look at me like I'm a stranger if we knew each other?"
Neither man answered.
Then Adrian said something that made the room go cold.
"Maybe he doesn't think you're a stranger."
Laim looked up.
Adrian tapped the photograph.
"Maybe he's angry because you don't remember him."
### Somewhere across town
Zachary slammed his bedroom door shut.
He leaned against it, breathing heavily.
His hands were shaking.
"No, no, no..."
He crossed the room and began searching through the drawers of his desk, throwing old notebooks and loose papers onto the floor.
Finally, beneath a stack of photographs, he found what he was looking for.
A small black box.
Its lid was decorated with a silver symbol: a circle split by three crooked lines.
Zachary hesitated before opening it.
Inside lay a thin silver chain and a small pendant shaped like a crescent moon.
He picked it up.
For a moment, his expression softened.
Then he closed his fist around it.
"I told you to stay forgotten."
His voice sounded unfamiliar even to himself.
A knock came from the other side of the door.
Zachary froze.
"Go away."
The handle rattled.
"Zachary. Open the door."
His expression darkened.
"...Of course."
He shoved the pendant into his pocket and opened the door.
A tall man stood in the hallway, dressed in a dark coat. His expression was composed, but his eyes immediately dropped to the mess scattered across Zachary's bedroom floor.
"You've been searching again."
Zachary folded his arms.
"And you've been spying again."
"Someone reported that you approached the boy."
Zachary's jaw tightened.
"His name is Laim."
The man raised an eyebrow.
"Interesting. You've learned his name."
Zachary stepped forward.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Talk about him as though he's some object you've been waiting to collect."
The man's expression remained unchanged.
"That's precisely what he is."
Zachary went utterly still.
Then he smiled.
It was a terrible smile.
"You should leave."
"You don't understand what you've done."
"Oh, I understand perfectly."
"No, Zachary. You don't."
The man reached into his coat and produced a folded document.
"You were instructed to observe him. Nothing more."
Zachary stared at the paper.
The man's voice lowered.
"Instead, you approached him, frightened him, and made him suspicious of you."
"He was supposed to remember!"
"And when he didn't?"
Zachary's fingers curled.
The man stepped closer.
"You lost control."
Silence.
Then Zachary laughed once, bitterly.
"That's funny coming from you."
The man's expression hardened.
"Be careful."
"Or what? You'll erase another memory? Lock another door? Tell another child that everything they remember is a lie?"
For the first time, the man's composure cracked.
Zachary saw it.
And he knew he'd struck something important.
The man reached for him.
Zachary stepped back.
"Don't touch me."
"You have no idea what Laim is capable of remembering."
"Then perhaps you should have thought about that before you made him forget!"
The words echoed through the room.
Neither moved.
Finally, the man straightened his coat.
"You have until tomorrow evening to correct this."
Zachary's face fell.
"Correct what?"
"His memories."
The man turned toward the door.
"If Laim remembers everything before we are ready, neither you nor Marco will be able to protect him."
He paused.
"And if he remembers who the third person in that photograph really was..."
The man's gaze shifted toward Zachary.
"...he may never forgive either of you."
The door closed.
Zachary stood alone.
Slowly, he reached into his pocket and took out the silver pendant.
His thumb brushed its surface.
"I never wanted him to forget," he whispered.
But the truth was more complicated.
Zachary had wanted Laim to forget the pain.
He had wanted him to forget the house.
He had wanted him to forget the night everything went wrong.
And, most selfishly of all, he had wanted Laim to remember only the good things about him.
He had never considered what it would mean for Laim to lose the truth along with the pain.
Zachary lowered his head.
"...I'm sorry."
This time, he wasn't sure who he was apologizing to.
### The name beneath the photograph
Back at Marco's house, Adrian had spread everything across the dining table.
The photograph.
The list.
And a small envelope he had found tucked into the back of the picture frame.
Laim sat beside Marco, his knee pressed against the taller man's.
He hadn't consciously moved closer.
Marco hadn't pointed it out.
Instead, he had quietly shifted his chair until their shoulders touched.
It helped.
A little.
Adrian carefully opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
The handwriting was faded, but the message remained legible.
If the boy ever returns, do not let him enter the house.
Do not let him see the room beneath the stairs.
And under no circumstances should he be allowed to meet the one who survived.
Laim read the message twice.
Then a third time.
"The boy..."
His voice faltered.
"That's me, isn't it?"
Marco's hand found his beneath the table.
Adrian didn't answer immediately.
"I think so."
Laim stared at the final sentence.
The one who survived.
Something inside his mind shifted.
A door.
A staircase.
The smell of smoke.
He jerked upright.
"I know that house."
Marco turned toward him.
"What?"
"I've been there."
The room seemed to tilt.
Laim pressed his fingers against his forehead as images flickered through his mind.
A narrow hallway.
A wooden staircase.
Someone crying behind a locked door.
And Zachary, younger than he was now, standing in front of Laim with tears running down his face.
Don't go down there.
Laim gasped.
Marco immediately steadied him.
"Laim! Hey, look at me."
But Laim couldn't.
Because another memory was forcing its way to the surface.
A voice.
A scream.
And a hand slipping from his grasp.
Then Zachary's voice, breaking beneath the weight of something unbearable.
I tried to save you.
Laim stumbled out of his chair.
Marco caught him around the waist before he could fall.
"Laim!"
Laim clutched Marco's shirt.
His breathing came in short, frightened bursts.
"I remember..."
Marco held him steady.
"What do you remember?"
Laim looked at him, tears gathering in his eyes.
"I remember Zachary."
Marco went silent.
Laim shook his head desperately.
"Not like this. Not the way he is now. He was different. He was..."
He struggled to find the words.
"He was my friend."
Marco's arms tightened around him, just enough to keep him from trembling apart.
Adrian slowly lowered the letter.
"There's something else."
Neither of them looked at him.
Adrian pointed to the bottom of the page.
A line had been written beneath the warning, nearly hidden by a crease.
If the surviving boy remembers the night of the fire, the bond will awaken again.
Laim stopped breathing.
Marco's eyes narrowed.
"The bond?"
Before Adrian could answer, a sharp pain flashed across Laim's wrist.
He cried out and grabbed it.
A thin silver line appeared beneath his skin.
It curved around his wrist like a bracelet, glowing faintly before disappearing.
Marco stared.
Then he looked at his own hand.
A matching mark had appeared on his wrist.
His expression changed completely.
"...What the hell?"
Adrian took one enormous step backward.
"Oh, no."
Marco slowly raised his eyes.
"Adrian."
"No."
"Explain."
"I would absolutely love to, but I'm having a personal crisis."
"ADRIAN."
"Fine!"
Adrian pointed at their wrists.
"That mark is a bond. An old one. And from what I've heard, once it awakens, it connects two people in ways that are very difficult to undo."
Marco glanced at Laim.
Laim glanced at Marco.
Neither said anything.
Then Marco looked back at Adrian.
"Why do I have one?"
Adrian's expression became deeply uncomfortable.
"Well..."
"Adrian."
"I might have neglected to mention one small detail."
Marco's smile vanished.
"Which is?"
Adrian swallowed.
"The bond doesn't always connect the person you expect."
A terrible silence followed.
Laim looked down at his wrist.
Then, slowly, he looked up at Marco.
"...Does that mean we're connected?"
Marco's face had gone unusually still.
"I don't know."
For once, he didn't pretend to have an answer.
He took Laim's hand carefully, examining the place where the silver mark had appeared.
And when Laim's fingers curled around his, the mark glowed again.
Brighter this time.
Across town, Zachary dropped the pendant.
It struck the floor with a metallic clatter.
He stared at it in horror.
"No..."
The silver symbol on its surface had begun to shine.
A voice whispered from somewhere deep within his memory.
Three were bound.
One was lost.
One was left behind.
And one was never supposed to return.
Zachary stumbled backward.
Because he finally understood what the glowing pendant meant.
Laim hadn't merely begun remembering.
The bond had awakened.
And if the old warning was true, the moment the bond fully awakened, the person who had survived the fire would come looking for them.
Zachary looked toward his bedroom window.
For the first time in years, he was genuinely afraid.
Because the person who had survived that night wasn't supposed to be alive.
And tomorrow evening was suddenly much too far away.