The rain comes three days later.
Rey notices it before he hears it.
There's a shift in the air — pressure against the windows, a gray heaviness that makes the hospital room feel smaller.
Then the sound starts.
Soft at first.
Then steady.
He's sitting up now. The headache has dulled into something manageable. Doctors have come and gone. Tests. Questions. Lights in his eyes.
Memory gaps, they said.
Normal.
Temporary.
He doesn't feel temporary.
He feels… unfinished.
Claire is by the window, watching the rain trail down the glass.
"You okay?" she asks without turning.
"Yeah."
It's automatic.
He doesn't know if it's true.
The mark on his wrist tingles faintly.
He looks down at it again.
It hasn't faded.
If anything, it looks more defined now. The crescent shape sharper along the edges. Not spreading. Just… deeper.
He presses his thumb against it.
Warm.
Immediately—
Rain at night.
Streetlights smeared gold across wet pavement.
His own voice raised.
"I can't keep doing this!"
Claire's face — not angry.
Afraid.
The memory stops there.
Like someone cut the film.
He exhales sharply.
"Claire."
She turns.
"Yeah?"
"Were we… fighting a lot?"
The question hangs in the air between them.
She doesn't answer right away.
"Not a lot," she says carefully. "You were stressed."
"That's not what I asked."
Her fingers curl against the windowsill.
"We argued sometimes. Everyone does."
The rain hits harder.
He watches her reflection instead of her directly.
"You looked scared earlier," he says.
Her shoulders stiffen. "You scared me."
"No," he says quietly. "Before that."
Silence.
The mark warms again.
Not painful.
Encouraging.
As if leaning him forward.
He swings his legs off the bed slowly. The floor is cold under his feet.
"I keep remembering pieces," he admits. "But they stop before the end."
She steps toward him immediately. "You shouldn't force it."
"I'm not forcing it."
He looks down at his wrist again.
The warmth increases.
And for a split second—
He feels it.
That cold brush again.
Not in memory.
Now.
Behind him.
He turns quickly.
The hospital room is empty.
Just the hum of machines.
The rain.
Claire watching him.
"What?" she asks.
He hesitates.
"I thought I felt something."
Her expression changes. Not confusion.
Fear.
"Felt what?"
He shakes his head.
"Never mind."
He sits back down.
The warmth fades slowly.
Claire moves closer and sits on the edge of the bed.
"You don't have to figure everything out at once," she says softly.
He studies her face.
There's guilt there.
He's sure of it.
But not the kind that feels malicious.
It feels heavy.
Like she's carrying something fragile and doesn't know how to set it down.
"Did I say I wanted to leave?" he asks suddenly.
The question lands like glass.
Claire inhales sharply.
"Rey—"
"Just answer."
Her eyes shine.
"You said you needed space."
Space.
That word hits differently.
Not leaving.
Not ending.
Space.
The mark pulses once.
Stronger than before.
And this time—
The memory continues.
Rain pouring.
Her hands on his chest.
"Don't walk away from me!"
"I'm not walking away—"
His heel slipping.
The world tilting backward.
And behind him—
That presence.
Waiting.
Cold.
He gasps softly.
Claire grips his shoulders.
"What did you see?"
He looks at her.
"I wasn't trying to leave."
Her face crumples.
"I know."
The rain outside becomes steady and relentless.
He doesn't mention the shadow.
He doesn't mention the feeling that something else was there that night.
He's not sure if it was memory—
Or if it's still close.
The mark settles into a steady warmth.
Not flaring.
Not fading.
Responsive.
Listening.
And as Rey watches the rain slide down the glass—
He realizes something that makes his stomach tighten.
The accident wasn't just a fall.
It was a moment.
A fracture.
And something had been standing exactly where he broke.