"Methods developed for severe trauma. Methods capable of suppressing memory—not eliminating it entirely, but creating distance from it. Reducing the frequency and force of its return." He paused. "Sometimes the mind cannot survive what it remembers. The memories return faster than the architecture holding them can manage, and the structure begins to fail." His eyes moved to Liora. "We help it forget."
The room received this in silence. Another physician shifted with the particular unease of someone who understood the full weight of what was being described — because memory was not flesh. It could not be stitched or stabilized or set. It was identity, organized experience, the accumulated self.
To remove part of it was to remove part of the person who had been built from it, and what remained would not be a healed version of what had been there before. It would be something different, carrying shaped absences where things had been.
