Elara didn't want to open the next one.
She stood in front of it—
hands still,
breathing uneven,
eyes fixed on the label like it might change if she waited long enough.
CASE 03
She could feel it already.
Not memory.
Not yet.
Something else.
Anticipation.
Like her body knew—
before her mind did.
"You don't have to," Aaron said quietly.
That should have helped.
It didn't.
Because the moment he said it—
she knew she would.
"I do," she said.
Her voice was softer now.
Less certain.
But still moving forward.
She reached for the zipper.
Her fingers paused—
just for a second—
then pulled.
Slow.
Careful.
Like if she controlled the movement—
she could control what came next.
She couldn't.
The woman inside was young.
Too young.
Early twenties.
Her hair still damp—
as if she had been caught in the rain.
Her face—
wasn't peaceful.
That was the first thing.
Her expression wasn't calm.
It wasn't empty.
It was—
frozen.
Mid-reaction.
Fear.
Elara's chest tightened.
"No…"
Her voice dropped without meaning to.
She took a step back.
But not far enough.
Because distance didn't matter anymore.
It never had.
"You recognize her," Aaron said.
Not a question.
Elara shook her head quickly.
"No. I don't—"
But she stopped.
Because something in her stomach—
twisted.
Not recognition.
Guilt.
That made no sense.
She had never seen this woman before.
Had she?
Her eyes drifted back.
Against her better judgment.
And the moment they met the woman's face again—
it started.
Not a flash.
Not a full memory.
A fracture.
Rain hitting pavement.
A streetlight flickering.
A voice—
"You should go."
Elara's breath caught.
Her fingers tightened.
"No…"
Another fragment.
The same girl.
Standing.
Looking at her.
Waiting.
Not asking for help—
waiting for permission.
Elara's chest tightened painfully.
"I didn't—"
She stopped.
Because the feeling—
was already there.
She had said something.
She just didn't remember what.
And then—
it came.
Clearer this time.
Not a scene.
Not an image.
A sentence.
Sharp.
Final.
"You told me to leave."
Elara froze.
Her entire body locked.
"No."
The word came out instantly.
Too fast.
Too desperate.
Her head shook.
"I wouldn't—"
But her voice—
was already breaking.
Because she wasn't sure anymore.
Her breath grew shallow.
"I wouldn't do that," she whispered.
But it sounded wrong.
Even to her.
Aaron didn't speak.
Didn't move.
He didn't need to.
Because the silence—
was louder than anything else.
Elara forced herself to look again.
At the girl.
At the fear still locked in her face.
And something inside her—
shifted.
Not understanding.
Not clarity.
Something worse.
Recognition.
Not of the person.
Of the moment.
Of the choice.
Her stomach dropped.
"…I thought she was safe," Elara said slowly.
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Aaron's gaze sharpened slightly.
"You thought," he repeated.
Elara nodded weakly.
"I thought if she left… whatever was following her wouldn't stay."
Her breath trembled.
"I thought I was helping."
Silence.
Then—
Aaron spoke.
"And what happened?"
Elara's eyes closed briefly.
Just for a second.
Because she knew.
Even if she didn't remember everything—
she knew the outcome.
"She died," she whispered.
The words felt heavy.
Permanent.
Irreversible.
Her eyes opened again.
Slowly.
And for the first time—
she didn't look at the body.
She looked at her own hands.
Like they didn't belong to her.
Like they had done something—
she couldn't undo.
"I didn't touch her," she said.
Her voice shaking now.
"I didn't hurt her."
Aaron nodded once.
"I know."
That didn't help.
Because it wasn't the point.
"I told her to leave," Elara said again.
This time—
more certain.
More broken.
"And she listened."
The van felt too small.
The air too thin.
Her thoughts—
too loud.
"If I hadn't said that—" she started.
But she couldn't finish.
Because the answer—
was obvious.
She stepped back.
Further this time.
Her pulse racing.
"This isn't just me being there," she said.
Her voice rising.
"This is me making decisions."
Aaron didn't interrupt.
Didn't deny.
That was the worst part.
"Am I—" she stopped.
Her throat tightened.
She forced the words out.
"Am I responsible for this?"
The question hung in the air.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Aaron looked at her.
Really looked.
Not like before.
Not distant.
Not observing.
Direct.
"You were part of it," he said.
Not harsh.
Not gentle.
Just—
true.
Elara's breath broke.
Part of it.
Not the whole.
Not innocent.
Somewhere—
in between.
And that—
was worse than either.
Because it meant—
she couldn't separate herself from it.
Not completely.
Her hands trembled again.
And this time—
she didn't try to stop them.
Because for the first time—
she was afraid of herself.