Chapter 2

Elara POV:

I stalked back to the master suite, my movements as silent as a predator closing in on its prey.

My hands didn't shake as I picked up my phone from the bedside table. My fingers were steady as I scrolled to the encrypted contact.

Evans answered on the third ring, his voice thick with sleep. "Elara? What is it? It's the middle of the night. Are you safe?"

The words caught in my throat, a knot of razors. I couldn't speak. I couldn't force the betrayal past my lips.

His immediate assumption was for the Don. "Is it Brendan? Has something happened to him? Is he hurt?"

"He's fine," I managed, my voice flat, devoid of all emotion. It sounded like it belonged to a stranger.

"He's perfectly fine." A bitter laugh threatened to escape me, a sound that would have shattered the stillness. "Evans... I need the excision."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "Elara, we've talked about this. It's a hypothetical. It's radical, irreversible. It could trigger cascading memory loss. You could forget years of your life. You could forget who you are."

"That's the point," I whispered. "I don't want to be this person anymore. The person who feels this."

I remembered our conversations from years ago, when his research was still theoretical, funded by one of my legitimate grants. "What about the Blank Slate Protocol? The one you only ever theorized about. Total severance."

His voice turned serious, the sleepiness completely gone. "My God, Elara. What have you done?"

"I'm volunteering," I said simply. "I'll be your first human trial. Name your price."

"This is not a decision to be made at two in the morning, fueled by God knows what," he insisted, his tone pleading.

"It's the only decision," I countered, the finality in my own voice surprising me. "It's already made."

He was silent for a long moment. I could hear him breathing, weighing the ethics against the scientific opportunity of a lifetime.

"My lab," he said finally. "Tomorrow afternoon. Promise me you won't do anything drastic until then."

"I promise," I lied.

I hung up the phone just as the bedroom door creaked open. Brendan slipped into the room, a shadow moving with practiced stealth, as if he'd done this a thousand times.

He slid into bed beside me, his back to me, and let out a soft, feigned snore. A sickeningly sweet cloud clung to his skin-Kiya's perfume, a scent so cheap it was an insult. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach.

I closed my eyes and fought it back, my resolve hardening into something cold and sharp.

Tomorrow, I would begin the process of erasing him.