*Warren*

Sitting on the bench in the gardens, sipping wine, and listening to Ciana’s story, wave after wave of confusion washed over me.

She was speaking about an incident eight years ago, and yet… I didn’t remember it at all.

Lost in the woods? Wounded? Collecting a flower blossom for her from the top of a mountain on the cliff? I was fairly certain that if I had been there, I would remember at least a bit of this.

When she concluded her story ...