Chapter 3: Flash Flood of Memory
Silence pressed in, watching rather than questioning.
Demien stood frozen beside the desk. The press tag caught sunlight through the window, making Yves Laurent glow like a brand. The name had anchored itself inside him now, carved something permanent beneath his skin.
He blinked slowly. The harsh light aggravated his nerves, still raw from the skull-splitting pain. Without thinking, he yanked the curtain cord. Shadows flooded the room—cool, clean, quiet.
The weight returned the moment darkness fell.
Something tightened in his chest. Something wrong pulsed behind his eyes.
He turned toward the bed, fingers grazing the mattress corner—and the floor shifted beneath him. His legs buckled without warning. He dropped hard, knees cracking against marble. Palms slapped cold stone just in time. His fingers spread against the polished surface as he gasped, pressure building again.
Then it hit him.
Not exactly pain.
Invasion.
Flashes surged behind his eyes, forceful and foreign:
Monaco’s squad photo—red and white kits crisp against green pitch.