Page 91 of Born in Fire
Without another word, I bolt for the door, shoving past Luke and Mara. I hear Caleb calling after me, but his voice fades beneath the roar of blood in my ears. My feet carry me through the corridors of Craven Towers, past startled construction workers and security personnel. I take the stairs because waiting for the elevator feels impossible, descending twenty floors in a blur of movement too fast for human eyes to track.
The lobby passes in a flash of marble and glass. I burst through the revolving doors onto the plaza outside, the air hitting my lungs like a shock of cold water. The pull is stronger now, an invisible tether drawing me forward with undeniable force.
And then I see it—a blinding flash of white light erupting at the edge of the plaza. So bright it sears my vision, forcing me to shield my eyes. When the glare subsides, I lower my arm, blinking away after-images.
There, in the center of a scorched circle on the pavement, stands a woman. Her back is to me, but I would know the line of those shoulders, the curve of that neck, anywhere. Her hair is different—pure gold instead of sandy blonde—and she’s wearing what looks like hospital scrubs, but it’s her. It has to be her.
Juno!
Chapter 28
Juno
“Ju-Ju.” The nickname feels wrong on his lips, invasive. His gray eyes watch me with a mixture of concern and something darker lurking beneath. “What happened to you? I’ve been worried sick.”
I stare at the man gripping my arm, experiencing a nauseating sense of déjà vu. Blond hair, carefully styled. Expensive watch. Cologne that makes my stomach clench. I know him, but the knowledge comes with instinctive revulsion rather than relief.
“I don’t…” My voice falters. “I don’t remember.”
His expression shifts, concern deepening though his eyes remain cold.
“You must be confused. Oh, sweetheart.” He pulls me into an embrace that feels like a trap. “It’s me, Tyler. Your fiancé.”
Fiancé.
The word hits me like ice water. Wrong. This is wrong.
“No,” I say, pulling back. Passersby glance at us—a disheveled woman in hospital scrubs and a well-dressed man having what appears to be a reunion. Nothing concerning to the casual observer.
Tyler’s smile strains at the edges. “You must have hit your head during the evacuation. Let me take you home, and we’ll sort this out.” His fingers dig deeper into my arm as I try to step away. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you since the accident.”
“I don’t know you.” The words emerge with surprising certainty, despite my empty memory. “Please let go of my arm.”
His expression hardens for a split second before smoothing into practiced concern.
“Ju-Ju, you’re confused. We’ve been together for three years. We live on Capitol Hill, in the blue Victorian with the garden you love so much. We’re getting married in June at the botanical gardens.”
As he speaks, fragments of memory flash through my mind—but they contradict his words. A small apartment, not a Victorian house. Tears on my pillow. Keys hidden from me. A bruise blooming on my cheekbone. Cracked ribs. Pain.
“That’s not true,” I whisper, more to myself than to him.
Tyler’s grip tightens painfully. “Let’s not make a scene, hmm? You’re clearly unwell. Those clothes, no shoes…” He glances at my rubber flip-flops with disgust. “You need to come home now.”
“No!” I snap.
His voice lowers, audible only to me. “You’re embarrassing yourself. Again. Always so dramatic.”
The words trigger another memory flash—the same voice, the same dismissive tone:You’re being dramatic. No one will believe you, anyway.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I try to pull away, but his fingers dig deeper, twisting slightly to increase the pain while maintaining a concerned expression for anyone watching.
“You don’t have a choice, Juno.” His smile remains fixed while his eyes harden. “You think anyone’s going to believe a woman in stolen hospital clothes over me? I’ve already filed a missing person report. Told the police about your… mental health issues.”
He steps closer, his breath hot against my ear. “For days, I’ve waited for you to show up here. I knew you’d come crawling back to your little coffee shop, eventually.”
Coffee shop. The words trigger another memory flash—an espresso machine, a counter, a name tag. The Grind & Bean. In Craven Towers.
“You worked here,” Tyler continues, using my momentary confusion to guide me toward the edge of the plaza. “Until you had your little breakdown. The doctors said you might try to return to places you know.”
