Chapter 3 : When the Body Remembers
On the patio, Marcus lowered himself back into the chair like gravity had finally remembered him.
He stared at his hands.
“My fingers…” he whispered, flexing them like he’d been given new ones. “I felt it—”
He stopped. His eyes flicked toward the boy.
“What did you do?”
The boy’s gaze was steady.
“I didn’t give you anything,” he said. “I just found what was taken.”
Marcus’s throat worked.
“You’re telling me I could’ve—”
“Not by yourself,” the boy cut in. “Not without the right help. And not if everyone around you was being paid to keep you where you were.”
The air changed.
Not because Marcus stood.
Because something uglier stood with him: the idea that his chair had been profitable.
Someone in the crowd tried to laugh, but it came out wrong.
“This is insane,” a woman said, stepping back. “You’re saying doctors lied?”
The boy turned his head slightly, like he’d heard that line too many times.
“I’m saying someone decided it was safer if he never got better.”
Marcus’s hands clenched.
He looked down at the check on the stone.
Then at the people filming.
Then at the boy.
“Who are you?” he asked.
May you like
The boy’s expression didn’t change.
“I’m the part of the story you weren’t supposed to meet,” he said.
