36

Snow couldn't remember his sister.

Not really. Not in the way that mattered.

Fragments lingered-a laugh, the way she'd elbow him when he talked too much-but the rest was gone. Erased. His parents had chosen the operation, slicing her from their minds like a tumor. Too painful to keep. Too dangerous to remember.

Now he was alone, mourning a ghost in a pastel-walled psychiatric hell, surrounded by the violently broken and blissfully numb. But not for long.

His Revelation was coming.

At eighteen, he'd finally see the truth-the real one-the way the world actually worked. The reason they'd been saved when others vanished. The reason forgetting was a mercy.

He'd waited for this. Craved it.

But not every truth sets you free. Some just show you the bars of your cage.

So tell me-when the whole world demands you stop hurting, do you swallow the lie and heal?

Or do you hold your pain like a knife and carve your right to feel it into their fucking walls?