What was that?
Adrian leaned against the doorframe, eyes gazing outside—but not really seeing anything.
His mind drifted again. Whenever it wasn't busy, it always went back to the visions he saw when he fainted.
Flashes. Clearer this time, but just as confusing.
Whose coffin was I crying over?
He couldn't remember the face, but the pain was overwhelming. He'd cried so hard his throat burned, clawed at the ground until his nails bled. He couldn't even speak. Only broken sounds escaped him. The desperation felt too real to be just a dream.
The grief hit him like a wave. But alongside it came a sharp, rising anger.
He didn't know who had died, but he knew this—whoever caused that pain... he wanted to destroy them. Rip them apart. Tear their eyes out, crush their limbs, make them suffer in ways no words could describe.
What's wrong with me?
He wanted answers about his past. About who he really was. But if the truth was this painful... did he even want to remember?
