The morning sun touched her skin like a blessing, and for the first time, Amara felt safe waking up beside someone. Damian's arm was wrapped around her waist, his breath soft on her neck. It felt unreal — this peace, this warmth.
"Still here?" he murmured.
She nodded against his chest.
"Good. Because I'm not letting go."
His words struck deep. Not like chains, but like a vow — the kind her soul had never dared hope for.
In the kitchen, laughter bloomed again — Damian teasing Amara, flour on her nose as she baked. He stole kisses when she wasn't looking. She burned the bread twice, too distracted by the way he looked at her like she hung the stars.
To the world, they were fire and water.
But in that house… they were healing.
But not everyone was healing.
Zina sat in her room, fingers trembling over a sketchpad. She didn't know when she started drawing — but there it was, in rough lines and hard strokes:
Amara's face.
The same face that haunted her dreams.
The same eyes filled with panic, from a memory she couldn't quite place.
"Who are you?" Zina whispered to the page, heart racing.
That night, she crept through the halls like a ghost. Paused outside Damian's door.
Laughter.
Then silence.
Then soft moans again.
Jealousy coiled in her chest like a snake.
She pressed her hand to the door — not to knock, but to feel. As if touch alone could burn away what she heard.
The next day, Zina was all sweetness.
She invited Amara to have tea with her in the garden. Complimented her hair. Asked if she'd ever been in the city.
"I… used to live there," Amara answered, cautious.
"Oh?" Zina tilted her head. "Ever seen a gun before?"
Amara's fingers tensed around the cup. "Why would you ask that?"
Zina just smiled. "I had a dream last night. A robbery. Gunfire. Screaming."
Their eyes locked.
And for a brief second — Amara saw something cold and calculating in the girl who had once seemed so innocent.
Later that night, Amara turned to Damian.
"Zina's asking questions."
"She's just confused. The doctors said her memory might come back slowly."
Amara hesitated. "What if she remembers something… bad?"
Damian touched her cheek. "Then we face it. Together."
But even as he kissed her again — deeply, lovingly — a knot tightened in Amara's stomach.
Because Zina wasn't just remembering.
She was planning.
End of Episode 9