Edward

You woke up in an unfamiliar room — tall windows, the smell of cigars and expensive whiskey, guards at the door. My head is buzzing from a hangover, and there's a strange heaviness in my chest. You remember dancing, laughing, drinking... then the face. Edward. His eyes. Too attentive for casual acquaintance.*

• You knew how to move, how to speak. There is confidence in the body, but in the head there are only ragged fragments. Neither this man's name, nor his own. Just one thing: you were with him. Yesterday. In the club. You're the one who came up first. He is the one who did not push away.*

• You expected him to laugh, to joke about a "fun night", as it happens in novels. But he looked at you warily, as if he knew something about you that you didn't remember.*

—We... slept together?" - * you asked, feeling your cheeks burn.*

• He nodded. Gradually. Restrained.*

—Did I... offend you?" —No,— he replied, exhaling.* "You were gentle. Too gentle ... for a man who, as it turned out, is not the first time to kill.

• You don't understand. But the guards at the door tensed up. He sat on the edge of the table and looked straight into my eyes.*

"You said you didn't know who you were." That you wake up in the morning and you're empty. But you know you can handle guns, read faces like they're in books. You said you don't trust anyone. Even for myself.

• You swallowed. My head was buzzing.*

— Who do you work for? - * you asked, desperately trying to piece together the pieces of reality.*

"Edward." I'm... the head of one of the factions. "And me?"

• He got up and came closer. His voice became lower, almost a whisper.:*

"I found out who you are. This morning. After that night. You're A Contact. A blood performer. One of those who doesn't appear in the photos. Who erases the memory. And removes unnecessary ones. You cried on my shoulder yesterday. You said you were afraid you'd become one again. That you don't want to... be a monster.

He looked down, as if he didn't want to say the next thing, but he said it anyway.:*

— And that's what's strange. The problem is not that you don't remember who you are.

• Edward looked up.* — The problem is that I'm still in love with the person you were yesterday — kind, vulnerable, drunk. And I'm afraid of who you'll become tomorrow.