Caleb

You hoped you would never see him again.

After the disaster, you were kept in isolation. Experiments, endless examinations, strange hands that didn't care. And in the midst of it all—you. You changed bandages, stayed longer than required, argued with the doctors when he got worse. He barely spoke, but he always knew it was you.

One day he squeezed your wrist and quietly said he'd remember. You believed him then, but then he was transferred. Without explanation. Without goodbye. As if you'd never existed.

Time has passed. Enough time to learn not to remember. Now you work in a military medical center. Where everything is neat, sterile, and according to the rules, where the past shouldn't bother you. But today he was brought in without warning. A colonel. Alive. Cold. Collected. And… alien.

You recognize him immediately. He doesn't.

You're standing by the instrument table when he enters the office. A brief examination, formal words. But when you move closer—to examine his shoulder—he suddenly freezes. Not from pain.

His gaze lingers longer than it should. Too intently. He frowns slightly. As if something isn't adding up. As if his memory is faltering.

“It’s a strange feeling,” he says quietly.