CAMILA POV
For a moment, I forget how to breathe.
My mother's face glows on the flickering screen , older than I remember, but still gentle, still safe. Her dark hair falls around her shoulders, her eyes bright but tired, as if she recorded this in a hurry. As if she knew she didn't have time.
"Camila," she says softly, her voice a ribbon threading through years of silence.
"If you're seeing this… they've come for you."
My chest tightens painfully.
Alex kneels beside me, his hand brushing my shoulder , grounding me, warm, present. I lean into him without thinking.
The message continues:
"They want what I hid. What I entrusted to you. There are people you must not trust. Even inside the agency. Even those who claim to protect you."
A shiver runs through me.
My mother's eyes dart off-screen, like she hears something in the distance.
"Solano will not stop. He believes you're the key , because you are. But you are not defined by what I hid inside you. You are more than their weapon."
Her voice cracks, just once.
"I'm sorry, mi niña. I wanted a life for you. A childhood. But I couldn't protect you from the world I helped build."
I gasp softly.
A tear slides down my cheek.
I feel Alex's arm curve slowly around my back, his touch both strong and careful , as if he's afraid I'll break. I don't lean away. I can't.
My mother leans closer to the camera.
"You will meet people who say they know the truth. Ethan. Others. They will lie. They will twist what you remember. Only one person will stand beside you without fail."
Her smile is faint, but warm.
"You'll know him when you find him."
I turn, breath trembling, and look at Alex.
He's watching me , not the screen , his eyes shadowed, protective, lost in something he won't say out loud.
He lowers his gaze only when the screen flickers again.
My mother's final words fill the hallway:
"When the time comes… go to the chamber I showed you. Trust your heart, Camila. It will lead you to the truth , and to safety."
The message ends.
Silence swallows the corridor like a sinking tide.
I don't realize I'm shaking until Alex's hand slides gently down my arm.
"Camila," he says softly, "look at me."
I do.
His eyes search mine , not for answers, but for permission. Permission to comfort me. Permission to stay close. Permission to be the one my mother hinted at.
"I'm here," he murmurs. "You're not facing this alone."
Something inside me breaks open , not painfully, but like a wound finally healing.
I lean into him fully, burying my face in his chest. His arms come around me instantly, holding me tight against him. He's solid. Warm. Real in a way nothing else is right now.
For several long seconds, I breathe him in. His scent. His strength. His heartbeat.
"I don't remember her," I whisper against him. "I want to remember her so badly."
Alex presses his cheek to the top of my head.
"You will," he says. "But memories don't come all at once. They come when you're ready."
I pull back enough to look at him. "Do you think she knew?"
"Knew what?" he asks.
"That I'd… find you."
He swallows hard. His fingers brush a tear from my cheek.
"I don't know," he admits. "But I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."
My heart stutters painfully , beautifully , at the quiet sincerity in his voice.
Before I can say anything, the lights overhead flicker.
Alex tenses instantly.
"Stay behind me," he murmurs.
The end of the hallway begins to hum , a low mechanical sound, like an engine waking after years of sleep.
A door we didn't notice before slides open with a hiss.
Cold air spills out.
A long, sterile corridor stretches into the dark, lined with windows on one side.
Alex lifts his gun.
"We move," he says.
I nod, gripping his jacket as we walk.
Halfway down, I look through one of the windows,
And my blood turns to ice.
Inside the room is a bed.
Straps.
Monitors.
A child's drawings on the wall.
And on the glass… smeared handprints.
Small ones.
Mine.
My throat closes. "Alex… I've been here before."
He stops. Looks into the room. Then at me. His expression shifts , anger, sorrow, resolve.
"This was where they kept you," he says quietly.
He takes my hand , not guiding, but anchoring.
"Come on," he whispers. "Let's finish what we started."
We reach the final door.
Alex pushes it open slowly,
And both of us freeze.
In the center of the chamber…
a single chair.
A headset.
Electrodes.
Familiar screens.
And someone sitting in the chair.
Head bowed.
Chest rising slowly.
Beaten.
Breathing.
Ethan.
Alive.
Barely.
He lifts his head weakly, blood staining his lips.
"Coulson…" he rasps. "You shouldn't have come."
Alex steps forward, gun raised, voice like ice. "You're going to tell me everything."
Ethan laughs , a broken, choking sound.
"You're too late."
His eyes shift to me , wide, frantic.
"Camila… don't remember."
Before either of us can respond,
The door slams shut behind us.
And the lights cut out.
Pitch darkness swallows the room.
And the last thing we hear is a voice echoing through hidden speakers,
smooth, cruel, unmistakable:
"Welcome back, mi niña."