A low hum filled everything.

It throbbed in his ears like a distant, steady, hypnotic echo. Then another sound slid over it—sharper, more precise: the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.

His eyelids were heavy, painful to lift. A weight pressing down, as if they’d been sealed shut for years. He tried anyway. A pale light burned his eyes. Everything blurred—shaky, shifting outlines tangled in a white halo.

He closed them again.

His limbs felt locked in some invisible shell. Arms, legs, neck… everything sluggish, numb. But he knew he was lying down. Not in his bed. Harder. Narrower. An acrid smell reached him—disinfectant, bleach. Cold, chemical, unmistakable—a hospital.

The beeps went on, merciless. Soft footsteps joined them. Coming closer? Farther? Impossible to tell. He forced his eyes open again, just enough to let in some light.

A shape took form—white clothes, a face above him, too close, still fogged by his vision. A nurse, probably. She leaned over, checked the equipment with precise hands. Then her expression shifted. Froze. Her eyes widened, as if she’d just noticed something unexpected.

She spoke. Sounds came from her mouth… but they were muffled, distorted, like hearing someone underwater. No words he could make out.

He tried to answer. His throat tightened—but something blocked it. A tube. Hard. Foreign. Neutral fact, no panic.

The weight of fatigue dragged at him again. His muscles loosened, sinking. He let go. Just stared at her, memorizing what he could before it all vanished.

Then darkness folded over him again. Warm, empty. No questions. No fear.

He didn’t think about who he was.

Not for a second.

Light seeped through the window, gray and pale. A morning without warmth.

Ethan had been awake for a while, eyes fixed on the ceiling, hands flat on the blanket. His body answered him better now, though every movement carried a lingering heaviness.

The door opened without a knock. The nurse stepped in, a file in hand.

— Morning, Ethan. How are you feeling today?

— Same as yesterday.

She gave a polite smile.

— The doctors told you yesterday… You’ve been in a coma for over a month, after a serious accident.

A pause.

— Someone who was with you… didn’t survive.

He blinked. No image, no face came.

— Okay.

She looked up at him.

— You don’t feel anything?

— No.

Silence, broken only by the monitor’s steady beeps. She glanced down at her notes.

— Your mother and your sister will be here this morning. They can’t wait to see you.

He stared at her for a few seconds, then turned his head toward the window. Kept to himself what had just formed in his mind: two women important to the man he used to be… but to him now, just strangers to assess.

— Rest a bit more, she said, closing the file.

He didn’t answer. His eyes stayed on the dull morning light, the only certainty being that today would be the start of measuring this new territory.

Three knocks at the door.

Ethan looked up. The handle turned, the door opened.

A warm scent came in with her. Floral, softened with something more intimate, almost sweet. Nothing like the sterile smell saturating the room. He breathed slower, tasting every trace of it.

— Ethan…

Carole rushed to the bed. Short, well-kept brown hair framed an elegant face wet with tears.

She put her hands on either side of his torso and leaned in, locking him into a firm, powerful hug, as if to keep him from disappearing again.

— Oh my little boy… my baby… you’re here…

Her whole body pressed into him, warm, alive, her scent filling the air. Ethan didn’t return the gesture, but took note of every detail: the strength of her arms, the shape of her chest against him, the curve of her hips. Details that, for her, were pure maternal instinct… but for him, carried nothing maternal at all.

She pulled back slightly, still holding him, eyes searching his face. He met them, letting a fraction of a second pass too long before blinking.

A movement in the doorway.

— Hey, brother.

Harper walked in. Taller, solid in dark jeans and a simple tee. Long hair pulled back hastily. Her eyes locked on his, direct, without warmth or shyness.

— Hello, he said, a slight nod that could pass as polite… or as a warning.

She stayed standing, at a distance.

— Do you remember us? Carole asked, her voice trembling with hope.

Ethan stayed silent for a beat. Harper answered first.

— Mom, he’s lost his memory. To him, we’re strangers.

— That’s right, he said calmly. I don’t remember. Not you… not me.

Carole drew a deep breath, her thumb brushing his arm as if to confirm he was real.

— That’s okay… You’re here, that’s all that matters. We’ve got all the time now…

The doctor entered, file in hand. His white coat was sharp against the dull colors of the room. He scanned the space, pausing briefly on Carole, then Harper, before stepping to the bed.

— Hello, everyone. Ethan, how do you feel?

Ethan held his gaze without blinking.

— Fine. When can I leave?

The doctor’s careful smile suggested the question caught him off guard.

— That’s why I’m here. You’re stable, all signs are good. You can go home this afternoon.

Carole’s hands flew to her face, a choked laugh breaking into a sob.

— Oh… thank you… thank you…

She leaned in again, touching his hair like she had to be sure he wasn’t just an image.

— You’ll come home… with us…

Her voice still shook. Her eyes, wet with joy and relief, fixed on him like they could keep him there.

Standing, she stepped back. Her skirt rode slightly higher, revealing the firm line of her thighs. Her hips swayed lightly as she turned toward the doctor to ask about the discharge process.

Ethan looked away… but only after memorizing the detail.

From the corner, Harper was still watching, arms crossed. He held her gaze, this time with a faint smile only she could see, one that didn’t clearly say whether it was courtesy… or a challenge.

The doctor went on about the last steps before leaving, but Ethan had already stopped listening.

He was thinking about the moment he’d walk out that door—and everything he could do with it.

Afternoon sunlight was already turning golden, softening the hallway walls.

Carole and Harper had gone to reception to sign papers. Ethan sat on the bed’s edge, hands clasped between his knees.

A nurse poked her head in.

— They’re waiting for you in the psych’s office.

Ethan stood, slipped on the jacket Carole had left, and followed.

The walk was silent. The air shifted scents as they moved: disinfectant, then dry paper, then the faint perfume of the woman leading him. He filed it away without trying to keep it—just cataloguing information.

The psychologist opened a glass door. Small office, bright, view of the courtyard. A green plant in one corner, a half-empty mug on the desk.

— Have a seat.

He sat. She took her place opposite, notebook open, pen ready.

— You’re leaving today after a month in a coma. You’ve lost all your memories. Most people in your situation feel… a void, some kind of panic.

— Maybe I should, he said with a faint shrug. But it wouldn’t change anything.

— No anger? No sadness?

— I don’t know what I’ve lost. Hard to mourn it.

She jotted a note, then looked up.

— You’re sure this isn’t… denial?

— Denial would be trying to convince myself everything’s fine. But I have nothing to convince myself of.

She studied him for a moment, gauging if he really believed what he was saying. He held her gaze until she was the one to look away.

— You seem… very sure of yourself.

— Not sure. Just… ready to see what’s ahead.

A corner of her mouth lifted. She closed the notebook.

— I think you’ll adapt quickly.

— That’s the plan.

He stood. She walked him to the door.

In the hallway, Carole was waiting, file under her arm. She straightened immediately when she saw him.

— So?

— Fine, he said simply.

Harper, leaning against the wall, watched in silence. Her eyes stayed on him, then flicked toward the exit. He caught something in that look beyond observation—a measure of his intentions. He gave her a brief smile in return, one that could be friendly… or not.

They went down the stairs together. The steady sound of their steps marked the pace.

At reception, Carole spoke with a clerk, signed a form, then came back.

— We can go.

They left the hospital and walked. The first streets were plain: gray buildings, narrow sidewalks, tired shopfronts. People passed by, hurried, indifferent.

Gradually, the façades sharpened, shop windows cleaner, sidewalks wider, lined with tidy stores.

Ethan took it all in. Not with curiosity—more like surveying land before moving in. Car makes, lot sizes, street cleanliness. And between street corners, the way Carole slowed slightly when speaking, or how Harper sometimes glanced at him without turning her head.

They crossed an intersection, leaving the center for a quieter neighborhood. Gardens appeared, then high hedges, imposing gates. The slope eased.

Houses grew larger, spaced out. Glass walls, perfect façades, high terraces.

Carole slowed again approaching a black gate that opened in a smooth motion. A paved drive led to a two-story modern house, pale walls, clean lines, measured proportions.

Ethan paused for a fraction before moving forward. His eyes went from the façade to Carole, then to Harper. This wasn’t just a house—it was the board where he’d be moving his pieces.

A silent note:

He hadn’t landed with the poor.

— Well… here we are, Carole said, pushing open the front door.

She stepped aside to let him in, gesturing inside. Ethan walked in slowly, scanning the space. Wide hall, light wood floor, pristine walls, a faint scent nothing like the hospital’s sterile air. A chosen scent—like everything here. The place breathed order and well-spent money.

— Welcome home, Ethan. I guess I’ll have to give you the tour…

She smiled, but he saw the faint crease between her brows. The forced smile of someone desperate to keep things looking normal.

They started in the living room. Cream sofas, wall-sized TV, low dark wood furniture. Carole picked up a remote from the coffee table and held it out.

— Doctors said you can still use everyday objects. So… this should be fine.

Ethan turned it in his hand like a puzzle, then handed it back with a calculated half-smile—enough to relax her, not enough to look won over.

Harper appeared at the far end, hands in pockets, one brow raised.

— Lucky it’s summer. You can enjoy the pool.

— If I even know how to swim, he said, pretending seriousness.

Carole tilted her head at him, incredulous.

— What do you mean?

— Just saying I don’t remember. Maybe I sink like a rock.

She crossed her arms, her breasts pressing slightly against her blouse. He noted it, without showing it.

— Better stay away from the edge, then, she said.

He let a beat pass, then added, with a corner smile:

— I’m joking. Look at me—I was probably an athlete. Of course I can swim.

Carole laughed, relieved. Harper’s lips twitched into a smile, but her eyes stayed on him, watching for any slip. He held that gaze, just enough to make her wonder which of them was really observing more.

The tour went on: dining room, modern kitchen, game room. Carole talked a lot, as if filling the air would keep the unease away. Ethan replied, but only half-listened, more interested in how she moved—precise gestures, a subtle tightness in the shoulders.

They stopped at a closed door.

— And here? he asked.

Carole hesitated.

— My room.

He kept his eyes on her. A beat too long. She put her hand on the handle.

— It’s a bit of a mess…

Her voice had the faint hitch that comes before a confession. Ethan stepped inside before she invited him.

The room was large, washed in soft light from tall windows. The bed was perfectly made, sheets taut. The pillows untouched… but the air still held warmth, a floral scent edged with something more intimate.

His gaze drifted to the half-open walk-in closet.

A flash of black fabric. Between neatly hung suits, lace lingerie, matching thong, delicate lacing. Behind it, deep burgundy satin almost liquid, a garter belt with shining clips. Lower down, an ivory set so sheer it hid nothing.

Nothing practical. All meant to be seen, stripped… or torn.

Ethan stayed still, watching. Behind him, Carole spoke again, tone light but forced:

— I really need to sort all that… it’s getting out of hand.

He turned, finding her eyes. She held his for barely a second before looking away, adjusting her blouse collar—an unconscious move that only drew more attention to what he’d just seen.

In the doorway, Harper. Arms crossed, silent, but her gaze fixed exactly where his had been. He gave her a slow, almost complicit smile, like saying she was right to worry. She blinked, stepped back.

— Let’s show him upstairs, she said, voice sharp.

Ethan passed her, brushing her shoulder. Not enough for her to accuse him—just enough for her to feel it.

They ended at the last door in the hall.

— And here… your room, Carole said, opening it.

Ethan went in first. Spacious but impersonal, like a model home. Posters, trinkets, game console, tidy desk. Nothing sparking recognition.

He moved through, scanning, then opened the nightstand drawer. A family photo. Three smiles in front of a Christmas tree. Carole and Harper, younger, less… interesting.

He set it down, sat on the bed’s edge. Carole waited in the doorway.

— Will this do? she asked.

— Perfect.

She nodded, gave him one last smile, and closed the door.

Ethan lay back, hands behind his head. The day replayed in his mind. Harper, in her tight jeans, firm legs, that stiff authority begging to crack. Carole, warm arms in the hospital, her scent, and that closet she thought hidden behind a laugh.

He wet his lips.

They had no idea what he saw in them.

No idea what he planned to set off.

Not a mother and a sister.

Two women.

Two prey.

And he intended to choose the order they fell.