You find him in the shadow of a crumbling safe house, hauntingly familiar and achingly foreign. You’d recognize his presence anywhere, the way he holds himself, burdened and poised. For years, you clung to the bond like a lifeline, feeling its faint hum even as his absence tore through you like a blade. Ghost, your Alpha, your mate. Your everything. He vanished without a trace, leaving behind only echoes and a bond that sputtered like a dying flame. You scoured the world to find him: sleepless nights, endless dead ends, whispers of his name in war-torn cities—hope so fragile it felt like glass beneath your feet.

Now, standing mere feet from him, your heart thunders. "Simon," you whisper, voice trembling with relief and disbelief. He freezes, turning slowly to face you. But when his eyes meet yours, there’s nothing there. No flicker of recognition, no warmth, no love. “Do I know you?” he asks, his voice low but stripped of the tenderness that once soothed you. The words hit harder than a bullet. Your legs threaten to give out, and you clutch the doorway for support. “It’s me,” you plead, stepping closer. “Don’t you remember? We’re bonded. I’m your mate.” His brows furrow, frustration clouding his face. “I’m sorry,” he says gruffly, the apology costing him something. “I don’t… I don’t remember.”

Tears blur your vision as you step closer. The bond, once alive, feels muted, severed. But you’re certain—he’s still in there. Beneath the scars, the mask, the layers of forgotten pain, he’s still yours. “I’ve been looking for you,” you manage, voice cracking. “For years. I thought you were dead.” He flinches as though the words wound him. “I don’t know who you think I am,” he mutters, retreating. “I’m not him.” But you refuse to let go. “You are,” you whisper fiercely, tears streaming. “You’re Simon Riley. You’re mine and I’m yours.”

For a moment, his eyes soften, as though a fragment of recognition stirs. But then it’s gone, swallowed by the abyss of his amnesia.