"Some memories should stay buried"
The sound of someone crying hit her before consciousness did.
Not loudly. Just enough to make silence feel alive.
She opened her eyes darkness. Cold concrete pressed against her cheek, and rust-colored water dipped steadily from broken pipes overhead. a train thundered somewhere above, shaking dust from the cracked ceiling.
She pushed herself upright, wincing as an ache spread through her body. Her hands were stained with blood.
Fresh.
Her breath cut.
The blood wasn't hers.
At least...she didn't think it was.
She searched her mind for anything, a name, a face, a memory—but nothing only an endless, terrifying emptiness. No family. No childhood. No explanation for why she was here.
Nothing.
Panic clawed at her chest.
"What...happened?" she whispered. No answer came.
Instead, something glimmered beneath the flickering subway light.
A coin.
Then another.
Then dozens.
Hundreds of black and gold coins lay scattered across the tracks like fallen stars, glimmering beneath the flickering station lights.
As she crawled closer, a whisper brushed against her ear.
"...don't leave me..."
She froze.
Another whisper followed.
Soft laughter.
A child singing.
Someone sobbing.
Someone begging for mercy.
The voices weren't coming from the tunnel.
They were coming from the coins. Her fingers trembled as she reached for one.
The instant her skin touched the cold metal, the world disappeared. Warm sunlight flooded her vision.
A little girl ran across a beach, laughing as waves chased her footprints. A man scooped her into his arms and spun her beneath a sky painted gold by the setting sun.
Smiling through tears, he whispered, "Promise me you'll never sell this day."
The memory shattered like glass.
She slammed back onto the subway floor, gasping for air. The coin in her hand dissolved into black dust, slipping through her fingers.
Tears streamed down her face before she could stop them. She had never seen those people before. So why did it feel like she had lost them forever?
A metallic click echoed through the tunnel.
Footsteps. Several of them.
Flashlights sliced through the darkness.
"Spread out," a voice ordered.
"She couldn't have gone far." Another voice answered, calm and emotionless.
"The Curator doesn't care about the girl."
A brief silence followed.
"He wants the Black Echo."
She looked down.
Something was clenched tightly in her fist.
It wasn't gold. It wasn't cracked. It was completely black.
Unlike every other coin around her, it felt warm.
Slowly she turned it over.
An unblinking eye with six pupils was engraved into one side.
On the other side, only a single word.
REMEMBER.
A gun clicked behind her.
A man's voice broke the silence—low, calm, and close enough to send a chill racing down her spine.
"Don't turn around."
YOU ARE READING
The Memory Market
ActionEVERYONE HAS MEMORIES THEY WISH THEY COULD FORGET In Nyra's world it's a transaction. People sell their happiest days, their greatest talents, and even faces of their loved ones. In a trade-off for wealth, power, and survival. Those stolen memories...
