The Weight of MemoryThe rain had started again that evening, soft and unhurried, like the sky was exhaling all the secrets it had held too long. Clara stood by the window, tracing the raindrops on the glass with the tip of her finger, lost in the sound of the world falling apart quietly outside.Behind her, Ethan moved with the ease of familiarity. He’d taken off his jacket, rolled his sleeves, and was now making tea like he had a right to belong here — in her space, her quiet, her brokenness.“Still can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low.Clara shook her head without turning. “Every time I close my eyes, it’s like I can see it again. The lab… the light… Kane’s face.”Ethan froze for a moment before setting the mug down. “You said the memory came back slowly,” he said, carefully. “But now you remember everything?”“Not everything,” Clara whispered. “Just flashes. He kept saying it wasn’t personal. That I was… chosen. For something greater.” Her voice cracked. “He said I’d thank him s