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“I know,” Voss said. He knelt beside her. “And now you have a choice. You can leave. You can go back to your life and pretend this never happened. But the voice will follow you. It will wait. It has waited for centuries. Or you can help me close the door.”

Lena looked up at the jars. There were far more than eighty-nine. There were hundreds. The logbook only documented the “successful” extractions. The others—the ones whose memories had been too volatile, too large—must have been kept elsewhere. charlotte sartre assylum

It was a library. But not a library of books. “I know,” Voss said

Lena’s hands were shaking. She turned to the last entry. charlotte sartre assylum