As we approach the release of Merged, book two of the Forged series, I’ll be releasing the first couple of chapters of the companion novellas. Follow along and hop back into the Forged world. But be warned…
MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK.
The following file contains classified material related to the events of Shattered (Forged Series, Book One), so if you haven’t completed it, close this file now.
I stood before Dr. Weaver’s washed-out desk and pallid avatar. “I’m back already?”
“Hello, Teleia. We haven’t spoken for two days. Do you recall what you did over the weekend?”
I blinked several times. “It’s been two days? I swear we were just speaking.”
Her avatar glitched. The mouth gaped like a guppy breathing. Her voice didn’t match up to the movements. “Can you recall anything of your time outside of RTI?”
I tugged on the end of my braid, trying to ignore the odd lack of sensation and concentrate on what I must’ve done over the weekend. “Nothing. Nothing comes to mind.” I wanted to scream or punch something.
“Close your eyes and focus on your breath. Breathe in. Breathe out.”
My frustration ebbed, and an image came to mind. “A reflection of Contessa’s face. No, my face.”
“Where were you?”
“In the window seat in the dining room. I was crying.” I opened my eyes and glanced at my reflection in Dr. Weaver’s window. My long braid rested on my shoulder. “Short hair looks hideous on me.”
Dr. Weaver chuckled, though her avatar’s face remained placid. “You’ve complained more than once about having to cut your hair for the mission. Do you remember what you said back in the compound?”
I nodded. “I was worried it wouldn’t stay tucked behind my ears, and I was right. It’s awful. I can’t wait until it grows out again.” I touched my cheek, remembering the tears. “Why was I so sad?”
“Contessa’s family is gone. She is mourning their deaths. You feel her sadness.”
I don’t have to close my eyes to visualize the horrific scene of the Wright family’s front yard. I shuddered.
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“She didn’t move much. My body feels lethargic, like a . . . an amoeba. Muy floja.”
“That will change once school starts.”
“I’m not looking forward to public school. Why don’t I remember more of what I’ve been doing?”
“In the simplest terms, your brain is full. You have two sets of memories stored in there. People who’ve undergone Cerebral Coupling to the extent that you have need more time to . . . catalog both sets. Plus, Contessa’s days are pretty dull, right now. I suspect, there’s not a lot of stimuli for you to grasp ahold of.”
“Just a strong sense of gloom.”
“Let’s go back to before the coupling procedure. Last session you told me about Drew.”
“Pipsqueak.”
“Sorry?” Her face remained blank, but her voice was clearly confused.
“Pipsqueak. That’s my nickname for him.”
Dr. Weaver hummed with approval.
“He has this squeaky little voice. And he always complains about how much I’m gone.” “Gone where?” I bit my lip and tried to think of something specific. “Just around camp. Doing things.” I flexed my hands a couple of times. “Why can’t I remember?”
“You will. Stick with Drew. Tell me more about him.”
I could talk about him for hours. Dr. Weaver eventually cut me off. As she ended our session, I promised myself that I’d do a better job of remembering Contessa’s days.
It was great to meet so many talented published and aspiring authors at the The Terroir Creative Writing Festival last weekend. Thank you to the committee for asking me to participate! It was great fun. See my highlights here.
Mark your calendar! I’m speaking with fellow local author, Erin Hall, on Friday, June 12, 2026, at Bold Coffee and Books at 1755 SW Jefferson Street in Portland. More details to come.
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