Each day, his speech became more understandable, but the words seemed to spiral around the same disturbing themes: danger, collapse, evacuation. But of what? He would speak, but his voice would falter, leaving only fragments. Yet, despite the incoherence, there was a sense of structure to his speech, a recurring pattern that suggested knowledge buried beneath his trauma.
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Then, one night, the breakthrough came.
“Do you remember your name?” Dr. Sloane asked gently, hoping for any trace of recognition. He struggled to respond, his lips trembling. “Cal…” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Cal…,” he tried again, then added a word that shook Dr. Sloane to her core: “Caldera.”
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