"I was reborn with memories of the future."
Freya stays still.
The light coming through the curtains reaches half her face, leaving the other half under a bluish shadow. Her eyes are still red, and faint wet marks are still visible beneath them. She holds my gaze long enough that I start to hear the distant sounds of the tower again.
Then she waits.
Maybe she expects me to smile. To finish the sentence with some less absurd explanation, or admit I picked a terrible moment for a joke.
I do none of that.
"Are you serious?" she asks.
"I am."
Freya looks away and lets out a short breath through her nose. Her hand reaches for the cup on the desk, then stops before touching it.
"Memory of Lightwaves."
"What about it?"
"Your skill works with memories. I can feel Eventide carrying the styles of old bearers, and you just used their experience to fight me. A weapon says more than words; that was never a secret to me. It would explain how you know things you never lived."
