Sugar-Coated Lies (LXReader)

The light in the safehouse flickered for the third time that hour.
Once.
Twice.
Pause.
Then off.

Neither of them moved.

L sat in the center of the room, hunched over the monitor, fingers still on the keys—but unmoving.
The screen's glow cast shadows over his face, making his eyes look even darker, emptier. Like they were no longer calculating—just waiting.
For her to break.
For the Spiral to crawl out of the walls.

She sat against the far wall, knees to chest, fingers wrapped around a small silver object she hadn't dared open in days.
The locket.
Her mother's voice used to echo from it when she played the old recordings, but now—it just hummed.
Like it was trying to remember, too.

"They erased something," L finally said, voice gravel-thin.
"From your files. Not just your name. They tampered with memory signatures—auditory, emotional triggers..."

She already knew.

"I saw a room last night," she whispered. "Blue floors. Red door. I could hear screaming. But I wasn't afraid."

L turned to her slowly.

"That's not possible."

"But it happened."

The silence between them stretched like wire—tense and ready to snap.

He stood, walked to her, crouched low until their faces were inches apart.

"If they planted memories... or if you're remembering things they buried—then this is the point of no return. Once we trigger it, there's no going back."

She tilted her head, expression unreadable.

"Then trigger it."

L didn't flinch. He reached into his coat, pulled out a small device—circular, glass-covered, pulsing faintly green.

"This holds your neural imprint from before the file loss," he said. "I managed to back it up the night I met you."

Her breath caught.

He'd been watching her that long? Preparing for this all along?
But she said nothing.

L tapped a few buttons.
The pulse turned red.

"When this syncs with your current pattern... either everything returns—
Or nothing does."

She nodded.

"Then do it."

He hesitated. Just for a second.

"If this hurts you—"

"It already hurts."

Click.

The pulse turned white.

Her head snapped back. She gasped, eyes rolling—
Memories flooding. Screams. A red door. A hand reaching for her. A number on the wall.
Subject 9.

And then—

She opened her eyes.

And looked at L like she'd never seen him before.

"You lied to me," she whispered. "You knew who I was the whole time."

He swallowed.
Then said nothing.

Because it was true.

And now—
She remembered everything.