And now he was one of the Lost. I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut, causing bulging tears to run from my eyes in a slow, steady stream. That part of the strange letter always hurt my heart. [name_f]My[/name_f] eyes scanned over the beginning of the letter, where it introduced the Lost Boy. I still wondered why my brother ran away with him, without me. The worst of it was that after the country’s brainwashing, the letter is the only evidence that I have that I was still truly [name_f]Annabelle[/name_f], and not a brainwashed slave. But when [name_u]Finn[/name_u] returned, brainwashed, all memories of those three years totally gone, and without my brother, everyone assumed [name_u]Max[/name_u] was dead. Still, deep in my heart, there was a feeling of hope that the wonderful boy was still alive, somewhere. I planned to one day go to [name_u]Finn[/name_u] and show him the letter he’d left me, so that maybe he’d remember, but there were certainly no guarantees. The rain hammered insistently on the windowpane. I looked out the window as I grabbed my headphones to cover up the noise, but froze when I saw it wasn’t only the rain striking my window.