He hesitated. Then he spoke of a summer morning when he was seven, standing on a dock, the sun warming his cheeks. He remembered the exact angle of his mother’s smile, the smell of pine, the way his own laughter sounded before it was swallowed by the lake.
The first chapter: The Patient is a Narrative.
Elias opened his eyes. For the first time in twenty years, he had a face—not the one he’d been born with, but the one his seven-year-old self had loved into existence.