They didn't remember. That much was clear. Every time the blue smoke touched one of them, it slipped in and out like a dream, erasing itself from memory, leaving only confusion and that strange, disoriented look in their eyes. But Jude remembered. And now, every time one of his wives smiled at him, kissed his cheek, or laughed like nothing had changed, he found himself studying their faces, looking for cracks in the mask. Not because he didn't love them. He did. But because something else had started loving him too.