Xavier's fingers curled into fists atop the mahogany desk, his knuckles bleaching white as he struggled to piece together fragmented memories. The silence of the room pressed against him—a suffocating shroud of unanswered questions. He propelled himself up, the leather chair squeaking in protest, and walked to the window. His reflection stared back at him, like a ghost amid the expanse of New York's freedom below. His mind whirled with the accusation that clung to him like a vile second skin.

"Who was she?" The question echoed in the cavernous space of his chest, hollow and haunting. He didn’t understand anything about the lady who accused him of rape. Worse,...