The wind outside howled like the ghosts of her past were trying to claw their way back in. Ayla stood by the window, watching the rain trail down the glass like tear tracks. Thunder cracked in the distance, loud enough to make her flinch.
Sleep had evaded her for nights now, but tonight was different — she wasn't just tired, she was haunted.
Ayla's hand hovered over the drawer of her nightstand. Her fingers trembled as she pulled it open and retrieved the old, worn-out photograph tucked beneath her journals. It was faded, but the memory it carried was anything but.
A patch of forest. Mud. A half-dug hole.
Daniel's bloodied hands.
Her own, shaking, dirty, holding the shovel he handed her.
She'd told herself she didn't help — not really. That she was scared. That she froze. That love made people blind, and fear made them stupid.
But the truth was simpler.
She helped bury a body. And Daniel never let her forget it.
Her breath came in sharp, shallow gasps as she folded the photo back up and shoved it beneath a stack of clothes. She hated that she still kept it. Hated that the moment still lived in her bones like rot.
Her phone buzzed, the name on the screen enough to make her heart twist.
Daniel Monroe.
She didn't answer, but the message appeared seconds later.
"You sleep well, Ayla? I still dream about that night. Funny how love makes us do awful things. Want to talk about it?"
Her fingers curled tightly around the phone. If she ever wanted peace, she'd have to face the monster she once loved — and the version of herself she was too afraid to admit ever existed.
But not tonight.
Tonight, she locked the memory back in its cage.
For now.