The image formed without warning.
One moment, there was only the corridor, dark stone, cold air, the echo of my own steps—and the next, the world opened up into light.
A shoreline stretched out before me, pale sand glimmering beneath a sky washed in gold and soft blue. The sound of waves rolled in gently, rhythmic and calm, a cruel parody of peace in a place that existed solely to break those who entered it.
And there she was.
Belle.
She was walking along the edge of the water, bare feet sinking into wet sand, her steps unhurried, her posture relaxed in a way I had almost forgotten was possible.
The sea breeze played with her hair, lifting strands of black into the air, sunlight catching on them like threads of ink brushed with gold. She was smiling—not faintly, not politely, but openly, genuinely, the kind of smile that reached her eyes and stayed there.
Her hand was tightly intertwined with another.
A man.
Not me.
Someone else entirely.
I stopped.
