It always started the same way.
Lily stood at the top of a staircase. The steps stretched down into darkness, endless, swallowing light. Her bare feet were cold against polished wood, and the air smelled faintly of varnish mixed with something metallic—like copper.
She knew she shouldn't move. But her body wouldn't listen.
Her heart pounded, her breath shallow, every nerve on edge. She could feel it—the certainty that something was wrong. That she wasn't alone.
She looked down.
At the bottom of the stairs was a figure. Blurred, hazy, as if her eyes refused to focus. Male? Female? She couldn't tell. The outline shifted like smoke, slipping out of clarity every time she tried to concentrate.
She swallowed hard. "Who… who's there?"
No answer.
Then—
A hand gripped her shoulder.
Not gentle. Strong. Forceful.
She tried to turn, to see the face of the person behind her. But before she could—
Shove.
She screamed as her body pitched forward, the stairs tilting, the world tumbling into chaos. Wood cracked against her ribs, her arms flailed for something to hold, her throat raw with terror.
And then, as she fell, a voice cut through the darkness.
"Lily!"
Clear. Strong. Familiar.
Her father's voice.
"Dad?!" she screamed, reaching out—
______________________________
Lily bolted upright in bed with a strangled gasp, her sheets tangled around her like restraints. Her chest heaved as though she'd run miles, sweat clinging to her skin.
Her room was dark, but shadows clung to every corner, too heavy, too suffocating. For a moment, she swore she still felt the hand on her shoulder.
She pressed both palms to her face, trying to control the shudder in her breathing. "It's just a dream," she whispered. "Just a stupid, messed-up dream."
But it hadn't felt like a dream.
Not this time.
This time, the voice—her father's voice—had been too clear. Too real.
She stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen, flicking on the dim light. Her hands trembled as she poured a glass of water, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. She drank greedily, then leaned against the counter, staring at nothing.
Her voice cracked when she whispered, "Why now?"
It had been years since her parents' accident. She had learned to smile, to joke, to carry on. She didn't let herself think about the details. But these dreams—these stairs—they weren't letting her go.
Her phone lit up on the counter. 3:12 a.m.
She laughed bitterly, her voice too loud in the silence. "Of course. Classic horror movie time."
Dragging herself back to bed, she pulled the blanket over her head like a child hiding from monsters. But long after her body lay still, her eyes stayed open, wide and haunted.
______________________________
Morning at Office
"Good God, rookie."
Melissa's voice greeted Lily the next morning as she plopped into her chair. "You look like a raccoon that lost a fight with a trash can."
Lily groaned, dropping her bag. "Thanks. Exactly the confidence boost I needed."
Melissa leaned over, squinting. "Dark circles. Smudged eyeliner. Coffee number what, three?"
"Four," Lily corrected, sipping from the venti iced coffee clutched in her hand. "And I'm still ninety percent zombie."
Melissa raised an eyebrow. "Nightmares again?"
Lily hesitated, then shrugged too quickly. "Nope. Just… Netflix. And bad choices."
Melissa wasn't convinced. "Uh-huh. Sure. Because most people binge sitcoms and wake up looking like they fought off poltergeists."
Lily forced a laugh. "Poltergeist chic. It's my new aesthetic."
Melissa leaned closer. "You know, Carter, jokes don't hide everything. You look… shaken. If it's more than bad dreams, you should talk to someone."
"I am," Lily said brightly. "I'm talking to you."
Melissa rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."
"Correction: I'm resilient." Lily grinned, though her fingers shook slightly as she set her coffee down.
Melissa didn't press further, but her gaze lingered, worried.
______________________________
Alexander Knight's penthouse was quiet. Too quiet.
The kind of silence that echoed. That pressed down heavy, demanding you listen to the thoughts you tried hardest to avoid.
He stood by the window, a glass of scotch in his hand, watching Los Angeles glitter beneath him. He had lived above this city for years, ruling it from glass towers and boardrooms. But tonight, the lights felt distant. Unreachable.
His reflection stared back from the glass—sharp suit, sharper eyes, face carved into the mask of composure he never let slip. But behind it, the storm churned.
He closed his eyes.
And the silence cracked.
He was back in the university library.
______________________________
The smell of old books. The rustle of pages. Katherine's laugh ringing out across the quiet like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Alex looked up from his notes, his jaw tightening. She was sitting at a table across the room, her dark hair falling across her face as she leaned toward Elijah Williams.
Elijah's hand brushed the edge of her notebook, pointing to a line of text. "See? That's your argument. Run with that."
Katherine laughed, light and unguarded. "You always make it sound so easy."
"Because it is," Elijah said with a grin. "For you."
Alex's grip on his pen tightened.
He had prepared meticulously for the debate. He had crafted his arguments with precision. But none of it mattered—not when he saw the way Katherine looked at Elijah. Admiration. Warmth.
Not the way she looked at him.
Jealousy coiled in his chest, sharp and unwelcome. He shoved it down, burying it beneath discipline, control, silence.
But even now, years later, the memory gnawed at him like a wound that had never healed.
______________________________
Alex opened his eyes, the city stretching out before him again. But the storm inside hadn't quieted.
Katherine's laugh echoed in his ears, blurring into Sebastian's smug smile.
History threatened to repeat itself.
And Lily Carter—reckless, chaotic, unshakably alive—was walking straight into it.
He drained the glass in one swallow, the burn of scotch grounding him.
He couldn't let it happen.
______________________________
That same night, Lily sat cross-legged on her couch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, staring at the flickering TV. She wasn't watching it—she couldn't focus.
The dream replayed again and again. The stairs. The shove. The voice.
Her father's voice.
She pressed her palms into her eyes until stars burst behind her lids. "Why now?" she whispered. "Why after all this time?"
The silence gave no answer.
She tried to laugh, even if it sounded hollow. "Maybe Melissa's right. Maybe I do need therapy. Or an exorcism. Whichever takes less insurance paperwork."
But when she finally crawled into bed, her hands still shook.
And deep down, she knew the dream wasn't going away. Not until she faced whatever truth it was trying to drag out of her.
______________________________
Lily woke screaming again, clutching her sheets.
Across the city, Alex jolted awake in his chair, Katherine's laughter ringing in his ears.
Two people. Two storms.
One haunted by shadows of the past.
The other chased by ghosts of the future.
And neither ready to face the fire waiting between them.