Grace didn't sleep.
The night folded around her like wet linen, heavy and cold. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the shimmer of firelight through trees, the faint sound of someone calling her name.
Mia…
By noon, the sea wind had turned sharp, dragging salt through the air. Ethan offered to come with her, but Grace refused. "She said alone," she murmured. "Whatever's waiting, it's mine."
He didn't argue. He only pressed the spare key into her palm. "If you're not back in two hours, I'm coming."
---
Dr. Hall's cottage looked smaller in daylight, more human. The scent of chamomile drifted from the doorway. Inside, curtains filtered the light to a soft gold. The doctor stood beside a low table, a single candle flickering between them.
"Sit," she said gently. "You understand this isn't hypnosis. It's remembrance. Once the mind opens, it won't close again."
Grace nodded, pulse quick. "Then open it."
Dr. Hall handed her a small silver pendant—Grace's own, though she couldn't remember owning it. "You wore this that night. Objects can be anchors. Hold it and breathe."
Grace's fingers closed around the cool metal.
"Now," the doctor said, voice low, steady, "follow the sound of my voice back to the last moment you remember clearly before the blank."
Grace inhaled. Rain on glass. A child's laugh. The smell of kerosene.
Her body went still.
---
The world tilted.
She was sixteen again.
The Williams house loomed behind her, its white paint glowing under moonlight. She could hear arguing inside—her father's voice, rough with anger; her mother pleading. Then the door slammed, and silence broke into sobs.
Mia sat on the porch steps, her hair a mess, a box of matches in her hand.
"You took everything from me," Mia whispered.
Grace stepped closer. "Mia, stop. Give me the matches."
"You told them it was my fault he left. You made them believe I'm broken."
"Mia, I didn't—"
Flame flared between them. Tiny, trembling light.
Mia's eyes gleamed, wet with fury. "Maybe I'll finally make them see you're not perfect."
She turned, striking another match, dropping it through the slats of the porch where old rags lay soaked in paint thinner. Fire bloomed like breath.
"Mia!" Grace lunged. The box fell, spilling sparks.
Smoke thickened instantly. Mia stumbled backward, coughing. Grace grabbed her arm, dragging her toward the yard—but the wooden railing gave way, trapping Mia's leg. Heat roared.
"Hold on!" Grace shouted. She pulled, desperate, the world burning orange. The pendant slipped from her neck, landing near Mia's hand. "Grab it!"
Mia's gaze met hers, wild and terrified. "You promised you'd never leave me."
"I'm not!"
The railing cracked. Grace yanked harder—and then everything went white.
When the light cleared, she was outside on the grass, coughing, the house blazing behind her. Mia was gone.
---
Grace gasped, jerking upright. The candle still burned between them, its flame steady, mocking.
Dr. Hall's voice came softly: "You saved her, Grace. She survived. But when she woke, she said you left her there to die. The guilt destroyed you both."
Grace pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. "She thinks I tried to kill her."
"She believed it. And Daniel used that belief. He found Mia years later, bitter and convinced you'd stolen her life. He promised her a way to make you pay—without violence. Memory is the cruelest revenge."
Grace's heart felt carved out. "Mark… he knew?"
"Eventually. He thought keeping you numb was mercy."
Grace rose, the chair scraping the floor. "No. Mercy would've been telling me the truth."
Dr. Hall didn't stop her. "Then what will you do now?"
Grace turned toward the door. "Find Mia."
As she stepped outside, rain began to fall—soft, cleansing, relentless. Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Unknown Number: You finally remember. Good. Now let's finish what we started.
The message was signed, for the first time, with a name.
– Mia
Grace lifted her face to the rain, every drop a spark against her skin. "Then come find me," she whispered.