My brain couldn't process it at first. The name hung in the air like smoke, drifting and curling and refusing to disappear. Liana. My skin pricked all over, a wave of cold sweeping down my spine so fast I grabbed the arm of the couch just to keep myself upright. The screen kept flickering, the lighting in the lobby sharpening around her as she moved closer to the front desk. Every step she took felt like it was stomping on the center of my chest.
She looked like me.
Not in the mirror-image way Damon had seen me yesterday. Not in the soft mistaken-glance way Daniel had reacted. No. This… this was colder. Sharper. Like a distorted reflection someone dragged out of a nightmare and placed under bright lights.
Maybe it was the way she held herself. Confident. Familiar with the building. As if she didn't need permission to be here. As if she'd been here before.
The guard leaned in to speak to her and she tilted her head just slightly, her hair slipping off her shoulder. It was my hair. Not literally. But it was cut the same way. The same dark shine. The same length brushing the same spot on her back.
I swallowed hard, chest tight.
No. This wasn't happening.
She wasn't supposed to be real.
She wasn't supposed to be alive.
Damon believed she was alive. Damon searched for her for years. Damon's grief was built around the idea that she vanished without a trace.
But she was right there. In the flesh. In the lobby. Breathing the same air as me.
And she was looking for him.
My lungs twisted painfully. I could feel my heartbeat everywhere—in my fingertips, my throat, my stomach. I leaned closer to the screen, squinting like it would help me understand what I was seeing. My own face looked back at me through her. My own features, rearranged, matured, sharpened. As if someone had taken my reflection and forged a harder version.
She said something else, voice muffled under the reception mic.
The guard shook his head. Told her she wasn't on the visitor list.
Her eyes narrowed.
A tiny, dangerous smile curled at the edge of her mouth.
Like she already knew she wouldn't need a list.
I felt a pulse of dread shoot through me. She didn't look confused or lost or relieved. She looked calculating. She looked like someone who walked into the building knowing she wouldn't walk out without what she came for.
She lifted her hand and pulled out an ID card.
My breath hitched so violently I covered my mouth.
It was a Blackwood Industries staff badge.
Her picture.
Her name.
Liana Cross.
The receptionist blinked at the badge, trying to process what he was seeing. She tapped the glass lightly, urging him to look again, her expression almost amused.
She wasn't mistaken.
She wasn't confused.
She knew exactly who she was.
And she knew exactly what she wanted.
Then her eyes drifted upward.
Toward the office floors.
Toward Damon.
Toward me.
The guard in the lobby stiffened, touching his earpiece, probably calling for clearance. Liana didn't wait. She moved past him like a shadow slipping through water, slow and deliberate. Not rushed. Not frantic. Just… sure of herself.
And the elevator doors opened for her.
Automatically.
Like it recognized her credentials.
Like she belonged here more than I did.
My mouth went dry. I pressed my palm to the screen as if touching it would somehow stop the elevator. As if that could freeze the moment. But her silhouette stepped in, spine straight, shoulders back, nothing hesitant in her posture. The door slid shut behind her without a sound.
A soft chime echoed through the feed.
She was ascending.
To our floor.
To Damon.
To me.
A shaky breath clawed out of my chest. "No. No no no no, this isn't this can't"
My head spun so violently I almost fell off the couch. I reached for the armrest, grabbed it, held on like I could keep myself from breaking apart. Damon didn't know. He was downstairs with Caleb. He thought the danger was coming from one direction, not the ghost walking into his life from the other.
I tried to stand too fast and my knees buckled. I barely caught myself, fingers digging into the couch cushion. My heart raced so wildly it felt like I was choking on it.
I didn't know what terrified me more.
That Damon would see her.
Or what he would feel when he did.
My lungs tightened painfully.
Would he forget I existed?
Would he look at her and see every year he lost?
Would I disappear from his world as quickly as I entered it?
A buzzing sound cut through the panic.
The elevator chime.
This floor.
A single clear note that sliced the air like a blade.
I froze.
Footsteps approached from the hallway.
Slow.
Measured.
Almost curious.
Then.
A shadow darkened the frosted glass of Damon's office door.
And a soft, quiet knock followed.
Not demanding.
Not frantic.
Just… patient.
A voice drifted through the wood.
"Is someone in there?"
My breath caught.
Her voice was almost my voice.
I stumbled backward until I hit Damon's desk. My palms flattened against the cold surface. My heartbeat stuttered so violently I pressed a hand to my chest.
The door handle turned.
Once.
Twice.
Firm.
Controlled.
Testing.
"Hello?" the voice called again. "I'm looking for Damon."
The handle twisted harder.
I squeezed my eyes shut, breath shaking out of me.
Please don't open.
Please don't open.
But the lock clicked.
And the door began to ease open.