Not again.
Not here.
Not today.
A note sits on top of it, a single piece of thick card with handwriting I don’t recognise but feel like I’ve seen a hundred times in my dreams.
Not slanted.
Not hurried.
Precise.
Sharp.
Obsessive.
My name scrawled across the front:
Scarlett
My fingers tighten on the edge of the countertop. The room tilts again, but I grip the cold marble until it steadies under my palms.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no… it’s not?—”
But I already know.
I knew the second my eyes touched the ribbon.
Kai.
I squeeze my eyes shut as a memory slams into me—A hand sliding through my hair.
My name breaking in a voice I haven’t heard in years.
Warm breath at my cheek.
“Don’t say his name.”
I choke on my own inhale.
It wasn’t a dream.
Or if it was… it was too real to be dismissed. Too vivid. Too specific. My body remembers even if my mind is trying to rewrite it.
“Kai,” I breathe, the name catching like a thorn in my throat.
The sunlight refracts off the marble counter, throwing shards of brightness across the cabinets and floor. The whole kitchen looks too pristine, too staged—like a showroom, not a home. Like a place you pose in for pictures to prove you’re happy.
I stare at the box.
It stares back.
The house holds its breath.
I reach out with shaking hands and lift the note.
My vision swims again, but I force myself to focus as I flip it over.
