But before I can answer Nicholas, a voice cuts through the tension. A voice so clear, so achingly familiar, that it freezes me in place. It’s as if a ghost has come to life, resurrected from the depths of my nightmares and dreams, the ones I carry around with my scars.
“Iknow her name.”
My heart stops, time itself seeming to still.
That voice.
I’ve heard it in my head a thousand times, whispered in my sleep, echoing in moments I could barely stand to remember. And now, it sends a cold, electric shock through my veins. I turn, my breath catching somewhere in my throat, my body numb.
No. It can’t be.
And yet, there he is.
Standing in the doorway next to Koen, holding a black suitcase. He looks different— older, worn, but still like home. Like the boy I loved, like every whispered promise of a future that never came.
Because I know him in a way that defies reason or explanation. I know every line, every dip, every dimple. I know what his smile used to look like when it was for me, what his laughter felt like on my skin.
His ice-blue eyes pierce into mine, the same eyes that have haunted me for eight long years. Eyes I thought I’d never see again. My whole body trembles, and I see that he’s trembling, too, as if neither of us can believe this is real.
Oh my God.
My world shatters, and the pieces fall in slow motion. Everything I thought I knew, the years of grief, the endless cycles of guilt, it all comes crashing down, scattering around me like glitter.
How?
I feel weak, but I can’t look away from him.
This can’t be real. It can’t be…
“Ace?” I don’t even know if I said it out loud or if it’s simply the echo of my heart screaming for him.
Everything seems to slow down. The rush of voices, the sounds around me, even the beating of my heart.
He looks at me, eyes filled with something I can’t place.
But it’s not love, and it’s certainly not joy.
It’s an emotion I haven’t seen on his face before.
And then he says it.
A single word that leaves my breath caught in my chest.
One name.
“Rosalee.”
My stomach plummets.What?
EIGHT
He thinks…
… he thinks I’m her.
The girl who was supposed to have the world, who shone brighter than anyone I’ve ever known. She’s gone. She’s been gone for eight years. But he doesn’t know that. He thinks she’s right here in front of him, in my skin.
Everything feels frozen, suspended in some kind of surreal nightmare. And then, somehow, all motion comes rushing back in, all at once. A hysterical laugh bubbles up, unbidden, rising from somewhere deep inside me. It’s a hollow, empty sound that feels foreign like it belongs to someone else.
