The beach stretches behind us like a memory. We don't talk as we walk, not after what I said. Not after what I did.
The silence between us is heavier than the soaked fabric on my skin.
The trees ahead are tall, bone-pale, swaying without wind. The air has a taste; sweet at first, then bitter. Like honey gone wrong.
We step into the forest.
And the world changes.
The path isn't a path. It's just ground that feels like it wants to be walked on.
Birds don't sing. Leaves don't crunch. Every sound is muffled, like we're underwater again, but dry. Somehow, impossibly dry.
He walks a few steps ahead. Won't look back. I don't blame him. I gave him every reason not to.
And yet, when I stumble on a twisted root, he still reaches for me without thinking. His hand brushes my arm, and pain flashes through my chest—burning and soft all at once.
I pull away like he struck me.
He just stares. Like he's trying to figure out if I'm real. Or worth it.
We find the stone gate just before the sun dies.
It's tall, cracked, covered in spirals I don't recognise; but my bones do.
"What… is this place?" he asks.
I don't answer right away. I take a step forward. My fingers brush the stone.
It's warm.
It shouldn't be.
"Do you know it?" he asks.
I shake my head."I've never been here."
But that's not true.
Because something in my chest; deep beneath bone and blood—thrums like recognition. Like this place has been waiting.
We step inside.
The torches on the walls light by themselves. Flames bloom without smoke. I freeze.
"That's not normal," he whispers.
I ignore him. Because at the far end of the hall, in a place of shadow and light, is a statue.
A woman, carved in black stone. Crowned in thorns. Cloaked in fire. Her face…
It looks like mine.
Not exactly. Older, sharper. Eyes that burn. But close enough that I take a step back without meaning to.
"That's… weird," he says, squinting at it.
"It's just a coincidence," I say too fast.
But my skin is buzzing. My throat tightens. I feel like I'm standing in front of something sacred. Something I used to know. Not in this life, but somewhere else. Somewhere far, and long ago, and buried.
He moves to stand beside me. Our shoulders almost touch.
"You okay?" he asks.
I don't know how to answer. I just stare at the statue.
And for a split second—I swear—I see her blink.