The rain had started again, soft and steady, painting streaks of silver down the window. The room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the bedside lamp, casting golden light over tangled sheets and slow-moving shadows.
Amelia lay on her side, one arm tucked beneath her head, watching Celeste in the quiet.
She looked different like this. Not in the way the city lights changed her, making her seem ethereal, or in the way the morning sun softened her edges. This was something else—something intimate.
Celeste's breathing was slow and steady, her lips slightly parted as she lay beside Amelia, her fingers barely brushing the fabric of Amelia's sleeve.
For the first time since she had stepped out of the painting, she looked… at peace.
Amelia let out a soft breath, letting her fingers trace idle patterns against the pillow. The weight of the night pressed against her chest in the best way, filling the spaces inside her that had once felt so empty.
She had spent so long in solitude, buried in brushstrokes and unfinished canvases, chasing emotions she could never quite grasp. But now, lying here, she felt something entirely new.
Complete.
Celeste stirred beside her, blinking up at Amelia with sleepy eyes. A small, drowsy smile tugged at her lips. "You're staring."
Amelia felt warmth rise to her cheeks but didn't look away. "Maybe."
Celeste hummed, shifting so that their faces were only inches apart. "Why?"
Amelia let out a soft laugh, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair behind Celeste's ear. "Because you're real," she murmured. "And I still can't believe it."
Celeste's expression softened, her fingers reaching out to trace the curve of Amelia's jaw. "I feel real," she whispered. "Especially when I'm with you."
Something about the way she said it made Amelia's throat tighten.
Celeste leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Amelia's lips. It was different from before—not rushed, not tangled in heat or urgency. It was quiet, reverent. A promise.
When she pulled away, she rested her forehead against Amelia's, their breaths mingling.
Amelia closed her eyes, exhaling softly. "What happens now?"
Celeste didn't answer right away. Instead, she reached down, intertwining their fingers. "We figure it out."
Amelia smiled against her skin, squeezing her hand.
Outside, the rain continued to fall, but inside, wrapped in warmth and quiet laughter, Amelia realized something.
For the first time in a long time, she wasn't afraid of the unknown.
But the unknown had other plans.
The next morning, Amelia woke up to the sound of her phone buzzing relentlessly on the nightstand.
She groaned, blindly reaching for it and squinting at the screen. Several missed calls. A dozen unread messages. All from one person.
Dad.
Her stomach twisted. It wasn't like him to call this much. He usually respected her space, letting her live her life in quiet independence—even if he made sure her bank account was always full. For him to be this persistent… something was wrong.
Celeste stirred beside her, sensing the shift in her energy. "Amelia?" she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep.
Amelia sat up, hesitating before answering. "…It's my dad."
Celeste's brows furrowed as Amelia pressed the phone to her ear.
The moment she answered, his voice came through, tight and urgent.
"Amelia. Thank god you picked up."
Amelia swallowed. "Dad? What's wrong?"
A pause. Then—
"There's something I need to ask you. And I need you to tell me the truth." His voice was strained, cautious. "Are you alone?"
Her breath caught in her throat.
Her eyes darted to Celeste, who was now fully awake, watching her with quiet concern.
"I—" Amelia hesitated. "Why?"
Her father let out a slow exhale. "Because I know about the girl."
A chill ran down her spine.
She shot up from the bed, gripping the phone tighter. "What?"
"I don't know how, but she's appearing on security feeds—street cameras, building entrances. People have seen her, Amelia. She wasn't here before, and now she's everywhere." He sounded more frustrated than scared. "Who is she?"
Amelia's heart pounded. She had been so careful, keeping Celeste inside, making sure they weren't seen together. But if her father knew—if other people knew—then something had slipped.
Celeste sat up slowly, as if piecing together the tension in Amelia's expression. "Amelia?"
Amelia licked her lips, her pulse racing. "Dad, I—I don't know what you're talking about."
A sharp inhale. "Don't lie to me."
She squeezed her eyes shut. "I—"
"I have people looking into this. If you're in trouble—"
"I'm not in trouble," she cut in, her voice firmer than she felt. "She's… she's with me. She's safe."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Then, his voice dropped lower. "Amelia. I need you to listen to me carefully."
She clenched her jaw.
"There's something unnatural about her."
The words hit like ice against her skin.
Celeste tensed beside her.
"What do you mean?" Amelia whispered.
"I don't know yet," he admitted. "But I'm going to find out."
The call ended.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Amelia lowered the phone, her hands shaking. Celeste's fingers brushed her arm, grounding her. "Amelia…?"
Amelia turned to her, searching her face for answers she wasn't sure existed.
"…They know about you." Her voice wavered.
Celeste's expression remained unreadable.
Then, softly—
"I know."