---
**Six months later.**
The bookstore by the sea was quiet. Too quiet.
Lucas Varela leaned on the counter, flipping through a first-edition copy of *One Hundred Years of Solitude* — ironic, given that solitude was the one thing he never truly had anymore. Not since Aria came back.
Not since they brought the **war** home with them.
Aria stood in the back, organizing shipments. Her eyes were different now. Older. As if she had lived a hundred lives in the space of one.
She had.
But today, the silence cracked.
A child walked in.
---
Barefoot.
Eleven or twelve. Matted hair. Empty eyes.
He said nothing.
Just stared at Lucas.
And then, softly:
**"I can't get out of my head."**
---
Lucas exchanged a look with Aria, who immediately stepped forward, cautious but kind.
"Hey, sweetheart… what's your name?"
The boy blinked. "*Which one?*"
That chilled the air.
Lucas knelt. "Who are you right now?"
The boy twitched. "I don't know. There's so many of them screaming."
