The rain in Athens fell sideways that night, carrying whispers no weatherman could explain. Elena Papadakis stood on her balcony overlooking the Plaka, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and shadow. She had been blind for twelve years—ever since the accident that took her husband. Tonight, she saw everything. Not just the streets below, but layers beneath them: faint outlines of the dead walking among the living, their forms flickering like old film reels.
One shade paused directly beneath her building. A young man in soldier's fatigues, face still smeared with the mud of some forgotten battlefield. He looked up, and for a moment their eyes met. Elena felt his last moments crash into her—fear, regret, the sudden warmth of a mother's prayer he never got to answer. She gasped and gripped the railing, knuckles white.
