The nights had grown longer since Emma first opened the workbook, though the clock ticked on as it always had. Time no longer felt linear; it stretched, twisted, curled around her like smoke she could not escape.
Three objects now lay on her nightstand: the jade pendant, Ethan's old watch, and the lilac blossom. She had tried, in desperation, to lock them away, but each morning, they were neatly arranged by her bed, as though the workbook itself demanded she remember.
And always, at the center, the workbook—waiting.
Emma felt the weight of it pressing down on her chest, each page a tether pulling her further into impossibility.