When Aria woke, the world felt wrong.
Her room was dim, the curtains drawn, and the rain outside had turned into a steady whisper against the glass. But it wasn't the quiet that frightened her, it was the smell. Smoke.
Faint, almost imagined, but there.
The same scent that haunted her nightmares.
She sat up fast, breath uneven, her heart pounding. The ring was still on the table beside the burned photo. Only now, the edges of that photo were curling, blackened, as if someone had tried to light it while she slept.
Her throat tightened. "No…" she whispered.
She reached for it, but her fingers stopped midair when she noticed something else on the table, a piece of paper, folded twice. It hadn't been there before.
Hands trembling, she unfolded it.
You were never supposed to remember. But now you will.
No name. No signature. Just those words, printed in red ink.
