"So what is the course of plan?" she asked.
I shrugged, letting the weight of uncertainty settle over us. My mind churned, searching for something solid to hold onto.
"We need a place to rest… some shelter," I said finally. "We're exposed, and it's still too early to know what's out there. We aren't even aware of our location."
Reav's gaze sharpened, her silver hair catching the faint light. "But they couldn't have brought us far from home," she said softly, almost to herself. "No one moves something this delicate too far. Not without leaving traces."
I nodded slowly, the thought giving me the tiniest anchor. "Then we start close. Keep moving, keep hidden, and listen. Everything else… we'll figure as we go."
By afternoon, the town had warmed. Sunlight caught in puddles, in shop windows, in the ripples of ordinary life we didn't remember how to belong to.
We walked the streets slowly, careful not to draw attention. I caught my reflection once—in a bakery window—and barely recognized it. Hollow cheeks, tangled hair, eyes that looked like they'd seen too much.
Reav stopped beside a bulletin board outside the post office. Her fingers brushed over the edges of old flyers, notes for lost pets, faded announcements. One photo made my breath catch.
It was me. Younger. Smiling. The paper had yellowed, corners curled by weather, but my name was still there.
Missing: Sylvia Night shade. Last seen—
My voice faltered. "They were looking for me."
Reav's gaze softened. "Then they never stopped."
The address printed below pulled something deep in my chest. A street I half remembered, a door painted blue. I traced the letters like they were a spell to bring the past closer.
"We can go," Reav said quietly. "If you're ready."
I wasn't. But I nodded anyway.
The walk took less than an hour. The world felt smaller than it should have. Every corner looked familiar, like memory rearranging itself to guide me home. When we reached the house small, white, vines climbing the gate.I stopped.
The curtains in the window moved. A woman's silhouette appeare older now, hair streaked with gray, shoulders bowed with time. She turned, and though the years had changed her, I knew.
"Go on," Reav whispered. "She's been waiting long enough."
I stepped forward. My hands shook as I reached for the gate latch. It clicked open, a sound too loud in the quiet street.
The door opened before I could knock.
She stared. For a heartbeat, she didn't breathe. Then she said my name like a prayer that had finally been answered. "Sylvia?"
My throat tightened. "Mom."
She ran to me, arms around me, real and warm and trembling. The smell of home—soap, rain, and tea—hit me like something holy,sacred. I didn't realize I was crying until she pulled back to look at me, her own face wet.
Behind me, Reav stood on the walkway, silent. My mother's eyes flicked to her, confusion flickering. "Your friend?"
I nodded. "She helped me find the way back."
Something unspoken passed between them—gratitude, wariness, understanding too deep for words.
For the first time in years, I stepped inside. The house was exactly as I remembered: cluttered shelves, soft light, the hum of life still going.
But even surrounded by warmth, I felt the mark pulse faintly beneath my sleeve. A reminder. The forest, the lab, the screams.they weren't gone. Just waiting.
Reav lingered near the doorway, gaze scanning every shadow.