The moment Celeste walked through the front door, her body gave up.
The lunch with Damien had been nice—too nice. Like an island of calm in the middle of a storm. But Maureen's words still clung to her skin like smoke.
Identity fraud.
Pretending to be yourself.
What did she mean?
Celeste didn't even make it to her bed. She collapsed on the couch, a soft throw blanket tugged over her. Within minutes, her eyes shut.
Sleep came fast. Too fast.
She was standing in a hallway—narrow, flickering with dim light. The wallpaper was peeling, and the walls whispered. That's when she saw them.
Noah.
A boy's voice calling, "Ayla, wait up!" His laugh echoed down the corridor.
Her mother.
Brushing hair behind her ear, humming a tune she couldn't name. "Don't forget who you are, baby."
Viper.
His towering frame blocking a doorway. "You're not safe here. You have to run."
Leon.
Eyes searching hers, voice urgent: "Don't trust what they told you. Don't trust even me."
The names hit her like glass shattering in her mind.
Noah?
Viper?
Ayla?
She turned, heart racing, and caught her reflection in a cracked mirror on the wall—not Celeste. Not completely. There was something different in the eyes. Something older. More worn.
And then she fell—not physically, but inside herself. A sharp, plunging sensation like being pulled into her own memories.
Celeste woke up gasping.
The room was quiet, her body clammy with sweat. She sat upright, heart pounding. Everything looked the same. Her living room. The pillow. The blanket.
But inside her?
Everything had shifted.
That wasn't just a dream. She could still hear the voices, still feel the hallway under her feet, still smell something like motor oil and lavender in the air.
What scared her the most wasn't that it felt real.
It was that she recognized the name Ayla.
And worse—
She saw Leon.
Why him? Why in that dream?
He wasn't her past. He was her now. Wasn't he?
She pulled her knees to her chest, shaking.
"Who the hell am I?"