Celeste wasn't sure why she was there.
The neighborhood felt… wrong and familiar at the same time. Like a dream she'd woken up from halfway through but never forgot. The rusted gate, the half-burnt sign, the cracked pavement.
She'd seen it in the dream. She knew she had.
There was a small auto shop tucked in the corner. A boy stood out front, wiping grease from his fingers. Slim build. Focused. Maybe twelve, thirteen.
He looked up as she passed.
Their eyes locked.
Only for a second.
But something in her stilled.
His face. His eyes. The way his brows furrowed like he was trying to place her.
She slowed, her heart thudding.
He stared, confused. A flicker of hesitation. He wasn't afraid. Just… curious.
"Are you lost?" he asked.
His voice.
Celeste's throat tightened.
"I—I don't know," she said.
He tilted his head, then shrugged. "You look like you were about to faint."
She forced a smile. "Just tired."
He nodded and turned back to his work, wiping his hands again.
She lingered.
Her mouth opened, the name on the edge of her tongue: Noah.
But it didn't feel right. Not here. Not now.
Before she left, he glanced back at her and said, almost absentmindedly:
"You look kinda familiar."
That one sentence knocked the air out of her.
She turned quickly. "Have we met?"
He shook his head. "Nah. Probably just have one of those faces."
Celeste laughed nervously, but it didn't feel funny. "Right."
Then she walked away. Quickly. Almost too quickly.
But inside her, something unspooled. A name. A voice. A flash of a memory.
Him.
Her.
Running.
Smoke.
A scream.
"AYLA!"
She nearly tripped.
She didn't look back.
Because if that boy was Noah… if he was real…
Then everything she had dreamed—everything she had forgotten—was real too.
And that terrified her more than anything else.