There are moments when the air changes before the threat enters the room when silence folds into itself, when the light dims slightly, and something cold creeps in from beneath a door you didn’t know was unlocked.
I felt her before I saw her.
Emily.
She didn’t announce herself with noise or rage or footsteps loud enough to demand attention.
She simply walked in like she had been there all along an echo of a memory no one invited, wearing grief like armor and malice like perfume, her presence more haunting than human.
She was beautiful in the way a fire is beautiful undeniable, untouchable, destructive without apology.
And when our eyes met?
I didn’t flinch.
Because I’d already buried the version of myself who might have.
She stopped in the middle of the room, elegant, measured, an
