By 2032, Amelia Rose Hayes was six years old—a whirlwind of curiosity and light, with auburn curls that caught the sun like autumn leaves and gray-green eyes that seemed to hold secrets older than her years. She had always been different: speaking in full sentences before she was two, drawing rivers and willows with uncanny precision as soon as she could hold a crayon, waking from dreams with tears on her cheeks and whispers of names she couldn’t have known.
It started small, in ways Ethan and Emily noticed but didn’t dare name at first.
At three, during a family picnic by the creek, Amelia had paused mid-laughter, staring at the water with a frown. “Why is the river sad?” she asked, voice small and serious. Emily’s heart stuttered; Ethan knelt beside her, asking gently what she meant. “
