The riverboat rocked gently beneath Stella's feet as it pushed away from the Greenridge border dock.
Mist curled over the water. Pine trees faded into the distance.
She stood at the stern, clutching a stamped passport and a steaming cup of tea. For the first time in five years, her name wasn't followed by suspicion or slander.
Just:
Stella Hart. Citizen. Music Instructor.
She exhaled deeply.
Carlos had hugged her tightly at the station that morning.
“Write me," he said, voice thick.
“I will," she promised.
“And don't forget who you are."
She smiled. “I'm still learning."
---
In her cabin, Stella unpacked slowly.
Books. A journal. A small music box from the rehab clinic.
And at the bottom—sealed in tissue paper—a wolf-fang pendant.
She hadn't remembered who gave it to her.
O
