The car moved like a hearse.
Not in speed, but in silence. Inside, the world shrank to muted engine hums, the ticking of the turn signal, and the rhythmic sweep of the windshield wipers carving lines through dusk-drenched rain. Outside, the city blurred behind a curtain of water and streetlight—familiar silhouettes, unfamiliar weight.
Aria sat upright, back straight but hands buried deep in the folds of her coat. Her fingers clutched the edges like a lifeline. The fabric was cold, soaked through at the collar, and smelled faintly of lilies and earth—funeral flowers. Her mother's scent had clung to her for weeks after her burial the first time. Now it greeted her like a ghost before the door had even closed.
She didn't speak. Didn't ask questions. The driver didn't offer her words either. Just kept the wheels turning, inching them closer to the house that had never been home.
The same route. The same path from years ago.
But this time, she remembered everything.
The boardroom. Her father's collapsed frame. The sting of betrayal during the reading of the will. The crash. The weightless silence before death, and Noel's body slumped beside hers.
Her throat constricted. She blinked once. Hard.
No tears. Not here.
They passed the gas station where she used to buy cheap coffee after night classes. The bus stop where she'd once waited in heels too tight, rehearsing her "thank yous" for interviews that never called back. All of it now existed in strange repetition, like stepping into a memory someone else had left behind.
As they neared the estate, her breath caught without warning. Muscles tensed across her shoulders, and her gaze fixed on the wrought iron gate ahead.
Still the same. Ornate. Over-designed. More monument than barrier.
The car rolled to a near stop.
The gates didn't open immediately.
They groaned—deliberate, dramatic, like even they resented letting her through. Slowly, the mouth of the estate widened.
Rain traced trembling paths down the window beside her. She didn't wipe them away.
Through the distortion, the mansion emerged from shadow.
It rose from the gravel like an accusation. The façade was pale stone, sharp-edged, and cold as the family that lived inside. Lights blazed from behind velvet curtains—warmth that didn't welcome. The driveway curved like a spine toward the front steps where ghosts stood waiting in flesh.
Isabelle. Perfectly still. Spine straight, hands folded over her lapel. She didn't flinch at the rain, didn't adjust her expression. Just stared at the car like she'd been waiting for something to hate.
To her right, Selene leaned lazily against the iron railing, phone raised. Probably recording. Always performing. Even her indifference felt choreographed.
Behind the frost-touched windows, Juliet's face peeked from behind a velvet curtain. Just her eyes and a sliver of blond. Watching like a child afraid of thunder—but thrilled by the lightning.
Lucas wasn't there.
The absence was louder than the rain.
The car slowed to a final crawl.
Then Aria saw him.
At the far edge of the gravel circle, near the trimmed hedge line—Noel.
He wasn't under the awning like the others. No umbrella. No pretense. Just a dark coat, soaked through and dripping, arms crossed over his chest like the rain meant nothing to him.
He didn't move as the car approached.
Didn't wave.
Didn't blink.
But his gaze locked onto her window—and didn't let go.
The driver exited without a word and opened her door.
Aria didn't step out immediately.
The weight of it settled on her chest. The memory of her death, the shattered window, Noel's outstretched hand reaching for her—too late.
She exhaled once, low and slow, and pushed herself out of the seat.
Rain hit instantly. Cold needles on her scalp, sliding down her spine. Her heels crunched into the gravel. Her coat fluttered open with the wind.
She didn't rush to close it.
She stood there.
In the open.
Facing the wolves.
Isabelle didn't descend the steps. Neither did Selene. They didn't move at all—just watched her, the way a board of directors might watch a falling stock: with masked disdain and waiting judgment.
Aria took one step. Then another.
Her hair, slicked to the sides of her face, hid nothing. Her makeup—minimal—was probably ruined by now. She didn't care.
With each step, the air thickened. The smell of wet stone and old roses filled her lungs. The ache in her chest—the tight pull that used to live there in the old timeline—didn't come.
Not this time.
Halfway across the circle, she paused.
Not to adjust herself.
Not to look back.
But to glance sideways.
At him.
Noel stood rooted, as unmoving as the hedge beside him. But something in his expression flickered. Not confusion. Not recognition.
Curiosity.
Like he knew something was off—but didn't know why.
Her heart skipped.
Just once.
And in her mind, words rose like a tide against steel:
You died with me… and I owe you one.
She didn't smile.
Didn't nod.
Just turned away—and walked up the steps.
No flinch. No hesitation. The girl they remembered was gone.
Only the fire remained.