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Waiting for answers I never got, yet asking myself so many questions, questions that no one had answers for.

SIX

LENORE

Peopleleave.

The ones you want to stay never do. And somehow, you survive. You’resupposedto survive. But I didn’t. Not after I left.

Some people drown their sadness in alcohol. I drowned mine in loneliness. I ran from everyone and locked every door inside myself. The few I let in? They all reminded me of him. But none of themwerehim.

I missed his laugh. That wild, sharp edge in his eyes screamed red flags. I saw them all. Ignored everyone.

Young and stupid.

But also young and in love.

Once you meet someone who makes you smile like you never knew you could—someone who keeps you awake at night, who you crave just to see or hear, even when they’re talking nonsense—it’s over. You’re caught. You wonder how someone so reckless, so wrong, can feel soright. And the whole time, there’s this little voice whispering:

He’s your stepbrother.

You shouldn’t feel the way he felt.

But I did.

The heart wants what it wants, even if what it wants is the very thing that destroys it. That tears you apart until all that’s left is glass—shards held together, but never whole. Even pieced back together, it’s still broken. And the reflection… is never the same.

Somehow, I woke up in bed. I didn’t know how I got there. I didn’t remember coming inside. I didn’t remember changing. But I was wearing the white nightdress again—the one I used to sleep in. Still smelled like cotton and lavender oil, just like it used to.

I stood up slowly, head foggy. The sunlight pouring through the window didn’t make sense.

It was raining before… wasn’t it?

What is happening?

Am I dreaming?

I took a careful step forward, glancing around the room. On the old chair by the window, my jacket swung lazily, rocking back and forth. My jeans and top were folded over the armrest.

Did I change?

When?

I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to focus, toremember. But nothing came. Just static in my brain.

I left the bedroom and stepped into the hallway. As I made my way down the stairs I could hear the loud bang at the door.

Three knocks. Loud. Sharp. Violent.

Fists were slamming against the wood, and each slam stuttered in my chest.

Another knock.

Then his voice. “Open the door, Lenore.”

Troy.

No.