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THREE

SERAPHINA

S eraphina jolted awake the next morning and found her sheets twisted around her legs.

The sunlight streamed through her bedroom window, gentle and warm, but did nothing to ease the chill that had settled in her bones.

She rubbed her eyes as the remnants of her nightmares clung to her consciousness.

"What is going on with me?" she whispered to the empty room.

Images from her birthday flashed through her mind—the spilled wine on Abby's white dress and the woman in the parking lot nearly getting hit. Predictions. Visions. Impossibilities that science couldn't explain.

Seraphina reached for her phone on the nightstand, squinting at the time. Already past nine. Her head throbbed with exhaustion. No way she could focus on star charts and celestial calculations today. She dialed Dr. Whitman's number, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Astronomy department, Dr. Whitman speaking."

Seraphina cleared her throat. "Hi, Dr. Whitman. It's Seraphina. I'm not feeling well this morning. I think I need to take a sick day."

"You never take sick days, Seraphina." His voice carried a note of concern. "Is everything all right?"

"Just... didn't sleep well. Probably overdid it at my birthday celebration."

"Ah, the big three-o. Take care of yourself. We can manage the observatory data today."

"Thanks, I appre?—"

The words died in her throat as her vision blurred. The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor as the room around her dissolved.

A man stood at the helm of a sleek boat, his powerful hands gripping the wheel with easy confidence.

Dark jeans hugged muscular thighs, a white shirt stretched across broad shoulders, and a leather jacket completed the effortlessly masculine look.

His gray hair was expertly styled—short on the sides, longer on top—and his beard framed a jawline that could cut glass.

But it was his eyes that caught her—piercing gray like storm clouds, ancient and knowing.

Something about him tugged at her core, a recognition that defied logic. She had never seen this man before, yet something whispered that she knew him.

The vision vanished as quickly as it came, leaving Seraphina gasping for air, her heart hammering in her chest. She scrambled to retrieve her phone.

"—still there? Seraphina?" Dr. Whitman's voice sounded far away.

"Yes, sorry. Dropped my phone." She pressed a palm to her forehead. "I might actually need to take the rest of the week off."

After Dr. Whitman told Seraphina she could take all the time she needed, Seraphina ended the call.

She took a steadying breath, and then headed toward the bathroom.

Once inside the tiny space, she glanced up at herself in the circular mirror.

The woman staring back looked like a stranger—dark circles under green eyes, and her usually shiny black hair a tangled mess.

"You're just hungover," she told her reflection. "Or going absolutely insane." She let out a laugh that bordered on hysteria. "Thirty years old and developing schizophrenia. Lucky me."

The bathroom tub beckoned, promising warm relief. Seraphina turned the faucet, watching steam rise as hot water filled the basin. She added lavender bath salts, breathing in the soothing scent.

As she slipped into the water, she tried to rationalize everything that had happened. "You're a scientist," she murmured, sinking deeper until the water reached her chin. "There has to be a logical explanation for all of this."

But logic couldn't explain the man on the boat—the stranger who somehow didn't feel strange at all.

Before long, Seraphina stepped out of the bath, wrapping herself in a plush towel as steam clouded the bathroom mirror.

The lavender scent clung to her skin but did little to calm the storm of questions swirling in her mind.

She patted herself dry, trying to focus on mundane sensations rather than the impossible visions that kept intruding on her reality.

She slipped into a soft yellow sundress that skimmed her curves and fell just past her knees. The light cotton fabric felt reassuring against her skin—normal, real, and tangible. Seraphina combed her fingers through her damp black hair as she padded across the cool hardwood floor to her kitchen.

"Coffee," she murmured, measuring grounds into the filter. "Coffee will fix this."

The familiar ritual brought comfort—the rich scent filling her cozy kitchen and the gurgle of the machine as dark liquid dripped into the carafe. Seraphina leaned on the counter, tracing her fingers along the cool granite.

"Okay, Seraphina. Think logically." She reached for her favorite astronomy mug. "You drank more than you usually do, so your brain is just processing random imagery."

The first sip of coffee burned pleasantly down her throat. She closed her eyes, willing clarity to return with each swallow.

Then, like a television changing channels without warning, the kitchen vanished.

Moonlight bathed ancient stone walls, casting long shadows across a room unlike anything Seraphina had ever seen.

An arched window soared toward a vaulted ceiling, and tapestries adorned walls that had witnessed centuries pass.

Beyond the window lay dark waters surrounding an island, the castle perched upon it like something from a medieval fantasy.

And there he was again—the stranger from her earlier vision.

He stood before the towering window, his powerful profile outlined in silver moonlight as he gazed at the stars.

His posture spoke of authority and ancient strength, the gray in his styled hair gleaming like polished steel. His hands were clasped behind his back.

Something about the way he studied the night sky resonated within her—an astronomer recognizing a kindred spirit. But deeper than professional recognition was a faint pull that defied explanation as if his very existence called to something dormant within her.

Seraphina gasped as reality slammed back into place. Coffee sloshed over the rim of her mug, burning her fingers. She set the cup down with shaking hands.

"This isn't happening." She pressed her palms against her eyes. "I'm just... projecting. Creating some fantasy man because my love life is pathetically nonexistent."

She laughed shakily, remembering the romance novels she'd devoured in college. Her friends—Lorelei, Thea, Everly, Isolde, and Helena—used to tease her about her weakness for stories featuring powerful, mysterious men.

"That's it," she decided, grasping at the explanation. "I'm just remembering that Scottish laird from that book Thea made us all read." But even as she said it, Seraphina knew this was different. The man in her visions didn't feel fictional—he felt inevitable.

Her phone buzzed from the counter, startling her. Abby's name flashed on the screen. She quickly answered it, desperate for the distraction from her tumultuous thoughts.

"Hey, birthday girl, how's the hangover?" Abby's cheerful voice came through the speaker.

"I'm not sure if 'hangover' covers whatever I'm feeling this morning," Seraphina mumbled, rubbing her temple.

"Want me to come over? I make a mean hangover breakfast." Abby's voice carried that signature pep that somehow never diminished, even through the tinny speaker of Seraphina's phone. "We could binge-watch something mindless and pretend last night didn't happen."

Seraphina sank onto a kitchen stool, her free hand still clutching her coffee mug. The warmth against her palm anchored her to reality—this reality, not the stone castle or the mysterious, gray-eyed stranger who kept invading her thoughts.

"That's sweet, but I think I just need some rest." She traced the rim of her mug with her fingertip. "I'll take a walk along the beach. Clear my head a bit."

"Are you sure?" Abby asked, concern evident in her voice. "You're not still freaked out about your weird vision thing, are you?"

Seraphina glanced down at her yellow sundress, smoothing a wrinkle with her palm. "No, I'm fine. Just need some quiet time today."

"Quiet time. Always with the quiet time." Abby's dramatic sigh made Seraphina smile despite herself. "You know what I think? You need to get out more. And by 'out,' I mean out of your astronomy tower and into the real world where interaction with others happens."

"I do plenty of interacting." Seraphina rolled her eyes. "I'm interacting with you right now."

"Not what I meant, and you know it." The playful lilt in Abby's voice suggested where this conversation was heading. "When was the last time you went on a date? And no, taking your telescope to some remote field doesn't count as a romantic evening."

Heat crept up Seraphina's neck. "I've been busy with work."

"For thirty years?" Abby laughed. "Come on, Ser. A little distraction might be exactly what you need. Something—or someone—to take your mind off whatever's going on in that big brain of yours."

Seraphina caught her reflection in the window above her kitchen sink. The woman looking back seemed uncertain and vulnerable. A far cry from the confident astronomer who pinpointed celestial bodies with precision. "I don't think dating is the answer to... whatever this is."

"Sex always makes everything better," Abby declared with such conviction that Seraphina nearly spit out her coffee. "Trust me on this. A hot, sweaty night with a gorgeous man would reset your entire system."

"Oh my god, Abby!" Seraphina laughed, feeling some of the tension leave her body. "Is that your prescription for everything? 'Feeling sad? Have sex. Stubbed your toe? Have sex. Experiencing inexplicable visions? Definitely have sex.'"

"Hey, it works! Don't knock my methods until you've tried them."

Seraphina shook her head, smiling. This was why she loved Abby—her friend's unapologetic approach to life was the perfect counterbalance to Seraphina's cautious nature. Where Seraphina analyzed and overthought, Abby dove in headfirst, consequences be damned.