Morning.
Soren didn’t sleep.
He sat in bed for hours, his mind replaying the name over and over. Rowan Blackwood.
His own journal had written it. The old scholar had confirmed it.
And yet—he had never known it.
Had he?
He rubbed his eyes, exhaling sharply. His thoughts felt frayed at the edges, unraveling like a thread being pulled from a woven fabric.
Something inside him whispered: Don’t ask Tia yet.
Watch.
Wait.
See what happens.
The kitchen was warm, filled with the scent of tea and fresh bread. His mother was already preparing breakfast, her hands moving in precise, practiced motions. Tia sat at the table, a book resting open in front of her.
She looked normal.
Too normal.
Soren sat across from her, forcing himself to act the same as always.
Tia turned a page. “You’re quiet today.”
His fingers tensed around his cup.
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“So are you.”
She glanced up at him. Their eyes met.
Then, slowly, she smiled.
Soren didn’t know why, but it made his skin crawl.
Harper’s Apothecary.
The bell chimed as Soren stepped inside.
The air smelled of lavender, ink, and dried herbs. Mr. Harper stood behind the counter, reading a tattered ledger. He looked up, squinting slightly.
“Ah,” he said. Too slowly.
Soren hesitated. “Morning.”
Harper’s expression didn’t change. He studied Soren like he was seeing him for the first time.
Then, his brow furrowed. “You—”
He stopped himself.
Soren’s pulse quickened.
“I what?” he pressed, trying to keep his voice even.
Harper’s fingers tapped lightly against the counter. He exhaled sharply. “Nothing. Forget it.”
Soren’s jaw tightened. He saw it.
That brief moment of hesitation. That split-second where Harper almost didn’t recognize him.
Like something had shifted.
Like something was rearranging itself in real-time.
Soren swallowed hard. “I’ll get to work.”
Harper nodded, already turning away.
But Soren saw the way his hands trembled slightly as he closed the ledger.
The City Changes Around Him.
Soren walked home in the evening fog, his breath curling in the cold air.
The streets were not the same.
They looked the same—at a glance. The same towering buildings. The same flickering gaslamps. The same cobblestone paths.
But there were things that shouldn’t be different, yet were.
- A shop that had always been there was gone.
- A streetlamp that had always flickered burned steadily now.
- A bridge he had crossed a thousand times before felt longer.
Was it always like this?
Soren exhaled slowly. Or was he only noticing now?
And then—
He saw himself.
Across the street.
Standing beneath a gaslamp.
Back turned, coat shifting lightly in the breeze.
Soren froze.
The man standing there was identical to him.
Same build. Same coat. Same dark hair.
A wave of nausea washed over him.
The figure tilted its head slightly, as if listening.
Then—it stepped into the fog.
And disappeared.
Soren staggered back. His breath came too fast, his hands shaking.
That wasn’t a reflection.
That wasn’t a trick of the light.
That was him.
And he had no idea why.
Tia Knows Something.
The house was dark when he returned.
Tia sat in the living room, a candle burning low beside her. She wasn’t reading tonight.
She was waiting.
Soren swallowed hard. He forced himself to step inside, to act normal.
But the moment he closed the door—
She spoke.
“You saw him, didn’t you?”
His blood ran cold.
Soren turned slowly.
Tia’s eyes gleamed in the dim light, her hands folded in her lap.
She knew.
His pulse pounded against his ribs.
She didn’t wait for him to answer.
“You’re not ready to remember,” she murmured. “Not yet.”
Soren’s stomach twisted. “Tia—”
But she only smiled.
Soft. Unreadable.
Then she stood, brushing past him as she headed toward the stairs.
“Goodnight, Rowan.”
Soren couldn’t breathe.
He turned sharply. “Tia—”
She was already gone.
A deep, suffocating silence pressed against the room.
And for the first time, Soren knew—
This wasn’t just happening to him.
Tia was part of it.
And she wasn’t afraid.