Chapter 4 The Girl with the Black Hair

Morning light crept through the blinds, spilling across the floor like gold dust. She hadn't slept much, again.

Not because of nightmares.

Because of plans.

By the time Joanne called her down for breakfast, she was already dressed-jeans, sneakers, hoodie zipped up tight. Her silver necklace tucked beneath the collar.

"I'll take you to your new school tomorrow," Joanne said over pancakes. "Today's just about getting comfortable."

The girl smiled, pretending to be grateful.

But she had no intention of staying home today.

She needed answers. Starting with the girl in the photograph.

By noon, she slipped out of the house through the back door and made her way to town.

She took the side streets, away from the cars and crowds. Her heart raced, but she didn't stop.

Eli was right. If she wanted the truth, she had to find it herself.

She started at the hospital. Not inside-she knew better than to draw attention-but near the alley behind the west wing.

That's where she'd seen the girl last.

Where she'd overheard her speaking to Dr. Meyers.

A name lingered in her memory, like a whisper through fog.

"Lena."

That had to be her.

She waited.

Hours passed.

Then, just after 2 p.m., she saw her.

Lena.

The same black hair. The same cold beauty. She wore a gray coat, white boots, and walked like someone who didn't care who she scared.

The girl followed from a distance, hiding behind parked cars and old brick pillars. Her hands trembled, but her feet kept moving.

Lena turned down a narrow street, away from the main road, and stopped at a café tucked between two bookstores.

She went inside.

And sat by the window.

Alone.

The girl hesitated.

Then pushed the door open.

The bell above the door jingled as she stepped in. The warm smell of coffee and cinnamon filled the air.

Lena looked up, and for a brief second-just one-her eyes widened.

Recognition.

But then, her expression changed.

Blank.

Composed.

Dangerous.

"You," Lena said. "You followed me."

"You knew me before," the girl replied, voice low. "Didn't you?"

Lena leaned back. "You shouldn't be here."

"Why not?"

"Because you're supposed to be gone."

The words dropped like stones.

The girl's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. "You were in the photo with me."

Lena glanced out the window. "You don't remember anything, do you?"

"Who am I?" she asked. "Tell me."

Lena stood slowly, eyes narrowing. "You don't want to know."

"Try me."

Lena stepped closer, close enough to whisper. "You were part of something. Something we buried. And now you've come back like a ghost."

She reached into her coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

Same texture.

Same handwriting.

Another note.

"Keep her away from the truth. Or we all burn."

The girl's stomach dropped.

"You shouldn't be asking questions," Lena said, her voice now trembling just slightly. "You shouldn't even be alive."

"Then why am I?"

Lena didn't answer.

Instead, she backed away and left the café.

The girl sat there for a long time.

Breathing.

Shaking.

Alive.

But barely.

She opened her journal again and wrote:

Day Two.

Her name is Lena.

She knew me. She feared me.

I don't know who I was.

But I'm starting to think I was someone powerful.

Or dangerous.

Maybe both.

She looked at her reflection in the café window.

Same face.

Same eyes.

But no longer the same girl who woke up in that hospital bed.

Something inside her had shifted.

She wasn't just looking for her past anymore.

She was hunting it.