Chapter 5 Fractures in the Fog

The walk back to the house felt heavier than before. The wind was sharper, the sky more bruised. Clouds pressed low like they were listening. Watching.

She replayed Lena's words over and over.

You shouldn't be alive.

Keep her away from the truth or we all burn.

They weren't just warnings-they were confessions. Something terrible had happened. Something they'd buried.

But she had crawled out of the grave.

And now... they were scared.

Joanne didn't ask where she'd been. She was waiting at the kitchen table, sorting through letters. Her glasses rested low on her nose, and a steaming cup of tea sat untouched by her hand.

"You okay?" she asked.

The girl nodded and offered a small smile.

But her hands were shaking as she poured a glass of water.

"Your school forms came today," Joanne continued. "We'll drop them off tomorrow morning. You'll be starting Monday."

A name was scribbled on the envelope: Rowan Harlow.

She stared at it.

Rowan.

Could that be her name?

She didn't remember telling anyone that. Didn't remember anything at all.

But the sound of it felt right in her chest.

Rowan Harlow.

For now, it was all she had.

That night, the rain returned-soft at first, then harder, as if the sky was warning her not to dig too deep.

She couldn't sleep again.

She sat by the window, knees pulled to her chest, staring into the woods behind the house.

Then she saw it.

A figure.

Same as before.

Standing still among the trees, barely visible beneath the curtain of rain.

Her heart stopped.

But she didn't look away.

Instead, she grabbed her hoodie, her flashlight, and slipped through the back door.

The forest was darker than she expected.

Branches clawed at her arms. Mud sucked at her shoes. The air smelled like moss and secrets.

She moved slowly, shining her light left and right, calling softly, "Hello?"

No answer.

But she kept walking-deeper and deeper, until the light from the house was gone.

Then she found something.

A clearing.

And in the center-a stone bench.

She stepped toward it, breath shallow, heart pounding.

Etched into the bench was a name.

Rowan Harlow.

She stumbled back.

Was this... her grave?

Suddenly, a flash of movement-a blur of white-a voice.

"Rowan!"

She turned.

Eli.

Soaked from the rain, eyes wild.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said. "Not yet."

"What is this place?" she demanded. "Why is my name here?"

He looked down, lips pressed tight. "Because you died here."

Silence.

Only the sound of rain and breathing.

"That's not possible," she whispered.

"You don't remember because they made you forget," Eli said. "But this is where it happened."

"What happened?"

"You."

His voice cracked. "You did something. Something powerful. And dangerous. And someone paid the price."

She shook her head, backing away. "I would never-"

"You don't know what you'd do. You don't remember who you were. That's why they're afraid. That's why they buried the truth."

"And Lena?" Rowan asked.

Eli hesitated. "She was your best friend."

Rowan's throat tightened.

"Was?"

"She tried to save you. And she failed. We all did."

A rumble of thunder rolled overhead. Rowan's knees gave out, and she sat on the wet grass, trying to breathe.

"I need the truth," she said.

Eli crouched beside her. "It's not that simple."

"Then make it simple."

He pulled something from his jacket. A photograph-creased, wet, but visible.

It showed the same lake from the framed picture. The same two girls.

But this time, there were four people.

Rowan.

Lena.

Eli.

And a fourth boy-blond hair, gray eyes, and a cruel smile.

"Who is he?" Rowan asked.

Eli's face darkened. "His name is Kai. He's the reason you forgot. And if he knows you're back..."

He didn't finish.

He didn't have to.

They walked back together in silence, soaked to the bone.

Before they reached the house, Eli stopped.

"You're not just a girl who forgot her name, Rowan," he said. "You're a key."

"To what?"

Eli looked toward the woods, voice low. "To the truth. And to everything they tried to erase."

Then he disappeared into the trees.

Back in her room, Rowan peeled off her wet clothes and stared at herself in the mirror.

Same eyes.

Same necklace.

Same name etched in stone.

She didn't feel dead.

But she wasn't exactly alive either.

She sat down and opened her journal.

Day Three.

My name is Rowan Harlow.

I died.

And I came back.

They don't want me to remember why.

But I will.

She closed the book.

And outside, in the forest, lightning struck the old bench-and split it in half.