Chapter 2 Faces from Yesterday

The walls of Mrs. Lorna's house felt narrower than Emily remembered, like the house had been holding its breath in her absence. Familiar scents greeted her - dried lavender, old books, and cinnamon - traces of memory woven into the wood and fabric. Every creak of the floorboards under her boots sounded like a sigh of welcome.

Mrs. Lorna didn't ask questions right away. She simply handed Emily a warm mug of spiced tea, the kind she used to make on cold mornings. They sat in comfortable silence at the round kitchen table, watching the steam swirl like smoke from an old fire.

"It's strange," Emily said finally, her voice small, "how everything looks the same but nothing feels the same."

Mrs. Lorna studied her over the rim of her mug. "That's because you're not the same."

A quiet truth. And an uncomfortable one.

Emily looked toward the window, where the garden lay quiet, half-wild. She imagined her younger self still out there, trailing fingers along the fence, asking questions about things she wasn't ready to understand.

"They'll want to see you," Mrs. Lorna said gently.

Emily's hand stiffened around the cup. "Who?"

"Everyone."

A knock at the door interrupted them.

Emily's breath caught in her throat.

Mrs. Lorna stood, walking to the door with the same steady gait she always had. When it opened, the light spilled in-and with it, the first ghost from Emily's past.

It was Nathan.

He hadn't changed much. His hair was longer, the shadows beneath his eyes deeper. His smile, hesitant and crooked, still had that way of softening the space between him and the world.

"Hi," he said, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. "I heard you were back."

Emily rose slowly, her fingers loosening from the mug, leaving behind a ring of warmth on the table.

"I didn't expect-"

"I know," he interrupted softly. "Neither did I."

For a moment, neither moved. The weight of unspoken things hung between them - apologies never said, the way they had parted, the version of her he had known and the version of her that had returned.

"I should let you settle in," he said, stepping back. "I'll come by tomorrow. There's someone who wants to see you."

She almost asked who, but something in his tone made her stop. Instead, she nodded.

After he left, the silence returned - not empty, but full of possibility and warning. Emily turned back to her tea, her reflection warping on its surface.

"They'll come," Mrs. Lorna said behind her, reading her thoughts again, "one by one. And not all with kindness."

Emily took a slow sip. "Let them come."