Chapter 5 Unwritten Letters

Emily sat alone in her childhood room at Mrs. Lorna's, the journal resting on her lap like a fragile artifact. The lamp by her bedside flickered gently, casting golden light across the yellowed pages as she turned them one by one.

Donovan's handwriting was unmistakable - sharp, slanted, pressed deep into the paper as though each word carried weight he hadn't dared to speak aloud.

Day 3 since my departure.

Emily will hate me for leaving, but I know what follows her now - what follows all of us who dared walk the novice path. She must not see it coming until she's strong enough to face it.

Page after page, Donovan had recorded his thoughts - fragments of regret, warnings cloaked in half-truths, mentions of an order deeper and older than the monastery itself. But there were gaps - long stretches of blank pages, torn edges, entire entries missing as though he'd been interrupted mid-thought.

Emily exhaled, her fingers curling around the edge of one such blank page. A thousand questions burned in her mind, but none louder than the one she couldn't write down:

What was he trying to protect me from?

A knock broke the quiet.

She turned sharply, hiding the journal beneath a blanket just as Mrs. Lorna opened the door.

"There's someone downstairs," Lorna said gently. "For you."

Emily stood, unsure whether it was fear or fatigue she felt more. When she reached the living room, her breath caught in her throat.

Nathan.

He stood near the fireplace, hands tucked in his coat pockets, eyes fixed on the flames like they held all the words he didn't know how to say.

"You came," she said, her voice softer than intended.

"I heard you were back," he replied, not turning to face her yet. "Didn't think I'd be the last to know."

"I didn't know how to... explain."

He finally looked at her then, and for a moment, Emily saw the same boy who once challenged her, comforted her, and walked away from her when everything fell apart.

"You didn't write," he said. "Not once."

"I tried," she whispered. "Every time I picked up a pen, the words wouldn't come. I didn't know where to start."

Nathan stepped closer, his voice quieter now. "You could've just said, 'I'm still alive.'"

Her throat tightened. "And if I had, would you have written back?"

He didn't answer.

The silence between them wasn't cruel - it was full, heavy with everything they had left unsaid. And beneath it all, a question neither dared ask aloud: Were they still the same people, or just echoes wearing the same names?

"I'm not here to make you feel guilty," Nathan said after a long moment. "I'm here because I think something's wrong."

Emily's heart skipped. "You've noticed it too?"

"Strange faces. Unspoken things. A sense that someone's watching. And the way they talk about the new novice - like she's not just following your path, but being shaped by something else."

Emily walked to the fireplace and stared into the flames beside him.

"I have Donovan's journal," she said. "He's alive."

Nathan blinked. "That's not possible."

"I saw him. He warned me. There's more going on here than we ever understood."

He studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Then we start from the beginning."

Emily turned to him. "There is no beginning anymore."

Nathan's lips twitched into a faint, bitter smile. "Then let's start with the letters we never sent."