The engine hummed low—hrrrr—as we pulled back onto the road, the valley disappearing behind us like it had never existed. My phone felt heavier in my hand now, like it was carrying more than just a name.
Serafin glanced at me. "You're quiet."
"I'm thinking," I said.
"That usually means something bad."
I let out a weak breath. "It means something I don't like."
The road narrowed again, trees crowding in close enough that their branches brushed the car—scrape… scrape—a sound that set my nerves on edge.
"You want to tell me who messaged you?" Serafin asked.
"Someone I knew before I left," I replied. "Someone who was there… before everything collapsed."
"Were they involved?" he asked carefully.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "That's the problem."
My phone buzzed—bzzzzt—once, then again. An incoming call. The same name.
I stared at it until the vibration stopped.
Serafin didn't push. "You don't have to answer."
"I do," I said quietly. "If they really know something, this might be the only chance I get."
He pulled into a deserted rest area—crunch—gravel crunching under the tires. Picnic tables sat abandoned, paint peeling, trash bins overturned. The wind moved through the trees—whooooosh—a low, constant murmur.
"Take your time," he said, killing the engine—tick… tick… tick.
I answered the call.
"Hello?"
A familiar voice came through, strained but unmistakable. "Caoimhe."
My chest tightened. "I didn't think I'd ever hear your voice again."
"Neither did I," they said. "But you coming back… stirred things up."
"You said you know what I forgot," I said, cutting straight to it.
A pause. Long enough that my pulse spiked.
"You didn't forget," the voice said slowly. "You blocked it out."
Serafin leaned closer, listening.
"What?" I whispered.
"There was more that night," they continued. "More than what you remember. More than what you told anyone."
My mouth went dry. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because they're scared," the voice replied. "And when they're scared, they make mistakes."
"Who is 'they'?" I demanded.
"You already know," they said. "The people who cleaned it up. The ones who decided your silence was cheaper than justice."
My hands started shaking. "What did I miss?"
A sharp inhale on the other end. "You saw someone else."
The world tilted. "No. I was alone."
"No," they insisted. "You weren't."
Serafin frowned. "Ask who."
"Who?" I echoed.
Another pause. Then: "Someone who didn't want to be seen."
My heart slammed. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"
"Because you begged me not to," they said softly. "You said if you remembered everything, it would destroy you."
I squeezed my eyes shut. "That doesn't sound like me."
"It does," they replied. "When you're terrified."
The wind rattled the car—thud thud—as if punctuating their words.
"Tell me," I said. "Please."
"They were watching," the voice said. "Not from inside. From outside. From the trees."
Serafin stiffened.
"You told me you thought you imagined it," they continued. "That the shadows were just panic."
My throat burned. "I don't remember that."
"I know," they said. "Because the next morning, you told me you wanted to forget."
The call crackled—fzzzt—signal wavering.
"Who was it?" I asked urgently. "Who did I see?"
Another sharp breath. "I can't say it over the phone."
"Why not?" Serafin snapped.
"Because they're listening," the voice replied. "And because if I say it out loud, I'm dead."
My heart dropped into my stomach. "Then why call me at all?"
"Because you need to remember," they said. "And because if anything happens to me, you'll know why."
The line went dead—click.
I stared at the screen, chest heaving. "They're in danger."
Serafin's voice was tight. "So are you."
My phone buzzed immediately—BZZZT—a text from an unknown number.
Calls make people careless.
My blood ran cold. "They heard that."
Serafin grabbed the phone. "We're being tracked."
Another message followed.
Memory is a liability.
I laughed shakily. "They're afraid of what I might remember."
"And what you might prove," Serafin added.
I pressed my palms to my face, trying to steady my breathing. "I didn't just witness something. I saw someone else there."
"And that person matters," he said.
"Yes," I whispered. "Enough that they made me forget."
The wind howled louder—HOWL—trees bending and creaking around us.
My phone vibrated again—bzzzzt—this time a photo.
A blurry image. Taken from a distance.
Me.
Standing near the rest area.
My stomach lurched. "They're here."
Serafin scanned the tree line. "Get down."
We ducked low as a car passed on the road—WHOOSH—too fast, windows dark.
"They want me isolated," I said. "Confused."
"And dependent," Serafin replied.
Another text appeared.
You were never meant to remember alone.
I stared at the words, dread curling tight in my chest. "They're implying someone helped me forget."
Serafin's expression darkened. "Who?"
I swallowed hard. "I don't know."
The engine roared back to life—VROOOOM—as Serafin pulled us back onto the road.
My phone buzzed one last time—bzzzzt—a short message.
Ask yourself who told you to leave.
My breath caught painfully.
I looked at Serafin, fear and realization tangling together. "What if the reason I ran…"
"…wasn't entirely my idea," he finished quietly.
The road stretched ahead, twisting deeper into forest, sunlight fading beneath thickening clouds.
And somewhere between what I remembered and what I'd been told to forget—
The truth was waiting to be claimed.