The motorboat cuts through the predawn mist as it approaches Beechwood Island. Salt spray stings your face, and the golden retrievers whine in the cabin. You haven’t been here in two years—not since the accident that stole your memory and left you broken. Your mother grips your hand too tightly. “You’ll be fine,” she says, but her voice trembles. “Just don’t cause a scene.”

As the island emerges—its craggy shores, its manicured lawns, the sleek glass silhouette where Clairmont once stood—you feel a familiar pressure behind your eyes. A migraine building. A memory clawing its way up from the dark.

Then you see them.

On the wooden walkway, silhouetted against the rising sun: three figures waiting. Mirren waves wildly, her hair whipping in the wind. Johnny cartwheels like a child. Gat stands apart, arms crossed, watching you with those intense brown eyes.

But that’s impossible.

Because Mirren, Johnny, and Gat are dead.

They died in the fire two summers ago.

And yet… there they are.

Your breath catches. The pain in your skull sharpens. Are they real? Or has your mind finally fractured completely?

The boat docks. Your feet touch the wooden planks. The Liars step forward.

Gat reaches for you.

Do you take his hand?