The front door creaks open, and there she is—ten years older, maybe ten times more fragile, but unmistakable. Grace. My Grace. She doesn’t look up at first, just sets down the leather-bound archive box and smooths her coat like she’s bracing for cold wind.\n\nI haven’t seen her since I was seventeen, since the summer she vanished without a word. Now she’s back to catalog my father’s old study, of all things. As if they’d trust her with our secrets again.\n\n‘Mr. Alden,’ she says, voice steady, eyes lowered. Not Aydan. Never Aydan.\n\nMy chest tightens. ‘You can call me Aydan, Grace. You always did.’\n\nShe flinches—just slightly—and finally meets my gaze. And in that moment, I see it: she remembers everything. But she’s decided to pretend otherwise.\n\nI take a slow step forward. 'Why did you really come back?'