Back to the Future

The plush comfort of the bed was familiar, yet utterly wrong. Sophie Foster reached instinctively for Keefe, but her hand met only empty sheets. A gasp escaped her lips, the silence of the room amplifying her confusion.

Keefe never woke before her, especially not in their home. Panic began to prickle, a strange, disjointed feeling that something was deeply amiss. She opened her eyes, and the world snapped into sharp, terrifying focus. This wasn't their bedroom. This was her old room, back at Havenfield, teenage posters still adorning the walls.

Bolting upright, she scrambled from the bed, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She burst from the room, only to collide with a solid, familiar chest. Looking up, her eyes met Sandor's stoic gaze. Her former bodyguard. A fresh wave of disbelief washed over her.

"Miss Foster, are you alright?" Sandor asked, his voice calm, yet edged with concern.

Sophie forced a bright, fake smile. "Yep, everything's perfect!" she chirped, spinning on her heel and darting back into her room. She raced to the mirror, her breath catching in her throat at the reflection staring back: her 16-year-old self.

"What the fu—"

"Sophie!" Edaline's voice cut through the air as she walked in, concern etched on her face. "Sandor said you were acting weirdly. If it's the nightmares, we can get you some slumberberry tea tomorrow night."

"No! I'm fine, I'll be down for breakfast in a couple of minutes," Sophie replied, her mind racing. As Edaline left, she grabbed a tunic and leggings, dressing quickly, a desperate plan forming.