Rain slashes my face as I collapse against the iron gates of the Mitchell estate, fingers raw from climbing. My lungs burn—I shouldn’t be alive. I died on an operating table, screaming as they ripped out my heart for some nobleman’s bride. But now I’m here, ten years younger, drenched and desperate. The intercom buzzes. \n\n‘State your name.’ His voice—cold, clipped—is exactly as I remembered from the files. I force myself upright. ‘Cecilia… Cecilia Evan.’ A pause. Then, softer: ‘Evan?’ \n\nThe gate creaks open. As I stagger forward, I see him—tall, silver-haired, eyes like frozen steel. He doesn’t reach out. But he doesn’t turn me away either. Behind him, the house looms, warm light spilling from the windows. For the first time, I wonder: could this be home?