Rain bled into the earth as if the sky itself mourned. It fell in silence, steady and cold, beading against black umbrellas and pooling at the edge of polished shoes. The scent of wet grass and old roses soaked the air. Somewhere nearby, dirt hit wood with a dull, final thud.
Aria blinked.
The world felt... wrong. Too still. Too familiar.
Her vision cleared just enough to register the casket. Mahogany. Same silver trim. The lilies placed on top — white, almost bruised by the downpour. People stood around her, shoulders hunched, dressed in black. But their faces blurred, as if someone had painted over them in watercolor.
Her fingers clutched a trembling umbrella, the handle slick beneath her palm. A cold droplet slid down the back of her neck, chased by another, but she didn't move.
Then she heard it.
A voice—cracked, trembling.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, sister…"
Aria's head turned. Her uncle knelt beside the grave, his shoulders shaking beneath his soaked coat. His sobs were raw, almost childlike.
She knew those words. That voice. That exact tone. She had heard it before. Not in a memory — in her final breath.
Her throat tightened. Breath stilled. She looked back at the casket.
No.
It couldn't be.
She took a step forward. The mud clung to her heels. Another step.
A single word carved itself through her skull: Again?
A gust of wind caught her coat, snapping it against her legs. She didn't feel it. The cold wasn't outside—it was inside, building like a tide.
This was her mother's funeral. The same one she'd barely survived the first time.
Noel's bloodied face flashed in her mind. The crash. The screeching metal. Her body upside down, pressed against shattered glass.
So how… how was she standing here again?
The priest's voice droned through the rain. His words muffled like distant thunder.
"…return to the earth… and may light eternal shine upon her."
Aria's lips parted, but no sound emerged. She couldn't speak. Couldn't even cry.
The umbrella slipped slightly in her grip.
Then—
"Miss Moreau?"
She turned slowly. The voice was formal, clipped, unfamiliar.
A man in a black coat stood beneath a larger umbrella. Mid-forties, clean-cut, cold eyes. He held a white envelope in gloved hands.
"Your father expects your arrival tonight," he said, offering the letter like a summons.
She didn't take it. Not at first. Her gaze dropped to the envelope. Her name was handwritten on the front.
Aria Moreau.
So clean. So absolute.
She finally reached for it.
The envelope felt heavier than it should have. Her fingers trembled as she tucked it beneath her coat, her thoughts running in impossible circles.
Her father. The man who never called. Who let her mother rot in hospital debt. Who ruled from afar but never once spoke her name aloud in kindness.
He was alive. And waiting.
She wanted to scream. Or run. Or laugh, maybe.
Instead, her hand brushed her lips. A habit. A tether.
Her uncle's voice faded behind her.
A car pulled up along the gravel path.
Black. Polished. Familiar.
No...
It was the same model. The same shine. The same hum of the engine that once took her to her death.
The driver stepped out, face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat and raindrops. He opened the rear passenger door with the precision of someone trained to do it without emotion.
Aria stood motionless.
People began to disperse around her, retreating beneath umbrellas and whispered condolences. The world blurred, as if everything beyond the car no longer mattered.
Her heart beat once.
Twice.
I've been here before.
The realization hit like a breath she hadn't been allowed to take.
Everything was happening again.
But this time... she was awake inside it.
She stepped toward the car, slowly, her heels sinking into soft earth. The rain soaked through her collar now, but she didn't notice. The casket behind her might as well have belonged to a stranger.
Her hand touched the cold steel of the door frame.
A flicker of herself flashed in the tinted glass—wet hair clinging to her face, eyes wide but unblinking. She didn't look scared.
Just... haunted.
She climbed in.
And the door shut behind her with a soft, final click.