Chapter 15

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Chapter 15: Stranger in the shadow

The message on Isla’s phone burned in her mind like a brand. She read it again and again, chest tightening with a rising panic she couldn’t shake.

She left more than a will. You’re not the only one she marked. —E

That name. Ethan. The man she hadn’t thought about in years. Her mother’s second husband. The almost-stepfather who vanished without a word after the funeral, leaving behind silence thick with unanswered questions.

And now—he was back.

Her fingers curled tightly around the phone, knuckles whitening.

Christopher stirred beside her on the couch, the soft morning light casting a calm glow over his face. His arm was draped protectively around her waist, but the warmth she’d felt just hours before had slipped away, leaving a cold knot in her stomach.

He noticed her stillness. “What is it?”

Isla hesitated, swallowing the lump in her throat. “A message. From Ethan.”

Christopher sat up straight, tension sharpening his features. “What does it say?”

She held out the screen.

His eyes darkened. “He was close to Aurelia. Too close.”

“And to my mother,” Isla whispered, voice breaking. “He knew them both better than I ever did.”

Christopher rose, pulling on a shirt over his bare chest, his body taut with purpose. “We have to find him.”

“Why now?” she asked, the fear rising in her voice. “Why come back after all this time?”

He looked down for a moment, then met her eyes. “Because something woke him.”

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Later, Isla stood in front of the bathroom mirror, fingers brushing her face as if trying to convince herself she was still here, still grounded. But the reflection staring back wasn’t quite hers. It was a woman changed—bruised by secrets, haunted by obsession, marked by a fire that refused to die.

The one who came before you never left.

The words from Aurelia’s letter echoed in her mind like a ghost whispering through the years.

Her fingers traced the spot on her collarbone where Christopher had kissed her earlier. The memory of his touch throbbed beneath her skin, raw and alive—the dark promise they had both tried to deny but couldn’t.

And now, Ethan—the ghost from a past she thought was buried—threatened to unravel everything. To dig up graves they had both tried so hard to avoid.

She stepped out of the bathroom and found Christopher already on the phone, his voice low and sharp.

“I want eyes on him,” he said. “Whatever name he’s hiding behind—Ethan Vale, Ethan Rowe—track them all.”

He hung up and looked at her.

“You didn’t sleep,” he said.

“Neither did you,” she replied.

They stood there, the weight of unsaid words thick in the air.

“Do you regret it?” she finally asked.

He looked like he wanted to lie but didn’t.

“No,” he said quietly. “But I hate that it’s only made things worse.”

Isla moved closer, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t come here for you, Christopher. I came for answers.”

He nodded, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “And now you have even more questions.”

They stood there, almost touching, as if any more closeness would break them both open.

Then she said, “What if Aurelia left something behind neither of us was meant to find?”

He froze. “What do you mean?”

“Ethan said she marked others. My mother. Maybe even him. What if this isn’t just about death? What if it’s about how she lived?”

His jaw tightened. “Then we need to know everything. Fast.”

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That night, Isla went to the storage unit Aurelia had kept locked away—her secret archive, even Christopher had never seen it.

She had discovered it years ago, by accident, when she was sixteen and chasing down a lie. Her mother had warned her away, saying Aurelia’s past wasn’t hers to inherit. But here she was, once again, sifting through the shadows.

The air smelled of cedar and forgotten memories.

Photographs hung on the walls, faded newspaper clippings, hand-drawn maps, and files piled on shelves. There were sketches of a house Isla didn’t recognize.

In the center of the room stood a tall, ornate mirror—silver-framed and old, like it belonged to another time.

She stepped forward, heart pounding.

In the glass, she didn’t see herself.

She saw her mother.

Then, for a heartbeat, she thought she saw Aurelia.

And then the reflection was empty.

Isla gasped and stepped back, nearly stumbling. The mirror’s surface was cold to the touch—unnaturally cold.

Behind it, tucked away in the wall, she found a small velvet-lined box.

Inside, a single photograph.

Ethan

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Standing next to Aurelia.

A child she was holding.

But it wasn’t Isla.

The child had Christopher’s eyes.

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