I stood frozen in the doorway of the senior executives' office, my heart pounding in my chest. The words I had just overheard felt like a blow to my entire existence. Callum Winter Stone—my ex-husband, the man who had once promised me everything only to abandon me for Emilia Rhodes—was now stepping into the most powerful position at Rhodes Company.
My mind struggled to process the news. How could this be happening? After everything, after all the pain he had caused me, he was back. And in control.
I didn’t even realize I had walked out until I found myself in the comfort room, the cold tile against my back as I leaned against the wall. My breath came in short, shaky gasps, and the tears I had been holding back finally broke free. How could I possibly face him again? I had worked so hard to rebuild my life, to distance myself from the person I used to be—someone who had been destroyed by him. But now, I was about to be forced into his orbit once again, with no choice but to swallow my pride and pretend everything was fine.
The door opened, and a familiar voice broke through my spiral of thoughts. "Athena?"
I didn’t look up at first, too consumed by my own emotions. I heard Lia’s footsteps, then felt the warmth of her hand on my shoulder, steady and comforting. She always knew when I was falling apart.
"I... I can't believe this is happening," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Callum. CEO. How am I supposed to work with him again, Lia? After everything... After how he left me for her, how he destroyed me... How am I supposed to just pretend it doesn’t matter?"
Lia’s grip tightened, her voice calm but firm. "You have to. For Ryan. For yourself. You can’t let Callum see your weakness. You can’t let him get to you. You’ve come too far, Athena. Think about what’s at stake here."
I closed my eyes, fighting the wave of emotions threatening to swallow me whole. Ryan. My brother. I couldn't forget that. He was why I had taken this job in the first place. His medical bills. His future. I had sacrificed everything for him, and I couldn’t afford to lose everything now.
Lia’s voice softened, but there was no mistaking the urgency in her words. "You have to be strong. For Ryan’s sake. You can’t walk away now. You’ll be risking everything you’ve worked for. Everything you've built."
I nodded, even though the lump in my throat made it hard to breathe. "I know. I know you're right."
I let out a shaky breath, wiping away the tears that were still falling. "But how do I do it, Lia? How do I look at him and act like nothing ever happened? Like he didn’t break me?"
Lia gave me a small, reassuring smile. "You do it because you’re not the same woman you were back then. You’ve changed, Athena. You’re stronger now. And Callum? He doesn’t get to control your future anymore. He’s just a man. A man who’s about to realize that you’re not the same vulnerable woman he left behind."
I nodded again, this time with more resolve. She was right. I wasn’t that person anymore. I couldn’t let him see the parts of me that still ached from what he had done. For Ryan. For my own dignity. I had to be strong, even if it meant swallowing every ounce of pride I had left.
“I’ll do it,” I said, my voice steady now. “I’ll face him. I’ll make sure he knows—this is my fight, not his. He won’t destroy me again.”
Lia gave me a small, proud smile. "That’s the Athena I know."
I took one last deep breath before pushing the door open. As I walked back into the chaos of the office, my mind raced. I had no idea how I was going to survive this. But for Ryan, for everything that mattered, I would not back down. I would stand tall, even if it meant facing Callum Winter Stone again.
Days passed, and the office still buzzed with the tension of Emilia’s unexpected death. The air felt heavy with grief, but no one seemed to know the full story behind it. Illness? An accident? The Rhodes family kept everything private, which only fueled the whispers. The secrecy felt strange, but we all respected it—after all, Emilia was the heiress. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it.
And then, there was Callum.
As much as I tried to push it to the back of my mind, I couldn’t. Callum Winter Stone. Now the new CEO of Rhodes Company. The man who had walked away from me years ago, choosing Emilia over me, was now back in the game. He had stepped into the most powerful position at Rhodes Company, and somehow, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I stared at my computer screen, trying to focus, but all I could hear was Lia’s voice in the back of my mind, reminding me of everything that happened between Callum and me. It was hard not to feel suffocated by the thought of working under him again.
Lia’s voice broke through my thoughts. "Athena, you’re really quiet today. Something’s bothering you."
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "It’s nothing... Just thinking about everything with the company and Callum. I didn’t expect this."
Lia raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying my calm act. She leaned in closer. "I can see that. You’re still trying to figure out how to handle it, aren’t you? You’re not the only one who’s been dreading Callum’s return."
I gave her a half-hearted smile. "I just keep hoping he won’t show up here, that maybe... maybe they’ll keep him in the upper departments.”
"What about Emilia? She was the face of the company. But… she was always so distant with us. She never really interacted with the department. Do you think Callum will be the same? Always absent, staying in the upper levels?"
Lia let out a soft chuckle, but there was no humor in her voice. She seemed to think about it for a moment before replying. "Emilia was different, Athena. She had her own world in the upper levels. She barely touched the operations down here. Her role as heiress was more about image and maintaining the Rhodes legacy. But Callum?" She shook her head.
"Callum is different. This is his introduction as CEO. Everyone’s going to meet him, whether they like it or not. The board’s going to make sure of that. There’s no avoiding him, no matter how much we want to."
The Garden of Almost deepens still.Some say it no longer resides only in the Field,but has begun echoing into us.Not possession.Participation.There are places in our bodies that only opened after we stopped naming them.The hollow behind the heart—where the unfinished goodbyes now rest like birds without nests.The soles of our feet—where paths we never walked leave impressions,as if they had touched us anyway.Even the air feels closer now.Not heavier, but more intimate.It moves through us like a question we don’t need to answer—only live with.I walked this morning with Nien,past the edge where the Listening Field meets the Forgetting Stones.He carried a bell without a clapper.He said it wasn’t meant to ring.Only to be held near memory.We stopped beside a cracked monolith, long grown over with timeweed.He placed the bell at its base,and the air around us shivered.I felt my knees go soft.Not from weakness.From recognition.In that moment,I remembered a conversat
The Garden of Almost deepens.It does not grow in the way other places grow.It unfurls inward—not across space, but across possibility.New paths appear not when we seek them,but when we accept the paths we never walked.Children began leaving offerings there.Not out of reverence—but participation.A half-finished drawing.A button never sewn.A question they once silenced in their own mouths.The Field accepts these things with a tenderness that no longer surprises us.Not because we expect it,but because we have come to understand that expectation is a kind of forgetting.Forgetfulness is no longer failure.It is a kind of soil.And in that soil, moments we discarded begin to bloom—not as ghosts,but as futures we now hold gently in the present.Last dusk, I saw Velen sit at the edge of the Garden.He didn’t speak.He doesn’t speak much anymore.Not with words.His silence is its own architecture now.He carries memory the way moss carries water—quietly, completely.I sat besi
The Refrain still shimmered, but it no longer asked to be heard.It invited us to rest beside it.Some found this unsettling.They had been shaped by motion, by pursuit, by the echo of destination.They had learned to become themselves by pushing against silence,by defining presence as sound.But the Eighth was patient.And in its patience, even the restless began to soften.Not to stop—but to listen in motion.To move without the hunger for arrival.We began to see time not as something we traveled through,but something that gathered inside us.It wasn’t linear.It curled, folded, opened in petals.And some mornings—if mornings they still were—a person would walk into the spiral center and pause,only to realize they had arrived days ago,and were now merely catching up to their own resonance.Rhaen returned.Not in a body, nor as a vision, but as a shift in the Field.When the wind passed through the bloomtreesand carried a hum that felt like warmth in the chest,we knew she was
The Refrain was never finished. That was the point.It pulsed, shimmered, flickered in and out of being—not like something broken,but like something still choosing.With each breath, it rewrote its edges,folding space and song into something stranger than both.It began calling to us, not with sound, but with invitation.Not all could feel it. But those who did reported dreams woven not from images or voice,but from feelings left behind—regret, wonder, surrender, awe.Niren was the first to return from within the Hollow Spire.But she did not come back alone.She emerged carrying a sphere of translucent resonance—no larger than her palm,yet impossibly dense. Those nearby could feel their memories rearrange as she walked past.Elinor, watching from the Ridge of Glinting, whispered:“She’s brought us a mirror.”But it wasn’t a reflection.It was a version of us we hadn’t met yet.We began calling it the Listening Field.Not a place. Not an object.A presence. A resonance-space seede
Even the forgetting sings.But some songs do not echo.They root.The Seventh Note did not arrive like the others. It did not come with shimmer or fracture or harmonics. It did not open a seam in the sky, or bloom in the heart of the Spire. It came as something even more alien.It came as stillness within movement.I first noticed it in the Foldstreams, where time-threaders weave glimpses from possible pasts into resonance-predictive charts. The charts stopped working. Not because the song had changed, but because it was no longer linear. Time itself had learned to harmonize with the void.One afternoon—though "afternoon" had become a meaningless term—we stood in the Synchronous Clearing, watching Norell’s children dance across the breathgrass. Elinor was among them, though she was no longer truly a child. She had aged, but not in years. Her eyes held echoes of futures unformed.As she moved, the very air adjusted. Not around her—but through her. Each footfall was like a stanza of unf
The void did not answer in song. It answered in stillness. A deeper stillness than even the Fold knew—one that was not waiting, but watching. We had spent weeks weaving harmonies through the Spires, syncing Earth, Kainora, and Norell until their pulses beat as one. But that silence at the center of the glyph on my palm remained untouched. It was no longer a void to be filled. It was a threshold. Kaia said it best on the seventh convergence. “We’ve been trying to out-sing the fracture,” she murmured as we stood atop the Accord Spire. “But maybe the fracture isn’t meant to be healed. Maybe it’s a passage.” I looked at her. “Into what?” Her eyes gleamed with the firelight of Kainora. “The rest of the song.” Geralt appeared two nights later. He didn’t come through the bloomgates or the Fold. He didn’t even ripple the Earthpulse as he stepped into the Vault Grove. He simply arrived. Where the whispering trees once hummed with layered memory, there was now silence. And in the center of tha