She wakes in a place untouched by time, surrounded by faces that know more than they say. But when the past starts speaking louder than the present, Ava must decide whether to run or finally remember.
Darkness lifted slowly, like a heavy curtain pulled back from her mind. Ava's head throbbed, her limbs felt like sandbags, and the air smelled… sterile. Too clean.
She opened her eyes to a soft, white ceiling. No sounds. No machines. No beeping like a hospital.
She wasn't in her apartment.
She wasn't in a hospital either.
She was… somewhere else.
Ava sat up sharply, heart pounding. The bed was soft too soft. The sheets were white, the walls beige, the single window covered by heavy curtains. There was no clock. No phone. No noise outside the door.
Just stillness.
Then the door creaked open.
A woman walked in. Early sixties, perfectly poised. Her gray hair was pinned up, her steps measured like she was gliding rather than walking.
"You're awake," she said, as if she had been expecting her.
Ava's throat was dry. "Where am I?"
The woman didn't answer right away. She simply placed a cup of tea on the bedside table.
"You fainted," she said gently. "You're safe now."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Eleanor."
No last name. No explanation.
"I don't understand why am I here?" Ava's voice rose. "I need to call someone. My friend. My job"
"You're not ready to leave yet."
Ava froze.
"What does that mean?"
Eleanor sat on the chair across from her, eyes kind but unreadable.
"It means your soul brought you here. You're remembering faster than expected. That can be dangerous if it's not handled properly."
Ava blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You're Ava. But once, you were Isabella. And someone out there hasn't forgotten that."
A knock echoed at the door. Eleanor stood and opened it slightly. A man's voice whispered something. Ava couldn't hear.
But Eleanor glanced back at her and said quietly:
"He's here."
Ava's heart nearly stopped.
She didn't know if she should run or open the door herself.