Kael didn't sleep.
He lay in bed next to Rin, listening to the rhythm of her breath as the sky shifted from black to gray. His fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the pillow. The phone still sat facedown on the nightstand, as if ignoring it would stop it from vibrating again.
Detective Juno Kade.
A name he hadn't seen in years. A name tied to silence, to graves, to the sound of earth being shoveled over love.
He finally got up, careful not to wake Rin, and padded barefoot to the kitchen. The city outside his window was starting to hum. Cars. Morning light. Distant voices.
He stared at his phone for a long moment… then tapped "Call Back."
"Kael."
Kade's voice was the same. Dry. Controlled. Tired.
"You called," Kael said, no warmth in his tone.
"I didn't want to do this over the phone," Kade said. "But if I didn't call, I wasn't sure you'd believe it."
Kael leaned against the counter. "Believe what?"
There was a pause. Then:
"She's alive."
Silence. Not the kind Kael knew—the kind that empties your chest and bends time around your spine.
"You said…" he swallowed hard. "You said the DNA—"
"We were wrong."
Kael didn't remember the ride to the precinct. Just the rush of clothes being thrown on, the slam of the door, the ache in his hands gripping the steering wheel.
Now he stood in the hallway outside Kade's office. His heart pounded like it was chasing him.
The door opened. Kade stepped out, holding a folder. Gray suit, red eyes. A man who had seen too many cases that didn't end like this.
"You okay?" Kade asked.
Kael didn't answer.
Kade sighed. "Didn't think so. Come in."
Inside the office, the walls were lined with old case files and photos. The coffee on the desk had gone cold. A small portable fan hummed in the corner. The only other person in the room—a woman in her forties with kind eyes and a quiet clipboard—nodded at Kael and stepped out. No words. Just space.
Kade closed the door behind her.
"She came in through a hospital ER in Queens five months ago. Malnourished. Broken wrist. Severe dehydration. Wouldn't speak for weeks. But when she finally did… the first thing she said was your name."
Kael sat slowly. His legs felt like paper.
"Where is she?" he asked.
"Boston Medical. Trauma recovery wing."
"Why didn't you call sooner?"
"She begged us not to. She wasn't ready. Not until now."
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. Kael stepped into the clean, quiet halls of Boston Medical's fifth floor. The receptionist at the nurse's station, Dana, gave him a gentle glance and pointed down the hall.
"Room 509," she said, her voice low and kind. "She's expecting you."
Kael nodded and moved slowly, like each step was heavier than the last.
His fingers hovered over the doorknob for a long time.
Then he turned it.
She was sitting on the bed.
Her hair was shorter now, falling just below her chin. Her frame thinner. Shoulders smaller. But the moment she looked up—
"Kael?"
Her voice cracked on the last syllable like it hadn't said his name out loud in years.
Kael froze.
He didn't remember breathing. Or blinking. Or moving.
But suddenly he was at her side, and she was staring at him like he might disappear.
"You're here," she said.
"You're real," he replied.
They didn't touch. Didn't cry. Didn't fall into each other's arms like a movie.
They just looked.
For the first time in five years, they looked—and all the pain, silence, survival, and screaming settled between them like dust.
"I waited," Amara whispered. "I didn't think you would."
Kael's throat tightened. "I buried you."
"I know."
"I saw your body."
Amara flinched.
"They told me it was you," Kael said. "DNA. Necklace. Journal. All of it. I didn't question it."
"I would've believed it too," Amara said softly. "They took everything."
"Who?" Kael asked.
She paused. Her eyes dimmed.
"He said I smiled at him once," she whispered. "Back in school. Said I made him feel seen. That I must've known he was broken. He said I belonged to him after that."
Kael's fists clenched.
"He watched me," she continued. "For years. He knew where I lived. What I drew. Who I loved."
She looked up. Straight into Kael's eyes.
"He knew about you."
Kael couldn't breathe.
The hospital room was suddenly too small. Too bright. Too quiet.
He stood and took a step back. Then another.
Amara didn't reach for him.
She just said, "I'm not asking you to stay. I just… I needed to know if you'd still see me. As me."
"I don't know what I see," Kael whispered.
"I'm not who I was."
"Neither am I."
Silence.
Then Kael nodded once and walked out of the room.
That night, Rin sat alone in their apartment. The TV was on, but muted. Her phone screen showed a text she hadn't opened yet.
From Kael:
I saw her.
She stared at the words. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She just whispered:
"I knew you'd come back different."