Elara Song knew better than to fix things. She was a restoration archivist for the city’s oldest libraries, a woman who spent her days mending torn maps and rebinding broken spines. But her own life? That was a book she’d long since sealed shut.

“We can’t fix the past,” Samir said softly. “But we can stop running from it.”

He’d said, “Then wait for me. Seven years. I’ll come back.”

“There,” she whispered. “Now it’s part of the story.”