Peter pulled the chair closer to my bed, Chloe scooted in beside him, Liam stayed near the window, arms crossed but gaze soft, and Edward awkwardly stood at the foot of the bed like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to sit or salute or just… run.
For a few seconds, there was just silence. Thick, humming, electric.
"I think," Chloe said finally, "we owe Edward the full story."
Peter nodded grimly. "No more half-truths."
Edward raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Good. Because half-truths got me thinking I was hallucinating for two weeks."
Liam smirked under his breath. "You'll wish you were hallucinating by the end of this."
Chloe shot him a look. "Not helping, Liam."
I squeezed Chloe's hand weakly and turned to Edward. He deserved the truth. All of it.
"Edward," I started slowly, my voice still rough around the edges, "there's something… wrong with me. And maybe Peter. And Liam. And Chloe too, kinda, because she's stuck in this mess with us."
Edward looked from me to Peter, then to Liam, and back again, eyes wide like he was witnessing some underground cult confession.
"Years ago—or maybe lifetimes ago," I continued, "there was a girl who looked exactly like me. And a boy who looked exactly like Peter. Something horrible happened to them. And now... we're somehow connected to that past. It's bleeding into our present."
"Bleeding being the operative word," Edward muttered, clearly remembering the way my eyes had bled.
I gave him a grim smile. "Yeah. Turns out, when you carry the memories—or the soul—of someone who lived a hundred years ago, weird stuff happens."
"And powers," Peter added quietly. "Emma's… changing. She's stronger. But it hurts her."
"Telekinesis," Chloe whispered. "Visions. And maybe more we don't even know yet."
Edward looked at me with a mix of awe and horror. "You're like… a haunted Marvel character."
I actually laughed, a weak, cracked sound. "That's one way to put it."
"So what now?" Edward asked, voice lower. "What does this mean for you?"
Peter's jaw tightened. "It means she's in danger."
"It means we're in danger," Liam corrected, glancing at the window like he half-expected someone—or something—to break through it.
"And it means," Chloe added, squeezing my hand, "we need to find out everything about who Emma was. And who's after her now."
Edward rubbed his face with his hands. "Wow. I just thought I was signing up for, like, normal teenage drama when I became friends with you guys. Not ghost wars."
Peter chuckled under his breath, but his eyes stayed serious. "You can still back out if you want, Edward. You didn't sign up for this."
Edward looked at me then. Really looked. And despite everything—the blood, the fear, the impossible truth—he smiled.
"Not a chance," he said. "If this is the kind of crazy you're dealing with, then you're gonna need someone to keep you grounded. And, you know, mildly sarcastic."
A lump formed in my throat. For once, I didn't even try to blink it away.
I just nodded, feeling the warmth of their loyalty wrap around me tighter than any hospital blanket could.
Peter exhaled slowly, tension easing from his shoulders. "Then it's official," he said. "We're in this together."
"Team Traumatized," Liam quipped.
"Team Awesome," Chloe corrected, elbowing him lightly.
I smiled faintly, letting my head fall back against the pillow.
For a few moments, the darkness that had been clawing at the edges of my mind felt… smaller. Manageable.
I wasn't alone.
And whatever nightmares waited for me—whatever battles or memories or monsters—I had a team now.
I had them.
As I drifted into sleep again, their voices followed me, low and steady, weaving into my dreams like a shield.
And somewhere deep inside, past the broken bones and bleeding powers, hope sparked back to life.
Maybe… just maybe…
this story wasn't over yet.
It was just beginning.
The next three weeks at the hospital passed in a strange, slow kind of magic.
It started small.
First, I could lift my fingers without feeling like my bones were made of glass. Then my neck, my arms. My body, once a battlefield of bruises and pain, started listening to me again, piece by stubborn piece.
And my face...
God, my face.
I turned... pink.
Not just a little blush here and there—no. My cheeks bloomed cherry red almost constantly, like someone had airbrushed roses across my skin. Nurses would giggle and call me "Miss Springtime" when they thought I couldn't hear. Chloe said I looked like a doll that had come to life. Even Mom started pinching my cheeks whenever she visited, laughing like I was a miracle she could hold in her hands.
But inside, I was still heavy.
Because no matter how much my body healed, some wounds... they didn't go away with stitches.
And one of them was home.
---
The day the doctor finally cleared me to leave, everyone clapped like I'd won an Olympic medal. Chloe brought balloons. Edward brought cookies. Peter showed up wearing a stupid crown and declared me "Queen of Survival."
It should've been perfect.
But when Mom suggested quietly that we head back home... something inside me recoiled.
Home didn't feel like home anymore.
I couldn't explain it properly.
It wasn't the walls or the furniture.
It was something deeper. Something rotten that lived there now.
The memories.
The fear.
It was like my own house had soaked up the terror of what happened to me—and if I went back, it would all come rushing back too.
Peter offered his place next, his voice all soft and careful.
But the thought of his house made my throat close up.
After all... that was where they'd found me.
Half-dead.
Broken.
Barely breathing.
Even if Peter would be there, even if he'd guard me with his life—it didn't matter.
The house itself felt poisoned.
I just couldn't do it.
Chloe's house was ruled out too.
Too many people. Too much noise. No privacy.
Edward offered, bless him, but his three devilish siblings had "chaos" practically written on their foreheads.
And that's when Liam stepped forward.
Simple. Calm.
Just a soft, "You can stay with me."
No hesitation. No grand speech.
Just an open door.
---
And that's how I ended up back at Liam's mansion.
But this time, it was different.
I wasn't surprised.
I'd already been here before—back when everything was spiraling, back when Liam had sat with me and made the world stop spinning. I already knew about the marble floors, the sparkling chandeliers, the endless gardens.
But everyone else?
They walked in and just... stopped.
Mouths open. Eyes wide.
Mom gasped so loudly I thought she might pass out.
Chloe spun around in circles, whispering, "What even IS this?!" under her breath.
Even Edward, who claimed he wasn't impressed by "rich people stuff," kept poking random furniture like it might dissolve if he touched it.
And Liam?
He stood next to me, hands tucked in his pockets, hiding a small, proud smirk.
"You all look like you just walked into Narnia," I teased.
Mom elbowed me, but her eyes were still practically glued to the gold inlays on the walls.
"Emma," she whispered, "you didn't tell me he lived in a palace."
I shrugged, grinning. "You didn't ask."
Liam chuckled quietly under his breath, and for a second, it felt like the air between us crackled, light and sweet.
---
The room they prepared for me was beautiful—soft blues and creams, giant windows flooding the space with sunlight. The bed was so big I could get lost in it. There was even a little balcony overlooking the gardens, where fireflies already floated like tiny stars.
Best of all, Chloe would be staying in the same room, sleeping on the giant daybed by the window.
It felt... safe.
Warm.
Like a fresh chapter I hadn't realized I needed.
---
That afternoon, while we were still unpacking, Peter arrived.
He practically burst through the doors, holding the biggest bouquet I'd ever seen. Wildflowers, peonies, tiny white baby's breath—colors exploding in every direction.
"For the strongest girl I know," he said, cheeks pink as he handed them to me.
And—of course—my own cheeks exploded into crimson fire.
I hid my face behind the flowers, mumbling a thanks.
Chloe swooned dramatically onto the bed like an extra in a soap opera.
Liam watched the whole scene unfold from the doorway, arms crossed, an amused little twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Peter stayed for a while, telling jokes, teasing Edward about losing a bet and having to wear a tutu at school (long story), and somehow managing to make everyone laugh so hard my sides hurt.
But when he left—after giving me a long, careful hug—it was just me, Liam, and Chloe (who passed out almost immediately after from too much cake).
The house settled into a soft, golden kind of quiet.
---
Later that night, after dinner, Liam sat on the edge of my bed, bouncing one knee up and down nervously.
I leaned my head back against the pillows and watched him.
"Liam?"
He looked up instantly.
"Why doesn't Maria Grace live here with you anymore?"
The question hung heavy in the air.
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable.
Like he'd been waiting for someone to ask but hoping no one would.
"She used to," he said finally, voice low. "A long time ago."
I didn't say anything. Just waited.
"She wasn't just a teacher. She was... something else. She knew things. About my family. About... old things. Things that scared my dad."
He swallowed hard.
"When he found out, he kicked her out. Made it clear she was never welcome again. She didn't argue. She just left."
"But she still comes around," I said quietly.
He nodded. "Yeah. For me. Not for him."
I stared at him. At the tension in his shoulders. The way he kept twisting the ring on his finger.
"You trust her?"
He looked at me then—really looked—and for a moment, the guarded Liam slipped away, leaving only the boy underneath.
"I trust you," he said.
"And she's helping you. That's enough."
The butterflies in my stomach practically exploded into fireworks.
Without thinking, I reached out and took his hand.
He froze for a second.
Then curled his fingers around mine like he'd been waiting for it forever.
"Thank you," I whispered.
His thumb brushed gently over my knuckles.
"You don't have to thank me," he murmured. "You're... you."
There was a beat of silence so thick I thought I might drown in it.
"I'm scared too," he admitted, voice barely a whisper.
"But if you fall..."
He squeezed my hand tighter.
"I'll catch you."
And right then, under the soft golden lights, surrounded by the scent of wildflowers and old secrets, something fragile and beautiful wove itself between us.
Something I wasn't ready to name yet.
But something real.
Something worth fighting for.