They pulled into a narrow strip of older stores. A laundromat hummed at one end. A small grocery with sun-faded posters guarded the other. Between them, tucked like a secret, was a purple door with gold lettering:
**Madame Zara – Readings & Insight.**
Hadley killed the engine with a flourish. "We've arrived at your destiny. Please tip your driver in coffee and eternal gratitude."
"Or just coffee," Aislinn said, unbuckling. "You're already overpaid."
Hadley looped her arm through Aislinn's. "Let's go, my marked one."
"Don't call me that in public."
"Too late."
A small bell chimed when they pushed open the door.
Warmth wrapped around Aislinn like a shawl. The air smelled of incense and something floral, threaded with a hint of spice. Lamps with colored shades cast pools of ruby and amber across shelves crowded with crystals, candles, decks of cards, small glass bowls filled with polished stones.
Hadley exhaled dramatically. "Oh, this is perfect. If a black cat walks through that curtain, I'm moving in."
"Please don't get us cursed," Aislinn murmured.
"Sorry, we're past that," Hadley whispered back. "You've been branded. You're leading lady material now."
"Stop saying haunted things with your happy voice."
Before Hadley could answer, the beaded curtain at the back parted with a soft clatter.
The woman who stepped through looked as if she belonged to the room. Dark hair, liberally threaded with silver, fell in a loose twist. Her face was lined, not harshly but like paths worn by years of expression. Her eyes were startling… dark, sharp, assessing.
Those eyes landed on Aislinn.
Stayed there.
"You booked an appointment?" the woman asked, voice low and smooth.
"I did," Hadley said, lifting her hand. "For her." She nudged Aislinn forward. "She's the one with the… thing."
"Excellent introduction," Aislinn muttered.
The woman's lips tilted up. "I am Zara." Her gaze softened, never leaving Aislinn. "You are the one the mark of fate."
"Okay, that's not creepy at all," Hadley whispered, delighted. "Ten out of ten. I love her."
Aislinn shot her a look. "Please don't encourage the mystic."
"You came here voluntarily," Zara said calmly. "On some level, you are ready to listen."
"She came here semi-voluntarily," Hadley said. "I may have emotionally blackmailed her with muffins and shame."
Zara's eyes flicked briefly toward Hadley. "You are the noise around her. Necessary, but not the point."
Hadley put a hand to her chest. "I have never felt so seen and so insulted at the same time."
"Hadley...," Aislinn hissed.
"What? She's not wrong."
Zara gestured toward a small round table near the back, draped in dark cloth. A single candle burned at its center, steady and unflickering.
"Sit," Zara said gently. "Let us see what the spirit speaks."
Aislinn sat, feeling strangely like she'd walked onto a stage play she hadn't rehearsed for. Her palms were slightly damp. Her heart hadn't quite slowed down since the bathroom.
Zara took the chair across from her, folding her hands loosely on the table.
"Your name?" she asked.
"Aislinn."
Zara nodded once, then looked at her hands. "Show me."
Aislinn hesitated, cheeks warming. It felt silly now, under the weight of Zara's gaze. Silly… and unnervingly real. She turned her left hand palm-down.
The bruise ring was darker in the candlelight, a clear circle around her ring finger, like a shadow pressed into her skin.
Zara's eyes sharpened.
"You did not injure this," she said quietly. "You woke with it."
Aislinn swallowed. "How did you…"
"Because it sits too precisely," Zara said. "In the place where vows rest." Her gaze flicked up. "And because it is not a bruise."
Hadley, lingering by a shelf of crystals, made a soft, muffled sound that was ninety percent *told you so* and ten percent awe.
"If it's not a bruise," Aislinn asked, voice low, "what is it?"
Zara studied it for a long moment. When she spoke again, her tone dropped, words careful and deliberate.
"A promise written on skin," she said. "A ring with no metal. A bond that has already been made… somewhere you do not yet remember."
Aislinn's mouth went dry. "That's…"
"Awesome," Hadley breathed. "That's awesome. Please continue. I'm taking emotional notes."
Zara ignored her. "You have been dreaming," she said to Aislinn. "Of someone who feels like yours but is not and it there but not here."
Aislinn's breath stuttered.
Images flickered at the edge of her mind, warmth at her back, a low voice, the sensation of being held too firmly and not minding at all.
Not Matt.
Matt's memory hurt in a soft, familiar way. This… hurt in a new way altogether.
"I…" She stared at the candle, flame steady and bright. "I've had weird dreams. That's all."
Zara's lips curved slightly. "Dreams are how the soul remembers what the mind has forgotten."
"That's the creepiest greeting card I've ever heard," Hadley whispered. "I want ten."
Zara glanced over. "If you cannot be quiet, you may wait outside."
Hadley slapped a hand over her own mouth, eyes wide and sparkling over the top of it.
Zara returned her attention to Aislinn.
"You stand at a crossing," she said. "One life behind, another not yet lived. You think you are alone. You are not." She reached out, hand hovering over Aislinn's marked finger. "May I?"
Everything in Aislinn wanted to pull back and say no.
Instead, she nodded.
Zara's fingertips brushed lightly over the shadow ring. Her touch was cool and careful, not pressing, only resting.
The bruise tingled.
Warmth pulsed under it again, that same slow wave, like someone wrapping invisible arms around her from behind. For a heartbeat, the memory of Matt's embrace and this new sensation overlapped, then separated, sharp and distinct.
Matt's arms had been love.
These arms were… certainty.
Zara lifted her other hand and gently touched the center of Aislinn's forehead.
The candle flame leapt.
"Do not be afraid," Zara murmured. "You are only seeing what is already yours."
The world dropped away
***
Sunlight warmed her face.
Aislinn blinked and found herself standing in a wide green park, the sky a clear, impossible blue. The scent of cut grass and something sweet carried on a soft breeze. Laughter rippled from somewhere in the distance, children, dogs, the soft hum of ordinary joy.
Her heart was already pounding like she'd been running.
She knew this place. She didn't. Both felt true.
"Hey, Beautiful."
The voice came from behind her, low, rich, threaded with a smile.
Every nerve in her body went still.
She turned.
He stood a few feet away, framed by sunlight.
Tall. Taller than Matt had ever been. His shoulders, broad beneath a simple shirt. His posture, easy, as if he was completely comfortable in his body and in this moment. His face was there and not there, blurred at the edges, features refusing to sharpen no matter how she tried to focus.
But she felt him.
Felt the shape of his presence, the weight of his attention, the way the air seemed to lean around him.
Her chest loosened and clenched all at once.
She'd never seen him before. She was absolutely sure of that.
And yet, on some deep, bone-level, she knew him.
The sound of his voice sank into her, as familiar as her own name.
Beautiful.
He walked toward her, each step slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world and had already decided to spend it with her. The world around them blurred a little more with every inch he closed, the trees smearing at the edges, the other people fading into nothing but vague color.
He stopped close enough that she had to tilt her head back slightly to meet the impression of his gaze.
Heat rolled through her.
He smiled, she couldn't see every line of it, but she felt it, and the scene shifted without warning.
They were on a blanket in the grass now.
She didn't remember sitting down, but her body knew it had, her muscles relaxed in that specific way of having already been here for a while. A picnic basket sat between them, half-open, food scattered in the comfortable chaos of shared distractions.
She was laughing.
She heard it, her own voice, lighter than it had been in years, tumbling out at something he'd said. The sound made something inside her ache.
He said something else, quiet and teasing, and she leaned closer without realizing it.
His hand moved.
Not in a grab. Not a possessive clutch. Just a simple shift, his fingers resting lightly on her thigh, just above her knee, warm through the denim of her jeans.
The touch stole the rest of the air from her lungs.
Matt's hands had been gentle, tentative in their early days, always careful. This touch felt… sure. Grounded. Like he knew exactly how much pressure to use to keep her there without trapping her.
Not forceful. Not hesitant.
Just *certain.*
Her pulse hammered.
Her gaze dropped, almost desperate for somewhere safe to land, and caught on the flash of silver at his right hand.
A ring.
It circled the middle finger of his right hand, a band of cool metal etched with intricate detail. She couldn't see the edges of his knuckles clearly, but the ring stood out in sharp focus.
Celtic. Her mind supplied the word without permission.
A triquetra, interlaced, three arcs woven into one. Around it, smaller knotwork patterns curled, tiny and delicate, yet masculine, making it unlike anything she'd ever seen in a store.
Unique. Chosen.
Remember this, something inside her whispered.
Her heart beat harder. The mark on her own finger seemed to hum in response.
His thumb stroked just once over the top of her thigh, a slow, absent-minded motion, like he was memorizing her there.
Heat curled low in her belly. The sensation of him, his warmth beside her, the weight of his hand, the ring catching the sun, burned itself into her.
She dragged in a shaky breath and looked up.
His face still refused to come into focus. She could make out the general lines, the strength of his jaw, the shape of his mouth, the shadow of stubble, the hint of eyes watching her with an intensity that made her want to either run or crawl into his lap.
Probably both.
Her heart knew him.
Her body knew him.
Her mind had no idea who he was.
The scene stuttered, the edges of the world rippling like heat waves over asphalt.
For a heartbeat, things sharpened, the weight of his hand, the ring, the warmth of his thigh pressed along hers.
He leaned in slightly, shadows deepening around them.
"Beautiful," he said again, softer this time.
The word wrapped around her like those phantom arms in the bathroom, solid and warm and inescapable.
It didn't feel like a compliment.
It felt like a statement, beyond an endearment.
Aislinn's breath stilled in her chest.
The park shimmered, colors draining, the sound of laughter stretching and then snapping like a string pulled too tight…
and everything around her began to fracture into light.