The phone kept ringing.Jayden fixed his eyes on it, frozen, while sunlight poured across his bare feet. A warm blanket lay over his legs. The air smelled like laundry soap and toast.He was alive.He tore up his shirt and searched his ribs for the wound. Smooth skin. No blood. No scar.His heart slammed against his chest.The phone buzzed a fourth time. He swallowed, pressed the green button, and held it to his ear without saying a word."Jay?" Summer's voice sounded bright and impatient. "Hello? Are you there?"His fingers tightened until the phone creaked.It was the same voice that had whispered goodbye."I'm here," he managed hoarsely."Finally. Listen, I'm at Dana's. I had way too much wine, so I'm taking a taxi home. Don't leave yet, okay? I need to talk to you about the weekend at my parents' place.""Okay.""Okay? That's it?" She laughed. "You sound weird. Are you sick?""I'm fine.""Whatever. Be home soon. Love you."She hung up.Love you.Jayden sat very still. Then he laug

Jayden did not go to work.He sat in his car at the end of the block with the engine off, watching the entrance of his own building through the windshield. His hands were steady. His stomach was not.He had called Hank and told him he was sick. Hank had cursed for a full minute and then, grudgingly, told him to get some rest.Twenty minutes later, Summer walked out of the building.She had changed into a tight black dress and her good heels. Her hair was curled, her lipstick fresh. She did not resemble a woman running to her mother's house or her father's restaurant.She dressed like a woman going on a date.She did not glance back at the apartment. She did not check her phone for messages from her husband. She did not even glance at the window where he usually stood and waved.She simply left, as if the place had already stopped mattering.She slid into the white coupe. Jayden waited three seconds, then started his car and followed.He remembered the day he had found her messages. It

The red cloth was soft with age.Jayden lifted it out of the box with both hands, the way a person carries something that might wake up. It was heavier than it appeared. Slowly, he unwrapped the folds.A pendant lay in his palm.It was jade, the color of deep water, about the size of a walnut. It was smooth as a river stone, with a thin silver loop at the top and a cord so old that it had frayed to threads. A tiny crack ran down one side.That crack was the reason his mother had always called it lucky."A flaw means it's been through something," she used to say. "And it still holds together."He turned the pendant over. On the back, in lines so fine he had never noticed them as a child, was a pattern of small circles joined by a single curving line. It resembled a constellation.Or a map.He ran his thumb across the carving, and the stone felt warm. Not warm like a rock left in sunlight. Warm like skin."That's not possible," he whispered.He set it on the carpet and pulled his hand a

Summer's voice floated down the hall."Jay? Are you home?"Jayden slipped the pendant into his pocket and shoved the box back onto the shelf. He had about five seconds. He closed the closet door, smoothed his shirt, and walked out with the calmest face he could manage.Summer stood in the doorway with a small overnight bag over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed, and her mascara was slightly smudged."There you are. Why are you sitting in the dark?""I was resting my eyes.""Weird." She walked to the counter and dug through a drawer. "I forgot my charger. Dana's party is going late, so don't wait up.""Okay."She found the charger and turned. Then she hesitated, tapping the cord against her palm."Actually, Jay, I need a favor."Here it comes, he thought."Dana's friends are going to a club tomorrow, and I need a new dress. Can you transfer me two thousand dollars?""No."Summer blinked. "What?""No," Jayden repeated, in the same gentle tone. "Use your own money."The room went ver

Jayden did not move.Behind the bathroom door, the tap ran again. Summer's voice dropped lower, too soft to catch. He stood in the living room with his hand wrapped around the pendant in his pocket, and for the first time since he had woken up in this life, he wanted to kick down a door.He did not.Instead, he walked quietly out of the apartment, closed the front door without a sound, and drove to a stationery shop across town.Rule one, he reminded himself. Trust no one.He bought a thick black notebook with a hardcover and a ribbon marker, the kind a man buys when he plans to keep records for a long time. Then he sat in a quiet café with a mug of coffee and a pen.The first page stayed blank for ten minutes.He had thought it would be easy. He had lived through it, after all. But memory was a strange animal, and when he tried to grab it, it ran.He closed his eyes and let himself remember the night the sky turned red.It had begun as a smear of pink above the rooftops, thin as a br