“The hardest battles aren’t fought with swords—they’re fought within your mind.”
Amelia awoke to sunlight streaming through her window, her heart pounding. The dream had been so real. She and Amalina, no older than ten, had been sitting on a porch, laughing as they painted each other’s faces with bright colors.
But she knew it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Could it?
---
“Morning,” Thomas said, leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee.
Amelia barely looked at him, her mind elsewhere. “Thomas… did I ever tell you about a porch in my childhood?”
He frowned. “No. Why?”
“I…” She hesitated. “I keep seeing things. Like memories. But they’re not mine—or at least, I don’t think they are.”
Thomas’s expression darkened. “It’s the timeline. It’s rewriting itself, and it’s pulling you into the cracks.”
“Cracks?”
Thomas set his coffee down. “Reality isn’t holding up, Amelia. I noticed it yesterday—look.” He held up his watch, the second hand ticking backward.