What does this mean?

"Let it guide you."

Alaric's words barely left his lips before something inside Samantha snapped loose — gently, like a string finally cut from tension.

She closed her eyes.

The world slipped.

Her breath stilled.

And then — nothing.

No wind. No sound. Not even her own heartbeat.

Just silence.

Until—

FLASH.

A woman, tall and fierce, in a flowing white gown. Her presence screamed romance-novel heroine — windswept hair, bare feet skimming water, eyes like stormlight. She looked like someone who belonged in a world with lords and war and whispered prophecies.

FLASH.

Alaric — standing beside a massive tree, the very one Samantha had seen so often in her dreams it felt burned into her bones. Its roots twisted into the earth like ancient fingers. Alaric was younger in the vision, less guarded. He was smiling.

FLASH.

A golden dagger. Beautiful. Cruel. Its blade shimmered like sunlight caught in blood.

FLASH.

A girl — Samantha? — running. Heart pounding. Something chased her through fog, but it wasn't fear that drove her — it was memory.

FLASH. FLASH. FLASH.

Flickers of places she had never been.

Voices she had never heard.

Emotions too big to belong to this single lifetime.

Her head spun. Her chest tightened.

It was all too much. Too fast. Too—

Silence.

The visions stopped.

Her knees nearly buckled. She gasped like someone pulled from deep water.

Ron steadied her before she hit the ground.

"Hey, hey — you good?"

His voice was distant, muffled. Like he was reaching through a wall.

Samantha blinked, heart racing, mouth dry. The clearing looked the same — but she didn't feel the same.

Those weren't just visions.

They were louder. Deeper. Too vivid to be dreams or tricks.

They were...

Memories.

But not from this life. Not from now.

Her voice came out rasped. "Those weren't visions."

Everyone turned toward her.

"They were memories. My memories. But... from where?"

No one answered.

She turned toward Alaric — ready to ask — but something shifted inside her. A tug. A thought surfacing like an air bubble rising from deep water.

Her gaze darted to M instead.

"That day. By the riverside."

M didn't speak.

Samantha continued, slower now, every word like pulling a stone from mud.

"I thought I saw Ron. That's the only reason I even spoke to him after. I chased him down at school. That… that wasn't him though. I knew it wasn't him. I realise it all over again, just now."

Her voice dropped.

"It was you."

M's expression didn't shift, but the silence that followed was confirmation enough.

Ron turned sharply. "Wait — what now?"

Samantha's eyes never left M. "You pretended to be him."

M nodded once. "Yes."

"But why?" she asked. "Why appear as Ron? Did you know this would happen?"

He hesitated for a moment. Then, quietly:

"I'm going to be very honest with you. I assumed you would never speak to him again."

Ron's face twisted. "Well thanks, I feel great about that."

M continued, "I needed a familiar teenage face to approach you. Like I said, his presence here isn't a mistake — but it's definitely an anomaly, because he was unaccounted for."

He looked at Ron now, the first time with anything close to apology.

"I happened to catch a glimpse of you earlier that day. She was about to jump into the water. I panicked… and morphed. I didn't think it was time for her to see me just yet."

Samantha blinked. "How did you even know his name?"

"It was easy to find out," M said. "Like I said, I saw him earlier. That's what his peers called him."

Ron looked somewhere between flattered and deeply, deeply unsettled.

"That is… wildly uncomfortable," he muttered.

Samantha, however, stood taller.

"It sounded ridiculous," she said slowly, "but it makes sense now. I'm not crazy. I did see you. Just not him. You pretending to be him."

She let out a small, humorless laugh. "I told everyone I saw Ron that day. Everyone acted like I'd imagined it. But I was right. I was always right."

She turned to M, deadpan. "You made me look really crazy, M. I hope we never find ourselves in that situation again."

"I'll do my best," he said softly.

And somehow, that was enough.

She breathed easier.

Then — she turned back to Alaric.

"Those things I saw," she said. "They seemed like memories. But they weren't mine."

Her eyes searched his — trying to make sense of something that refused to sit still in her chest.

"Whose were they? What's all of this supposed to mean?"