Sarah's hands trembled, her diary quivering in them as she turned to the final page, the parchment so thin a breath could tear it. Moonlight poured over the words, illuminating Emily's lovely handwriting—now frantic, ink blurred as if written through tears.

"My dearest Thomas," it began, "if you're reading these words, then I'm dead and our love has been discovered. But this you should know: I would love you again in every life, no matter the cost."

Sarah's throat closed. The words blurred together as tears pricked at her eyes, the ink bleeding onto the page like open sores.

"They mean to set us apart. My brother has vowed to hang you if I do not spurn you come morning. But I shall not. I cannot. For my heart belongs to you since the moment our eyes met beneath the gallery, and death itself would not change it."

A cold wind swept across the room, lifting the edges of the page as if there were unseen fingers nudging her to read faster.

"I have hidden the proof of our love where you might least expect it—to look—beneath our hawthorn roots, where once you vowed your soul would wait for me. There you will find the letters we exchanged, the drawing you made of us, and the gun my brother employed to threaten you."

Sarah gasped. The gun. The same one they'd found, its handle still sticky with blood that had long since tarnished with time.

"If the universe is cruel and we are torn apart, promise me this: find me again. In another life, in another time. Look into my eyes and know me, as I shall know you. And when you do, break the locket open. What is within will set us free."

The final line was smudged, as though Emily had been interrupted mid-sentence. One drop of something black—ink, or blood—touched the bottom of the page.

Sarah shivered. The locket around her chest heated up, its metal strangely searing against her skin. She fought with the catch, her fingers slipping—

A board creaked behind her.

Lucas stood in the doorway, his face white under the dim light. In his hand, he gripped the old pistol, the barrel gleaming dully.

"It was on my porch," he panted. "Just now. Like someone had been and left it there."

Sarah's heart thudded. The last words of the diary reverberated in her mind. Break the locket open.

But just before she could utter a single word, the wind howled inside the house, slamming doors and rattling windows. The lights swirled, and in the darkness of chaos, a whispered voice caressed Sarah's ear—

"Hurry."

It was Emily's voice.