As the little girl began to slip away, Avery’s heart tightened with a sudden urgency she couldn’t ignore. Without thinking, she moved swiftly after her, weaving through the boutique’s quiet aisles as Riley’s shout echoed dimly behind her. Every step felt charged, time stretching thin as Avery’s eyes searched every corner for the child’s small frame. Finally, at the edge of a softly lit hallway, she reached out and gently but firmly grasped the girl’s shoulder, halting her escape.

The girl stood and slowly turned to meet Avery’s gaze. Their eyes locked, the depth of the girl’s silent stare pressing heavy on Avery’s soul. In that instant, a flood of memories crashed over her—from the strange encounter near the editor’s office yesterday to the vague, unsettling warnings that had whispered in her ear. The little girl’s presence was no longer just a coincidence; it was something more urgent, more profound. Avery’s breath hitched as a swirl of questions, nervousness, and determination churned inside her. The boutique’s soft music and warm light faded into the background as Avery’s focus narrowed to this fragile, unexpected connection.

“This is not a coincidence,” Avery said firmly, her eyes locked onto the little girl. “Why are you following me?”

The girl crossed her arms, matching Avery’s intensity perfectly, a small smirk playing on her lips. “You were the one who followed me here,” she shot back effortlessly. “Were you that curious?”

“Curious of what?” Avery asked, trying to sound steady but feeling a strange unease creeping over her.

The girl’s smile deepened. “Curious of what the universe might do since you refuse to change the ending of your book.”

“I bet you were worried last night.” The little girl added.

The words hung in the air, chillingly accurate. Avery’s eyes widened in disbelief. How did she know? Had the girl been watching her? Spying on her?

Avery’s mind raced as she took a step back, her heart pounding. What was this girl—some kind of ghost or a figment of her imagination? How could she know so much, see so deeply into Avery’s fears? The universe was playing a game she didn’t understand, and for once, Avery felt utterly small, caught in something far bigger than herself. She realized maybe it was time to stop resisting—to face whatever story fate had already written.

Avery’s thoughts spun faster with every second. Maybe this girl was more than just a stranger—maybe she was a part of Avery’s own story, a messenger sent to warn or to challenge her. Had Avery really ignored all the signs? The idea that she’d been fighting fate all along felt exhausting yet strangely liberating. Maybe it was time to stop running and finally rewrite the ending, even if it meant facing things she dreaded most.

The little girl’s smirk faded into a more serious expression. “You think you’re the only one who’s worried, Avery? The universe doesn’t like being ignored. Your story isn’t just yours—it belongs to everything around you.” She stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with quiet power. “If you keep running from the ending, things will break. Maybe they already have.”

Avery’s eyes widened, her breath catching as the weight of the girl’s words sank in. A storm of fear, doubt, and reluctant hope stirred inside her. She felt exposed, vulnerable, like a fragile thread holding a much bigger tapestry together. Yet, beneath the fear was a flicker—maybe she truly could change the story, or at least face it head-on.

But then stubbornness crept back into Avery’s eyes, hardening her gaze as she stared down the little girl. “The universe—or whatever you want to call it—can do their worst,” she said with fierce defiance. “Because I’m not changing a thing. This is my book, my story, and I get to write whatever I want. I’m not taking orders from an eight-year-old brat.”

The girl’s lips curled into an evil smile, darkness flickering in her eyes like a warning flame. “Then be ready,” she whispered, voice low and chilling, “to face everything that comes when you refuse to bend.” The air around them seemed to thicken, charged with a sudden, otherworldly tension, as if fate itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next move.

Riley’s sudden voice broke the heavy silence like a stone thrown into still water. Avery flinched, her heart pounding as she slowly turned around—only to see Riley staring at her with a mix of confusion and concern, eyes searching as if trying to piece together a puzzle. But when Avery glanced back, the little girl was gone—vanished into thin air like smoke disappearing in the wind. “Where did she go?” Avery wondered silently, her mind racing but her lips sealed tight.

Riley took a cautious step forward, closing the space between them. Her voice softened, almost gentle, but edged with suspicion. “Who were you talking to?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. Avery swallowed hard, suddenly feeling out of place, as if she’d been caught in a secret moment that wasn’t meant for anyone else to witness.

“Remember the little girl I told you about yesterday?” Avery began, voice barely above a whisper. “I saw her again.” Riley’s brow furrowed in disbelief, one hand resting on her hip as if ready to challenge the idea.

"So, you followed an eight-year-old kid?” she asked slowly, skepticism dripping from every word. Avery shook her head, voice steady despite her racing heart. "I was talking to her, just before you came.”

Riley’s eyes scanned the empty air, clearly seeing no one but hearing a strange story she couldn’t quite understand. “I didn’t see anyone. You were talking to yourself,” she said, half teasing, half worried. But Avery’s voice grew firmer, resolute.

“I wasn’t talking to myself. I was talking to her. She came to tell me about my book—and something about the universe again.” Riley blinked, caught off guard by the strange phrase.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked gently.

Avery forced a laugh, trying to mask the weight of what she felt deep inside. “Of course I’m fine,” she replied quickly, though her eyes betrayed doubts she wasn’t ready to admit. Riley studied her a moment longer, then raised an eyebrow.

“So there’s this little girl who keeps warning you to change the ending of your book, or else the universe will be angry?”

Avery nodded slowly, the stubborn fire flaring again inside her. Without looking away, Riley shrugged. “Then why make such a fuss? Just change the ending of your book.” The casual tone couldn’t hide a flicker of disbelief—and maybe hope—that Avery would choose the easier path.

Avery’s chest tightened as a wave of frustration rolled over her like thunderclouds gathering just before a storm. She pressed her lips into a firm line, eyes burning with the fierce, unyielding pride that had pushed her through countless sleepless nights pouring her soul into the pages of her book. “That’s exactly it,” she said with a sharp edge, voice low and made heavier by exhaustion. “Changing the ending means rewriting everything—the late nights, the heartache, the everything. I’m done with it. The book’s finished. I’m sending my copy to the editor next week, no matter what.”

Her gaze snapped up to Riley’s, challenging, almost daring her to argue. But Riley’s look was a mixture of knowing and concern, tinged with a teasing smirk that hinted she wasn’t convinced. “You know,” Riley said slowly, her tone playful but unmistakably spot-on, “I think it’s not the book talking. I think it’s your pride that’s shouting the loudest.”

Avery’s voice was tired but firm as she said, “Let's just go home, I lost interest in shopping.” Riley glanced back, puzzled.

“Why?” she asked, quick to follow behind. Avery hesitated briefly, then muttered,

“That little girl just spoilt my mood.”

The two walked side by side, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Trying to shift the mood, Avery asked, “When are you meeting your dad?” Riley glanced at her watch and answered,

“By 1:30.” Avery nodded, noting the time.

“It’s almost 1:30.”

Riley offered, “I’ll go when I escort you home.” Avery shook her head.

“You can go from here, you don’t want to be late.” Riley raised an eyebrow in concern.

“Are you sure you can go home alone?”

With a teasing smirk, Avery joked, “What am I, ten?” but Riley’s voice softened with care.

“I just want you to get home safely.”

As they stepped out of the building and headed for Avery’s car, Riley reminded her, “Make sure you call me when you get home.” Avery rolled her eyes and teased,

“You’re acting like my mum right now.”

Before starting the car, Avery added, “Make sure you text me when you’re done meeting with Dad.” Riley smiled warmly,

“I will.”

Avery drove off, the tension easing as the car disappeared down the road. From a shadowed corner, the little girl watched them both, a slow, evil smirk curling on her lips—her eyes gleaming with hidden plans.

* * * *

Avery’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as exhaustion gnawed at her bones after a draining day, when she came back from the boutique she decided to go see her editor to know how far the publishing of her book has gone. The night air hung heavy and thick, muffling the world outside like a dark velvet curtain. The streetlights flickered weakly, casting trembling shadows over the wet asphalt that gleamed under their faint glow. Her eyes, heavy and bleary, strained to pierce the darkness, tracing the curves of the road ahead that seemed to twist endlessly into the unknown. The rhythmic sound of the tires whispering against the slick surface was the only constant, a fragile reminder of movement through the silence.

Suddenly, without warning, a blinding, searing light erupted ahead—pure, white, and impossibly bright. For a terrifying moment, it felt like the sun itself had exploded behind the horizon, flooding her vision with an unbearable glare. Time seemed to fracture, stretching infinitely as the light invader swallowed all sense. Her heart pounded wildly, a frantic drumbeat that thundered in her ears, drowning out even the crunch of gravel beneath her tires. The world spun madly; colors blurred and twisted as every nerve screamed for control she no longer held.

She slammed on the brakes, but the road had become a slick, treacherous mirror reflecting the violent light, and the car betrayed her, skidding and fishtailing in wild arcs. The night’s cold breath turned icy as the vehicle twisted in a dance with inevitable disaster. The edges of her vision darkened, shadows creeping inward as the bright light clawed at her sanity, stealing the warmth from her skin. Screeching tires, distant shouts, the echo of metal against metal – all faded into a haunting silence just before everything went black. The world vanished, swallowed in a void deeper than sleep, leaving only the thunder of a shattering moment etched forever in her mind.

* * * *

Avery’s eyes fluttered open, her vision blurring at first, then sharpening to reveal a solemn, tightly packed crowd surrounding her. Each face was etched with raw emotion—tears streaming silently, eyes wide with worry, lips trembling in quiet sorrow. The people wore clothes from a distant past: women in layered hanboks with delicate silk jeogori tops and flowing skirts in muted blues, soft greens, and pale creams, their hair braided or pinned with ornate hairpins made of jade and wood. Men stood nearby in simple but dignified tunics and baggy pants tied at the ankles, their expressions a mix of grief and anxious hope.

The air was thick with an earthy scent—damp wood smoke, the faint musk of old stone, and something like ancient incense burning somewhere nearby. Lantern light flickered gently, illuminating wrinkled hands held close together in prayer and casting dancing shadows on rough wooden beams and stone walls. The murmurs of mourning and whispered prayers wrapped around Avery like a heavy cloak, filling the quiet night with a sacred, almost palpable sadness. Her chest tightened as she struggled to breathe, overwhelmed by the surreal blend of compassion, fear, and yearning radiating from the crowd.

Avery’s breath hitched as she slowly turned toward the woman next to her, a sorrowful figure whose quiet sobs shook her frail frame. The woman’s face was a map of anguish, tears carving red trails down pale cheeks, her hands trembling as they clutched a faded cloth to her chest. The sight sent a wave of unease crashing over Avery, deepening the pit of confusion swirling inside her. She searched the faces pressed close around her—each stranger wore expressions carved from grief and fear; none offered a hint of recognition or comfort. Their eyes, wide and haunted, seemed to carry stories of pain Avery couldn’t piece together, as if she had slipped unknowingly into a moment frozen in time.

Around her, the crowd’s whispers blended with the gentle rustle of traditional hanbok fabric and the distant crackle of lantern flames, creating a symphony of sorrow that pressed heavy on her heart. Avery’s mind raced, desperate to understand where she was, what had happened, and why she was surrounded by this sea of mourners who looked like ghosts from a distant century. The faces blurred into one another—grim, pale, etched with silent tears and trembling lips, a tapestry of loss she couldn’t escape. Her throat tightened; a cold sweat broke over her skin as her thoughts spiraled in the silence between soft cries.

She wanted to call out, to speak, to find even one familiar voice — but fear froze her tongue. The deeper she looked, the greater the alienation, as if she had been stripped of everything familiar and thrown into a shadowed past she didn’t belong to. The woman’s bitter weeping pulled at Avery’s chest, a raw human ache that suddenly made the world feel unbearably heavy and still. It was a grief that was more than just sorrow—it was a weight of history, pain, and things lost beyond repair.

Avery’s hands trembled at her sides. Her mind screamed for clarity; her heart thudded wildly against ribs that felt too tight. Where was she? Who were these people? And most hauntingly—how would she ever find her way back?

Avery’s voice was barely a whisper as she muttered, “Where am I?” Her body trembled as she tried to sit up, but a searing, sharp pain shot through her chest, forcing a scream that echoed through the room. The sudden noise startled everyone nearby, and all heads snapped toward her. Time seemed to freeze as they locked eyes on Avery—her eyelids flickering open like a ghost awakening from a long sleep. The sheer shock was written across every face; some gasped, others stared as though witnessing a miracle. Whispers rippled through the crowd, questioning if what they saw was even real.

“It can’t be... this is a miracle". An elderly man murmured, eyes wide with disbelief.

His appearance was unlike anything she has ever seen—his clothing reminiscent of a physician’s robe from the early Joseon dynasty, flowing and intricate, as if he had stepped out of history itself.

"Maya". The woman besides her knelt, tears streaming down her face, clutching Avery tightly. “My baby,” She sobbed, voice trembling, “I knew you wouldn’t leave me.” Her cries echoed the depth of hope and despair mingled in the moment.

The crowd remained frozen in awe, unable to comprehend the impossible: someone who had been declared dead was breathing, alive again. Murmurs spread like wildfire—“The dead have come back to life,” they whispered anxiously, eyes darting between Avery’s pale, fragile face and the silent disbelief surrounding them.

Each second stretched, charged with disbelief and wonder, as if the laws of nature had been rewritten before their very eyes. Faces blurred with a mix of awe, fear, and joy, the impossible now undeniable.

Avery’s voice was barely a whisper as she muttered, “Did I die?” A strange haze clouded her mind, the only clear memory being a blinding, radiant light before the crash—bright and engulfing, almost like a gateway. But now, she wasn’t in a hospital bed, not surrounded by machines and doctors, but somewhere unfamiliar, silent yet heavy with unspoken secrets. Questions swirled inside her head like a storm. How was she here? If she had died, why was her body still aching? Where was Riley—the Riley she knew—and where was her mother? Panic clawed at her chest, but before she could answer herself, a sharp, stabbing pain erupted on her side.

Instinctively, she reached for the source of the pain, her trembling fingers tracing over a rough bandage wrapped tightly around her ribs. Her heart pounded hard. This wasn’t the dull ache one might expect from a car accident; it felt like she had been stabbed, as if a hidden wound lurked beneath the surface—something no one had told her about. Did something else happen during the crash? Was there a secret injury she wasn’t aware of? Fear mixed with confusion as the memories refused to come, locked away behind a veil of uncertainty.