AURELIA’S POV

It was warm.

I wasn’t sure where I was—floating, maybe. Somewhere between a dream and the edge of a memory. There was music in the distance, soft and haunting, like a lullaby I’d once known. The air shimmered around me, golden and slow, and I walked barefoot through a garden that felt both familiar and foreign.

The flowers didn’t have names. They pulsed with light instead of scent. And the sky wasn’t blue—it was rose-colored like the last blush of dusk before ...