He stepped into the light of the foyer.

My heart stopped.

It was Ethan.

His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his dark coat was soaked with rain.

He didn’t look at me.

Instead, he turned back toward the open doorway, holding the heavy wooden door for someone else.

A woman stepped into the warm light of our foyer.

She wore a long, emerald-green wool coat.

Water dripped from her hem onto the polished hardwood floor.

She pushed back her hood, revealing a pale face framed by silver-streaked hair.

I gasped.

Her eyes were the exact shape and color of the ones in the old photograph I had found in the attic.

“Rose,” Daniel whispered beside me.

The woman looked at Daniel, her lips forming a sad, tight smile.

“Hello, Daniel,” she said.

Her voice was low and carried a raspy edge, like someone who hadn’t spoken much in years.

She turned her gaze toward the staircase.

Aunt Claire was frozen on the landing, her hand gripping the banister so hard her knuckles were white.

“You’re dead,” Claire whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind.