Darcy closed the door behind him with a soft click and leaned against it, exhaling through his nose. The air in the room was still, hot, and humid. He crossed to the balcony door and pushed it open, letting the cool breeze drift in. Then he sat behind the desk and pulled out a blank sheet of paper. He turned the pen in his fingers for a long moment before finally pressing it to the page.
The first words came haltingly, unevenly scrawled: Things that are different in this life.
He stared at them for a second before he began writing down what he remembered from this life, the key moments that had shifted.
Most of his life had followed the same path as before. The same classes, the same struggles, the same desperate need for money. Until that night, Micah appeared.
Darcy's pen paused. His throat tightened.
This was where things began to change.
