Rain whispered across the train window like a lullaby Arden Vale had long forgotten. It blurred the outside world into impressionistic swaths of grey and green-rural England's sleepy landscape smeared into memory. Every mile the train crawled brought her closer to Winmere, a town that once held her roots and her ruin.
Her seat was near the rear of the carriage, where the hum of the train was louder, where she could feel a slight tremor in the floor beneath her boots-something grounding. She clutched a paper cup of coffee, its heat already fading, and stared at the leather-bound notebook beside it. She hadn't written in weeks. Words used to pour out of her like breath. But ever since that night-that one night-her words had stayed buried, like bones in soil.
The intercom crackled. "Next stop, Winmere. Estimated arrival: eighteen minutes."
She shut her eyes.
Winmere.
A town where loyalty was currency, and betrayal left bodies in its wake.
Her brother, Jamie, had trusted the wrong people.
And Arden had trusted Cole Merrick.
She hadn't seen him since the trial. Since he took the stand and dismantled her family with clinical detachment and careful words. Since the day he looked her in the eyes and chose duty over her.
The train jolted as it passed over an old bridge. She opened her eyes.
And froze.
He was sitting across from her.
Cole!
He hadn't changed in the way most men did. He was older, yes-his jaw sharper, his frame broader, shoulders carrying weight they hadn't five years ago. But those eyes were the same: storm-gray, unreadable. A man who'd once kissed her like salvation and testified like a stranger.
He looked just as shocked to see her. But only for a heartbeat.
"Arden," he said, voice low and steady.
Her heart kicked once, hard, then steadied.
"Of course," she murmured. "It would be you."
He tilted his head slightly. "Didn't expect to see you back."
"I'm not back," she said, turning to the window. "I'm passing through."
"Winmere's not the kind of place people pass through."
She turned back to him slowly. "You're not the kind of man people forget. But I managed."
A beat passed. Tension coiled in the air like a live wire.
"I heard about your mum," he said.
She stiffened. "She's stable."
"I meant I'm sorry."
"I know what you meant." She leaned forward. "But you don't get to be sorry, Cole. Not anymore."
He looked down at his hands-those same hands that had once memorized her like scripture. "You still blame me."
"I do." She didn't hesitate. "You had a choice. You made it."
"She was dying," he said quietly. "If I hadn't testified-"
"My brother might've had a chance," she snapped. "But you saved your job. Saved your career. And left Jamie in a cell."
Cole's jaw clenched. "He was guilty, Arden."
"No," she said. "He was a scared kid in the wrong place. But you made him a criminal to keep your conscience clean."
Their voices had risen. A few heads turned. She lowered hers, biting back the urge to hurl the coffee at his chest.
"He wasn't innocent," Cole said, voice lower now, tighter. "But he wasn't what they made him either. I tried-"
"No," she cut in. "You tried to look noble while you watched us burn."
A long silence hung between them.
"You still write?" he asked finally, nodding toward the notebook.
She closed it gently. "Not about you."
He gave a soft, bitter laugh. "Didn't say you did."
Outside, the rain slowed. A flash of countryside rolled past-golden fields sodden from the storm. Somewhere in that blur was the river where they used to meet in secret. The house with the blue shutters where they made love on a thunder-filled night. The pub where he promised forever.
She had burned it all down. Or maybe he had.
"I never stopped thinking about you," he said suddenly.
Her breath caught. She didn't look at him. Couldn't.
"You should've," she said.
"I tried."
The train began to slow.
"Next stop: Winmere."
She stood, grabbed her suitcase.
Cole rose too. "Let me walk you to the taxi."
She stared at him. "You think we're just... picking up?"
"No," he said. "I think we never put it down."
She stepped back. "Then you're still lying-to both of us."
He didn't follow her down the aisle. Didn't push.
But she felt his eyes on her until the doors hissed open and she stepped into the mist and memory of Winmere.
The past was waiting.
And it smelled like fire and rain.
The cold hit her first.
Not the bite of rain or wind, but the chill of memory. It coiled around her spine as she stepped onto the platform, dragging her suitcase behind her like a coffin she couldn't leave buried. Winmere was smaller than she remembered. Or maybe she had just grown too far away from it.
The taxi rank was nearly empty, save for a silver Vauxhall idling at the curb. Arden turned to wave it down-and stopped.
Cole was already there, holding the rear door open.
She glared. "You can't be serious."
"It's raining," he said simply. "It's a long drive up to Hollow Creek, and there's one car. I'm offering to share."
She hesitated. The thought of sitting beside him again-trapped in a small space, breathing the same air, close enough to see the faint scar on his jaw-was a gamble she didn't know if she had the cards for.
But the wind whipped colder now, slicing across her cheek like old resentment.
"Fine," she muttered, brushing past him.
They slid into the backseat together, wordless. The driver asked the address and pulled away.
Minutes passed. Arden watched water trace the glass, her reflection beside his-two people stitched into the same pane but facing different lives.
He broke the silence.
"I didn't want to testify."
"Then why did you?" she asked, still staring out.
He was quiet for so long, she thought he wouldn't answer.
"Because I thought if I told the truth, it would fix something," he said at last. "I thought truth was enough."
She turned to face him. "And is Jamie fixed, Cole? Is my mother's silence fixed? Is what we were-what we could've been-fixed?"
His eyes flickered with something like pain. "I never stopped loving you, Arden."
She exhaled a sharp breath. "You don't get to say that now. Not after you chose the system over me. Over him."
"I chose what I thought was right."
"No," she said. "You chose what was easy. What looked righteous. But truth without loyalty is still betrayal."
The car curved around the bend where the cliffs dropped off into the sea. Waves crashed far below, violent and beautiful, just like them.
She leaned her head against the window, closing her eyes.
"I hate that I still feel something when I look at you," she whispered.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
The tension in the car said everything-five years of silence collapsing between them like a house struck by lightning.
She hadn't come back for this. She hadn't come back for him.
But now, fate-cruel and persistent-was throwing them together again.
And this time, the fire between them wouldn't wait to fall.