The back room of the bookshop had never felt so quiet.
Ash sat opposite Elira at the old wooden table, his coat damp with rain, the scorched page between them like a secret neither could ignore. The rain continued its steady whisper against the windows, a soft percussion to the rising storm in Elira's chest.
"She died when I was ten," Ash said, his eyes fixed on the paper. "Or at least, that's what they told me. There was a fire. They said it was an accident. But there was no body. Just... ashes. I believed it for years."
Elira traced the edge of the burned page. The ink shimmered under the lantern light. "And then you found this?"
Ash nodded. "I found the first letter in a locked drawer at my grandmother's house. Then more followed — mailed to me, hidden in books, slipped into places I'd forgotten I'd ever been. Like someone was playing a game. A very dangerous game."
"Why give them to me?" she asked. "I don't even remember her."
"I think that's why," Ash said. "Because you're the only one who can finish it. The journal chose you."
Elira gave a shaky laugh. "Journals don't choose people."
"This one does," Ash replied. "It's not just ink and paper. It's alive in a way. It responds. It reveals. It remembers."
He reached out and gently opened the journal. The page it landed on was blank — until Elira's hand brushed the surface. Words bloomed like vines, curling across the parchment in Marian's looping handwriting.
> You're close now. But not close enough. Someone still watches from the smoke.
Elira's breath hitched. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," Ash admitted. "But she left these messages for someone. For you. Maybe even for both of us."
He leaned back, his fingers tightening around his mug. "When I found the third letter, it mentioned a girl. Someone I'd known when I was small. Someone I'd forgotten."
"A girl?" Elira asked. Her voice had a strange edge to it — curiosity tinged with something deeper. "What did it say?"
Ash reached into his pocket again and pulled out a folded scrap of parchment. He handed it to her. The paper was fragile, but the ink still burned dark.
> She will not remember until the fire touches her twice. But when she does, protect her. She's the last spark I have left.
Elira swallowed. Her vision blurred for a moment. A strange warmth coiled in her chest. "I used to dream about a boy. A paper flower. A library on fire. I thought it was nonsense."
"It wasn't," Ash said softly. "That was me. And that was real."
She stared at him. "Then what happened? Why did I forget?"
"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "But something — or someone — erased pieces of us. And I think that's what this journal is trying to undo."
Elira's hands trembled. "You really believe this thing is magic?"
Ash smiled faintly. "I believe memory is magic. And this journal... it remembers what we cannot."
The journal stirred again, another line etching itself onto the open page.
> Not all fires destroy. Some cleanse. Some reveal.
Outside, thunder cracked in the distance. A storm was coming — not just outside the shop, but between them, around them, within them.
Ash leaned forward. "You can walk away from this. You can pretend none of it is real. But if you stay... we finish this story together."
Elira looked at him, her eyes steady. "I'm not walking away."