Celeste woke to her phone buzzing on the nightstand.
She didn't want to move. Her body was still tangled in the sheets, warm from sleep, and Damien's arm rested loosely over her waist — heavy, grounding. Outside, the sky was still a pale pink. Soft. Safe.
The buzzing didn't stop.
She groaned and reached for the phone, expecting spam or maybe some delayed message from a number she no longer cared about.
But when she saw the name on the screen, her stomach dropped.
Leon.
She stared at it for a second. Her breath caught.
Then she answered.
"Hello?"
"Where are you?"
His voice was sharp. Not angry — urgent.
Celeste sat up, untangling from Damien gently. "Why?"
"I need to talk to you. In person."
She hesitated. "Leon—"
"It's important," he cut in. "I know who you are."
Her heart skipped.
Silence stretched.
Then: "Come back. Now. Please."
She didn't answer. Just ended the call and stared at the screen.
Damien stirred behind her. "Everything okay?"
She didn't turn around. "Leon called."
He sat up. "What did he want?"
"He said… he knows who I am."
The words felt heavier out loud. More dangerous.
Damien didn't react at first. He just looked at her — really looked at her. Then he nodded slowly, thoughtful.
"You gonna go?"
"I don't know."
He stood, grabbing a hoodie and walking over. "You don't owe anyone an answer right now."
"But if he's telling the truth—"
"You still don't owe anyone anything," Damien said gently. "Not even him."
She looked up at him, eyes searching his.
"What do you think I should do?"
"I think," he said quietly, "you should choose your peace. Not your guilt. Not your past. Just… your peace."
Her throat tightened.
She glanced down at the phone again, Leon's name still glowing in her call history.
Two roads.
Two lives.
And only one of her.