Emma's POV
When ghosts return, they don't knock.
They just breathe your name through the phone.
"Emma?"
That voice.
That impossible, familiar voice.
For a heartbeat, I thought I was dreaming. My mind tried to rationalize it, some trick of exhaustion, a wrong number, anything but him. But reality doesn't soften its blows. It hits where it hurts the most.
I sat up in bed, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. "Damian?" I managed, barely more than a whisper. The silence that followed was electric. I could feel his hesitation through the line, the way he always paused before saying something that mattered.
"Yeah," he breathed finally, quiet, careful. "It's me."
It shouldn't have made my chest ache the way it did. I'd spent years untangling myself from the sound of his voice, years learning how to exist without it. But in one second, I was right back there, standing in the ruins of what we used to be.
I swallowed hard. "How did you get this number?"
