They burned the journals at dawn.
Not because they thought it would stop her.
Because they knew it wouldn't.
But something inside Sarah recoiled when she touched the pages. Like every word she'd written in those forgotten months was a tether—and she was pulling on the other end.
Ash drifted through the clearing behind the house, soft and gray.
Sarah didn't speak.
Neither did Ace.
Until the last page curled in on itself and turned black.
Then, Ace said, "We need to find out who she really is."
Sarah looked up. "She's me."
"No," Ace said. "She's what you became to survive Hal. That doesn't make her you. It makes her a version. A shadow. And if she's trying to come back... she must have had a name once."
Sarah's mouth went dry.
"I don't remember ever naming her."
Ace stared into the fire. "You wouldn't. You buried her. But she remembers you. And names have power, Sarah. If we can name her—truly name her—we might be able to bind her again."
Sarah frowned. "How do we find a name I never said out loud?"
"You didn't have to," Ace replied. "You wrote it."
That night, while Ace slept in a chair beside the door—knife in hand, shadows under his eyes—Sarah searched the attic.
Dust coated every surface. It smelled of old wood and older secrets.
She found a box she didn't recognize.
Not hers. Not Ace's.
When she opened it, her breath caught.
Inside: an old Polaroid. A girl. Young. About sixteen. Messy hair. Eyes like stormclouds. A blood-red word scratched onto the back in trembling ink:
S A R A I
Not Sarah.
Sarai.
The name curled through her like smoke.
She dropped the photo. It hit the floor face-up.
The girl in the picture smiled.
And blinked.
Sarah ran back downstairs. Burst into the living room, clutching the photo.
"Ace," she said, voice shaking, "I found her."
He rose instantly. "Who?"
She turned the photo toward him.
He froze.
"That's… that's you," he said slowly.
Sarah shook her head. "No. That's who I had to become. She has a name."
She turned the photo over.
Ace read the word.
"Sarai."
And as he spoke it aloud, every candle in the house went out.
From the mirror in the hall came a single sound:
Laughter.
Low. Familiar.
And full of hunger.