Three slow, deliberate taps.
“Who is it?” I asked, even though deep down, I already knew.
“Elias,” came the reply. “Your new neighbor.”
I opened the door just enough to see him standing there, holding a basket of muffins like this was any ordinary introduction between neighbors.
Then his sleeve slipped back.
The skin on his forearm was tight, shiny in places—grafted. And beneath it, distorted by burns, I saw something that made my breath catch.
An infinity symbol.
“Gabe?” I whispered.
His expression changed instantly, his smile fading into something heavier.
“You weren’t supposed to recognize me, Sammie,” he said quietly. “But you deserve the truth.”
We sat across from each other at my kitchen table, two people bound by a past that was never truly buried.
“Start with the fire,” I said. “Start with why we buried you.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” he answered.
The words didn’t hit like an explosion. They sank slowly, heavily.
“My mother controlled everything,” he went on. “The report. The dental records. The closed casket. They wanted me away from you. They said you were beneath us.”
