Chapter 2: First Blood, Old Lies

"Lillian Vale, you were here in the last life too."

Caleb Mercer was half leaning against a tree, wariness on his face—boot heel dug into the pine roots, blood seeping through his flannel.

The tree was one of those ancient ponderosas near the back ridge, all knotted bark and wild branches. Caleb’s posture screamed caution, one hand pressed to his side where blood seeped through his shirt. It was a quiet patch of forest, cicadas humming in the background, tension thick as monsoon air.

Tension coiled between us. I let out a derisive laugh.

My laugh echoed sharp and hollow through the pines—like I’d heard a joke at my own expense. My shoulders relaxed a fraction too far, and the laugh caught in my throat. I leaned on my walking stick, tapping the dirt, refusing to let him see how his words stung.

This was when the two of us first met after being hurled a millennium back.

We were both strangers again, marooned in the past. The air smelled like pine sap and old secrets. Caleb’s eyes darted, trying to read me, but all he found was defiance.

In the last life, I saved Caleb here.

Only, though I saved him—plucking a Fire Lily to protect his heartline—I had my face scorched by soul-fire, my looks completely ruined.

Sap scented the air now; back then the petals smelled like sugar burning. I could still feel the ghost of that fire on my skin, a phantom ache. The Fire Lily’s petals were bright as sunrise, but they burned hotter than any Arizona summer. I’d paid in flesh, all to keep his heart beating.

He didn't recognize me and thought his lifesaving benefactor was Aubrey.

The irony was bitter as gas-station black coffee. I watched him thank the wrong woman, never seeing the scars beneath my hat. Aubrey took the credit, her smile quick and sly, while I faded into the background.

Caleb switched gears: "Or are you trying to get ahead of me—deliberately coming to make trouble and ruin my encounter with Aubrey?"

He eyed me like I was some rival in a high-stakes poker game, always bluffing. Caleb’s paranoia ran deep; he saw conspiracies where there were only old wounds.

"I just arrived," I pulled myself out of the cluttered memories and said lightly. "No time to ruin your big moment." I added a lazy two-finger salute, eyebrow quirked.

My voice was smooth, almost bored. I brushed pine needles off my jacket and tried not to think about the ache in my chest. I was tired of being accused, tired of playing the villain in his story.

He was gravely injured; the movement tugged at the wound in his chest and he forced out a mouthful of blood.

Blood splattered onto the hem of my skirt; I stepped forward before instinct yanked me back, half a step in distaste, half a step to keep my vow.

It was a fresh wound, deep and angry. The blood pooled at my feet, staining my old boots. I wrinkled my nose, the metallic scent mingling with the forest air. Even now, I felt a twinge of old concern, buried deep.

The wide-brim sun hat with a tulle veil covered my face; he couldn't see my expression, but that didn't stop him from imagining the worst of me: "Perhaps in your last life you did pass by here.

"But you didn't have Aubrey's kind heart; you watched me die and didn't save me, ignored me, and a thousand years later you tried to steal Aubrey's favor." A wind gust rattled the branches; somewhere a pinecone thudded to earth.

Caleb spat his accusations like bitter seeds, voice hoarse and shaky. He was always quick to judge, never willing to see the cracks in his own memories. He clung to his version of kindness and cruelty, as if repeating it could make it true.

I wasn’t about to explain myself.

I crossed my arms, eyes drifting to the old pine needles at my feet. In my last life, I argued myself hoarse, but he never listened to a single word of my defense.

He didn't know that, right now, I hadn't been disfigured; under the veil was a face exactly the same as Aubrey's.

That was my real appearance.

I fingered the edge of my veil, the silk cool against my skin. If only he looked closer, he’d see the truth written there, clear as day. But the past had already blinded him.

"Think whatever you like." I shoulder-checked past him, brushing sap off the veil.

I brushed past, boots crunching on dry leaves, leaving him stewing in his own suspicions. My heart felt lighter with every step.

"You just sit tight and wait for your Aubrey."

A trace of reminiscence surfaced on Caleb's handsome face; for once, he was a bit gentler. "I'll take that as a good omen."

His voice softened, eyes distant. Maybe for a split second, he remembered the old warmth between us. I watched the memory flicker and die, replaced by stubborn hope.

My mood lifted; my steps felt light.

Let him wait here for his lifesaving benefactor.

Even if he waits himself to death, she won't come.

I felt a little smile tug at my lips as I walked away. The sun filtered through the branches, dust motes swirling in the afternoon light. Somewhere a coyote yipped. Let him chase ghosts—I was done haunting old mistakes.