Chapter 138
Chapter 138:
As she moved down the main avenue, her eyes were drawn to a structure in the distance — a private, exclusive section of the grounds encircled by a towering black wrought-iron fence. At its far end, half-hidden beneath overgrown ivy, was a small side gate. It was usually secured with a heavy chain. Today, the chain was gone.
A memory pierced through the fog of her grief without warning. Her mother, years ago, pressing a small ornate iron key into her palm with sad, quiet eyes. For a quiet place, if you ever need one. June had kept it in the hidden pocket of her wallet ever since, a strange keepsake she had never found a use for — until now.
June stopped walking.
She stared at the forgotten gate. A strange, invisible force pulled at her chest — illogical, powerful, impossible to dismiss. She changed direction without thinking twice.
She approached the gate, slid the old key into the rusted lock with trembling fingers, and felt the mechanism turn with a heavy, groaning click.
She stepped inside.
The atmosphere changed the moment she crossed the threshold. The noise of the world disappeared entirely. Massive ancient oak trees blocked out the gray sky, and rows of flawless marble monuments stood in the shadows like silent sentinels keeping watch over centuries of consequence.
June moved slowly down the pristine slate path with no particular destination, absorbing the weight of the place — the heavy, suffocating history of the family she was about to leave forever.
She drifted toward the deepest, most secluded corner of the grounds.
A relatively modern headstone caught her eye. It was carved from solid black granite — simple, almost understated against the grand monuments surrounding it.
June moved closer and read the gold lettering.
𝖭𝗲𝘸 c𝗁аptе𝗿𝗌 𝘦𝘷𝖾𝗿𝘆 𝗐𝗲е𝘬 𝗈𝗇
Caleb Compton.
Her breath caught. She knew Caleb had been Cole’s identical twin. She knew he had died in a helicopter crash seven years ago. Cole had refused, without exception, to ever speak his name in her presence.
June’s eyes moved slowly down the surface of the stone.
Set into its center, protected beneath a layer of weatherproof glass, was an old Polaroid photograph, slightly faded at the edges.
June looked at the face.
A deafening explosion went off inside her skull — as though a bolt of lightning had struck her directly in the spine.
The boy in the photograph had the exact same sharp jaw, the same dark hair, the same deep-set eyes as Cole.
But the expression was entirely different. The boy in the photo carried a warm, gentle smile. His eyes held a clear, radiant light — the kind that could dissolve ice without effort.
June’s entire circulatory system stopped. The blood drained from her hands. Her lungs refused to work.
She stared at the photograph.
Her legs gave way.
She collapsed onto the wet, freezing grass in front of the headstone, her knees striking the ground hard. She did not feel the impact.
This face. This precise, specific smile.
It was the boy from her nightmare. It was the boy who had seized her wrist in the freezing Swiss snowstorm seven years ago and pulled her back from the absolute edge of death.
Her hands shook violently. She reached out and pressed her trembling fingertips against the cold glass covering the Polaroid.