chapteR Seven
The Note
It was the kind of morning that felt too quiet.
No birds.
No wind.
Even Clifford was still.
Nic knew what that meant.
“Something’s about to speak,” she whispered.
The universe always got quiet before something important happened.
It was like the whole world was holding its breath—
waiting for the next page to turn.
She tiptoed to the front door.
Clifford followed, tail down, eyes wide.
There was something on the welcome mat.
A piece of paper.
Folded in half.
No envelope.
Just sitting there
like it had dropped out of the sky.
Nic picked it up slowly.
The paper was warm.
It smelled like cedar and stars.
And written on it, in messy handwriting that made her heart beat sideways, was one sentence:
“I remember you too.”
Her breath caught.
The wand buzzed in her pocket.
Clifford gave a low, happy growl.
Nic didn’t know how the boy had written it.
Or when he’d left it.
Or how the wind hadn’t blown it away.
Because the moment she read those four words,
she knew:
He was awake now.
He was looking for her too.
The remembering wasn’t hers alone anymore.
They were sharing it now.
Split right down the middle
like a wishbone made of light.