The next morning, Ming found them in the training hall.

  "New mission."

  Ethan looked up from adjusting his vest straps. "Already?"

  "Government handed us a case. Non-emergency. Likely Awakened-related." Ming held up a tablet. "We leave in thirty minutes."

  Elena frowned. "Where?"

  "Next town over. About an hour by bus."

  Ethan blinked. "Bus?"

  "Yes."

  Elena's voice was flat. "Harvest can't afford a car?"

  Ming's expression didn't change. "I don't like driving. I prefer public transport."

  Ethan snorted. "That's why you were at the bus stop that night. You were actually waiting for the bus."

  "Correct."

  Yoichi appeared in the doorway, wiping grease off his hands. "There are plenty of cars in the garage. You can pick one. Just get approval from your superior first."

  Ming looked at him.

  Yoichi raised an eyebrow.

  Ming sighed. "Fine."

  Twenty minutes later, Elena sat behind the wheel of a nondescript sedan. Ethan sat in the passenger seat. Ming sat in the back with Cookie sprawled across his lap.

  Elena turned the key. The engine hummed to life.

  "You know how to drive, right?" Ethan asked.

  She shot him a look.

  "Right. Stupid question."

  Elena pulled out of the garage and onto the main road. Her hands were steady on the wheel. Eyes focused.

  Ming opened the tablet. "Briefing. Three days ago, local police received a call from a delivery driver. He reported concern about a residence in the suburbs."

  Ethan twisted in his seat. "What kind of concern?"

  "The father—Jeremy, age thirty-nine—used to be friendly. Polite. Kind to his daughter. Then two months ago, his behavior changed. Started acting erratic. Talking to himself. The driver ignored it at first."

  "Two months," Elena murmured. "The Awakening."

  "Exactly." Ming swiped through the file. "Yesterday, the daughter answered the door. She had bruises. All over her arms and face."

  Ethan's stomach tightened. "He's hitting her."

  "Appears so." Ming pulled up a profile. "Jeremy—no relation to you—carpenter by trade. Wife deceased. One daughter, Chloe, age eight. No criminal record. No history of violence."

  Elena's jaw clenched. Her foot pressed harder on the gas pedal.

  The speedometer climbed.

  The house was quiet.

  Suburban. Modest. A small front yard with overgrown grass. A rusted mailbox. Curtains drawn.

  Elena parked across the street.

  They sat for a moment, watching.

  No movement inside.

  Ming checked his watch. "Time to put your training to use. No guns. Vests only."

  Ethan nodded, already strapping his on.

  Elena did the same, movements sharp and efficient.

  Ming stepped out of the car, Cookie at his heels. He walked up to the front door and knocked.

  "Hello? Anyone home?"

  Silence.

  He knocked again. Louder.

  Still nothing.

  Fifteen minutes passed. Ming tried three more times.

  Finally, he turned back to the others. "They might be out. We could wait in the car until—"

  "Leave it to me."

  Elena was already walking toward the side of the house.

  Ethan followed. "Uh, what are you doing?"

  She didn't answer. Just rounded the corner into the backyard.

  A moment later, there was a soft click.

  The back door swung open.

  Ethan stared. "Did you just pick the lock?"

  Elena stepped inside. "Yes."

  "Are we... are we allowed to do that?"

  Ming appeared behind him. "We're affiliated with the police and the government. It's fine."

  "That doesn't sound—"

  "It's fine."

  Inside, the house was dim. Curtains blocked most of the sunlight. The air smelled stale—old food, unwashed laundry, something faintly metallic.

  Ming moved into the living room, scanning. "We're looking for evidence that Jeremy is Awakened. Anything that ties him to a past life. Documents. Searches. Behavioral patterns."

  He gestured to Cookie. "Search."

  The dog's nose went to the ground immediately, moving through the room with purpose.

  Ming pointed to the stairs. "You two check the upper floor. I'll handle down here."

  Ethan nodded. Elena was already moving.

  Upstairs: two bedrooms and a bathroom.

  Elena headed left. Ethan took the right.

  The master bedroom was sparse. Unmade bed. Clothes piled in the corner. A desk against the wall with a laptop sitting closed.

  Ethan's instincts kicked in.

  He opened the laptop. No password. The screen lit up immediately.

  He navigated to the browser history.

  The most recent searches were all the same name: Thomas Grayson.

  Ethan frowned. He clicked one.

  An obituary from 1972. Thomas Grayson. Died in prison. Convicted of assault and domestic violence.

  Ethan scrolled further. More searches. All starting two months ago.

  Jeremy had searched for his own name too. And his daughter's. And his late wife's.

  Like he was trying to figure out who they were.

  Ethan's chest tightened.

  He's Awakened. And he remembers being someone violent.

  Elena stood in the second bedroom.

  Smaller. Cleaner. A child's room.

  Pink bedsheets. Stuffed animals lined up on a shelf. Drawings taped to the walls—stick figures holding hands, smiling suns, a house with a big tree.

  Elena's throat constricted.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  She opened the closet.

  A blanket lay folded on the floor. Stained with blood.

  Beside it, a framed photo: Jeremy and Chloe, smiling, hugging each other. Chloe's face was bright. Happy.

  Elena crouched down. Her hands shook as she picked up the photo.

  She hides here. When he hurts her, she hides here and holds this picture.

  Elena pulled out her phone and took photos. The blanket. The blood. The bandages in the small trash bin beside the closet.

  Professional wrapping. Too clean for a child to do alone.

  Someone had been helping her treat the wounds.

  Ming appeared in the doorway. "Find something?"

  Elena stood, pocketing her phone. "Bandages. Blood. She's been hiding in here."

  Ming nodded. "The treatment looks professional."

  "Too professional for a kid to do alone."

  "Agreed." Ming's gaze swept the room. "You're better with a camera than a gun."

  Elena's mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Yeah."

  Ethan's voice echoed from the other room. "Ming! Elena! Get in here!"

  They found him at the desk, holding a leather journal.

  "It's Jeremy's," Ethan said, flipping through pages. "He's been writing about the Awakening. Listen to this."

  He read aloud:

  "I remember things I shouldn't. A life that isn't mine. Thomas Grayson. I know his face. His rage. His hands around her throat. I don't want to be him. But sometimes I can't tell where he ends and I begin."

  Ethan's voice wavered.

  "Chloe looks at me like I'm a monster. Maybe I am. Maybe I always was."

  Silence.

  Ming took the journal, skimming the entries. "He's Awakened. Past life: Thomas Grayson. Multiple convictions for domestic violence. He's struggling to separate himself from those memories."

  Elena's voice was tight. "Is there a way to fix it?"

  "These are assumptions," Ming said carefully. "We need more concrete evidence before we act."

  A sound from outside.

  Car engine. Tires on gravel.

  They froze.

  Ethan moved to the window. A sedan pulled into the driveway. Two figures got out—a man and a small girl.

  Jeremy and Chloe.

  Ethan turned to Ming. "What do we do?"

  Ming's voice was calm. Certain.

  "Fast. We hide and monitor the situation."

  The front door opened.

  Jeremy stepped inside first. Mid-thirties. Tired eyes. Shoulders slumped like he was carrying something invisible and crushing.

  Behind him, Chloe. Small. Eight years old. Blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. A plastic bag clutched in both hands.

  She set it on the kitchen counter. Bandages. Medicine bottles. Antiseptic.

  Jeremy stared at the bag. His voice cracked.

  "I'm sorry."

  Chloe looked up at him. "It's okay, Dad."

  "It's not." His hands trembled. "I keep hurting you. I don't... I don't know how to stop."

  She stepped closer, reaching for his hand. "You're sick. But we can fix it. The medicine will—"

  Jeremy's head snapped up.

  His eyes changed.

  Darker. Sharper. Wrong.

  "Where is she?"

  Chloe froze.

  "Where is your mother?" His voice rose, raw and furious. "Where did you hide her? Speak!"

  "Dad, I—"

  "TELL ME!"

  He lunged.

  Chloe stumbled back, eyes wide, terror locking her in place.

  Jeremy raised his hand—

  Cookie exploded from the shadows.

  The border collie's jaws clamped down on Jeremy's wrist. Hard.

  Jeremy roared, spinning, slamming the dog against the kitchen cabinet. Cookie yelped but didn't let go.

  Jeremy's free hand grabbed a knife from the counter.

  Ming stepped into the doorway, pistol raised.

  "Freeze."

  Jeremy turned, knife trembling in his grip, Cookie still latched onto his other arm.

  "Move that hand and I will shoot you."

  Jeremy's eyes darted—wild, unfocused, barely human.

  Ming's voice cut through the chaos. "Ethan. Get the girl. Now."

  Ethan bolted from his hiding spot, arms outstretched. "Chloe, come here—"

  She hesitated for half a second, then ran to him.

  Ethan pulled her behind him, backing toward the hallway.

  Ming's gaze didn't leave Jeremy. "Cookie. Release."

  The dog let go, blood dripping from Jeremy's wrist. Cookie limped back, favoring one leg but still standing.

  Ming kept the gun trained. "Elena. Cuffs. Restrain him."

  Elena moved forward, cuffs already in hand, steps measured and careful.

  Jeremy's breathing was ragged. His eyes locked onto her.

  Then he smiled.

  It wasn't his smile.

  Elena was three feet away when Jeremy moved.

  Fast. Too fast for someone untrained.

  He lunged sideways, knife still gripped in his bloodied hand, blade angling toward her throat.

  "Elena!"

  Elena saw it coming.

  The shift in his eyes. The way his weight transferred to his front foot. The telegraphed lunge.

  Her body moved on instinct—muscle memory from years of navigating war zones, dodging danger, reading violence before it arrived.

  Jeremy's hand shot toward her throat.

  Elena caught his wrist mid-strike.

  Twisted.

  Used his momentum against him.

  Jeremy's balance broke. His feet left the ground for half a second before Elena slammed him down—hard—onto the kitchen floor.

  The impact echoed through the house.

  Jeremy's head hit tile. His eyes rolled back.

  He went limp.

  Silence.

  Ming lowered his weapon. "Clear."

  Elena stayed crouched over Jeremy, breathing hard, hand still gripping his wrist. Her pulse hammered in her ears.

  She'd done it without thinking.

  Without hesitation.

  Ethan stared. "That was... that was amazing."

  Elena didn't respond. Just pulled the cuffs from her belt and locked Jeremy's hands behind his back.

  Cookie limped over, sniffing Jeremy's unconscious form. Ming knelt beside the dog, checking for injuries.

  "You alright, girl?"

  Cookie licked his hand.

  Ming exhaled. "Good dog."

  Fifteen minutes later, police sirens filled the street.

  Two patrol cars. An unmarked sedan. Paramedics.

  Ming handed off the evidence—laptop, journal, photos. He spoke in low tones with the lead officer, who nodded and made notes.

  Jeremy was loaded onto a stretcher, still unconscious, cuffs secured. A paramedic checked his vitals.

  "He'll be transported to a Harvest-affiliated facility," Ming explained to the officer. "Specialized treatment for Awakened cases. Personality conflict. Memory integration issues."

  The officer frowned. "How long will that take?"

  "Depends on the severity. Could be weeks. Could be months."

  The officer glanced at the house. "And the kid?"

  Ming's expression softened. "She stays with family if possible. Otherwise, we have foster contacts trained for situations like this."

  Chloe stood on the front lawn, small and silent, watching the paramedics wheel her father toward the ambulance.

  Elena approached slowly.

  "Chloe."

  The girl looked up. Her eyes were red. Swollen.

  Elena crouched down to her level. "Your dad is going to get help. Real help. From doctors who understand what's happening to him."

  Chloe's voice was tiny. "Is he going to get better?"

  Elena hesitated.

  Then nodded. "I think so. But it's going to take time."

  Chloe's face crumpled. Tears spilled over.

  Elena opened her arms.

  Chloe collapsed into them, sobbing, small hands clutching Elena's jacket like it was the only thing holding her together.

  Elena held her. Steady. Solid.

  For the first time in years, she felt something crack open inside her chest.

  Not breaking.

  Thawing.

  She looked down at Chloe—blonde hair, small frame, the same age Sophie would've been if she'd lived.

  But Chloe wasn't Sophie.

  And Elena couldn't save Sophie.

  But maybe—maybe—she could save this one.

  Chloe pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Will I see him again?"

  "Yes," Elena said firmly. "When he's ready. When he's him again."

  Chloe nodded, sniffling. "Okay."

  A woman in plainclothes approached—a social worker. She knelt beside them, introducing herself gently. Chloe looked at Elena one more time.

  "Thank you."

  Elena's throat tightened. "You're brave. Don't forget that."

  Chloe managed a small smile.

  Then she took the social worker's hand and walked toward the waiting car.

  Elena stood, watching until they drove away.

  Ethan walked up beside her. "You okay?"

  Elena didn't answer immediately.

  Then she nodded. "Yeah."

  He studied her face. For the first time in months, she didn't look hollow.

  She looked present.

  "You were incredible in there," Ethan said quietly. "The way you took him down. The way you handled Chloe. You—"

  "I'm not done running," Elena interrupted. "From the past. From everything."

  She turned to him.

  "But maybe I can start walking forward."

  Ethan's face broke into a grin. "That's all I'm asking."

  Elena's mouth twitched. Almost a smile.

  "Don't get used to it."

  "Too late."

  Ming finished his debrief with the officers and walked over, Cookie at his side.

  "Good work," he said simply. "Both of you."

  Ethan straightened. "What happens now?"

  "Now?" Ming checked his watch. "We go home. File the report. Rest. Then we do it again."

  Elena looked at the house one last time. The drawn curtains. The overgrown yard.

  A family broken by forces they didn't understand.

  But not destroyed.

  Not yet.

  She turned back to Ming. "I'm ready."

  Ming raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

  "For whatever comes next."

  He studied her for a moment. Then nodded.

  "Good. Because there's a lot more coming."

  They walked back to the car together.

  Ethan climbed into the passenger seat. Ming settled in the back with Cookie. Elena took the wheel.

  She turned the key.

  The engine hummed.

  And for the first time in four years, Elena felt like she was driving toward something instead of away from it.