Elara Gray had faced down murderers, corrupt politicians, and the darkest corners of the justice system. At twenty-seven, she was the youngest graduate of the elite Sutherland Criminal Academy, and had risen quickly through the ranks with precision, elegance, and a mind sharpened like a scalpel. Her instincts were legendary. Her reputation, untouchable.
Until now.
Because Elara Gray was dead.
And someone else was breathing through her lungs.
She walked slowly through the forest, branches scratching at her skin as though the world itself didn't recognize her anymore. The air was damp, heavy with pine and salt, and her body this body was foreign. Smaller. Lighter. Untrained. The legs beneath her moved clumsily, gasping for breath after only a few minutes of walking.
This wasn't her.
The hair brushing her face was too long, the skin too smooth. Her hands trembled in a way Elara's never had. She had spent years building control over every muscle, every movement, every flicker of expression. But in this seventeen-year-old girl's body, she was a stranger in her own mind.
And then the memories started flickering.
A charm bracelet clinking against a wooden desk. A woman's voice sharp and cruel. A boy's touch, hesitant but warm. And pain. A memory of falling. Screaming. Cold water swallowing her whole.
And the eyes.
That face. That moment.
Not a mirror, no it had been water. A glassy surface in the darkness. She had seen herself or rather, Evelyn staring back at her with blood on her temple and the kind of raw fear Elara knew too well.
Not just fear of dying.
Fear of being erased.
Evelyn.
That was the name tied to this body. The girl who had fallen or jumped maybe. She had stood at the edge of a cliff and chosen the only kind of escape she could. And Elara had landed in the aftermath.
Somehow.
She didn't understand how. Yet. But she would.
The trees finally gave way to a trail, half-concealed by moss and fallen leaves. And at the end of that trail stood a gate.
Tall. Rusted. Ornate.
Beyond it rose a mansion that could've been pulled straight from a gothic novel gray stone walls, shuttered windows and ivy curling up the sides like claws. It was beautiful, in a haunting sort of way. Cold. Isolated. Silent.
She didn't need to guess where she was.
She knew this place.
Not from her own memories. From Evelyn's.
This was her home.
Elara's fingers closed around the wrought-iron gate and pushed. It groaned open with reluctant ease. Someone had left it unlocked. Either they weren't worried about intruders… or they expected her return.
She stepped through the courtyard. The house loomed, casting a long shadow that swallowed the front steps.
The door was already open.
Inside, the air was heavier, dense with dust and something sour beneath the surface like time itself had spoiled. The foyer was grand: marble floors, high ceilings, a chandelier swaying slightly overhead. The only sound was the soft creak of old wood beneath her bare feet.
Family portraits lined the walls.
A man with an unforgiving jawline. A woman with tightly pinned hair and a mouth set in a smile that never reached her eyes. And between them Evelyn. Pale skin. Green eyes. A storm behind them.
Elara stared at the girl. Her own face now. But this wasn't a soft, innocent child. There was pain in her posture, a kind of quiet fury in the set of her jaw.
This girl wasn't just a victim.
She'd been hiding something. Maybe from everyone. Maybe even from herself.
"You knew," Elara whispered, speaking to the portrait. "You knew something was coming."
A sound echoed above her.
Thump.
She froze.
Then another.
Footsteps.
Slow. Measured. Coming from the second floor.
Elara's body tensed out of habit, though this one was slower to respond. She scanned the room, no weapon, no exit that wouldn't make noise. She was vulnerable in every sense of the word. No badge. No backup. No authority.
Just instinct.
She took a step back.
Thump.
Closer.
Whoever was in this house hadn't expected her to survive.
And yet, Elara was here.
Alive. A stranger inside Evelyn's skin. And whoever had driven her to that cliff they wouldn't be far.
She wasn't just solving a mystery anymore.
She was the mystery.