Aria didn't move.
She couldn't.
Her mind was screaming that it was a hallucination. A trick of exhaustion. A ghost reaching out to torment her.
But then the figure on the stairs came into view—and her heart stuttered.
"Amara?" she choked.
The woman looked older. Thinner. Her hair was cropped short now, her eyes sunken—but unmistakable.
"Yes," Amara said quietly.
Then she burst into tears.
Aria dropped the flashlight and ran to her. The hug wasn't graceful. It was desperate, tangled, raw. They sank to the floor in the middle of rotted wood and shattered memories.
"I thought you were dead," Aria sobbed. "I hated you for it. I—"
"I know," Amara whispered. "I wanted you to. I thought it was the only way you'd survive."
Xander stayed back, giving them space, though his eyes never left the door.
Amara's voice cracked. "They're coming again. I thought I had more time. But they found the greenhouse. They always find what they want."
"Who?" Aria asked. "Who is doing this?"
Amara hesitated. "Your father didn't work alone. Dalton was just the beginning. They've built something darker—something old money doesn't talk about."
"You said he's watching again."
"He never stopped."
They sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of it all settle.
Then Xander spoke. "We can't stay here."
Amara nodded. "There's a tunnel. Under the kitchen. It used to connect to the maintenance shed. They sealed it off—but I broke it open years ago."
She stood, legs shaking.
Xander went to help her, and for the first time, she didn't pull away.
As they gathered supplies, a flicker of movement caught Aria's eye out the window.
Flashlight beams.
Too many.
And then—smoke.
They weren't here to catch them.
They were here to burn the place down.
Aria grabbed Amara's hand and Xander's.
"Run," she said again.
And they did.