Kieran's Point of View
The school parking lot had the same charm as a half-smoked cigarette — burnt out, stale, and clinging to the past. Kids were scattered around, chatting aimlessly, like they didn't know where they were going or why they even cared about being here.
But I wasn't looking at any of them.
I was looking at her.
Jean.
Leaning against her new black Jeep, arms crossed, eyes unreadable. She looked like the end of a story I couldn't remember starting.
I swear she'd been waiting for me. Not just a casual wait, like she'd shown up five minutes ago. More like the kind of wait where time had bent itself just so she could stand there, holding the space between us.
I slung my bag over my shoulder, feeling that pull again. My chest felt tight, like a forgotten song was trying to come through, but the radio was only playing static.
"Hey," I said, walking up. Trying to sound cool, casual. But inside, I was completely fried. She did that to me.
"You're late," she said, her voice dry. But there was something in the way her foot tapped, once, like she was holding herself together.
"Are you my ride, or are you here to bust me for bad behavior?"
She didn't laugh, but there was a flicker in her eyes. Something familiar. "We're going somewhere," she said, pushing off the Jeep.
I raised an eyebrow. "School's right there, Jean. Don't tell me you're about to break all the rules."
"It's off-campus learning," she replied, sliding into the driver's seat. "Advanced curriculum. Memory recovery 101."
I froze, blinking. "Is that your way of saying I'm crazy, or…?"
She didn't look annoyed, just tired. Like she'd been carrying something heavy for too long. "Just get in, Kieran."
So I did. Because when Jean tells you to do something, it's not really a choice. It's like gravity — it pulls you in without asking.
The drive was quiet. The radio hummed something atmospheric — like the background score to a scene just before everything goes to hell. I caught her glancing at me a few times, like she was measuring how much of me was still the person she knew.
I wanted to ask what she saw. But I didn't. I was too scared to hear the answer.
She turned off the main road, heading down a path that looked like it hadn't seen tires in a decade. I raised an eyebrow.
"Seriously?" I said. "This where you murder me? Should I text someone first, or…?"
She didn't answer, just kept driving until we pulled up to a lake.
And my stomach sank.
It was the same lake from my dreams.
The kind of déjà vu that feels like a sucker punch to the gut. The kind where you know it's not just a coincidence.
"This place…" I said, voice barely above a whisper. "I know this."
Jean parked the Jeep, cut the engine, and turned to me. Her eyes were soft, like she was waiting for me to catch up.
"You do," she said, her voice quiet but certain. "Even if you don't know why yet."
I stepped out of the car, my feet crunching on gravel. I felt it before I saw it — the weight of the lake, the stillness in the air. It felt too familiar. Like my body knew this place better than my mind did.
I walked toward the dock, every step feeling like it was part of something bigger than me. Something I wasn't ready for.
"This place…" I trailed off. "It feels…"
But I didn't know how it felt. Not exactly.
Jean stood beside me, her presence like a quiet anchor, not saying anything, just letting the silence sit.
I stared out at the water, trying to piece it together. The trees leaning in like they had secrets. The rowboat, abandoned like it had been left in the middle of a sentence that never got finished.
And then — a flash.
Like lightning striking behind my eyes.
Her hand in mine.
Laughter, echoing — sharp, urgent, but distant, like a memory not fully remembered.
A dare: "You won't."
My voice: "Watch me."
A kiss that felt too real to be a dream.
A promise. Broken, maybe. Or just lost in time.
It hit me so hard, I staggered. Literally. Took a step back, like the dock was tipping underneath me, like everything I thought I knew was starting to crumble.
Jean's eyes shot to mine, alert. She was waiting for me to speak, but my mouth had gone dry.
"What was that?" I gasped. "That was real, right? It was real."
She didn't say anything at first, just nodded. A single, almost imperceptible movement. Like the weight of whatever was coming was too heavy to put into words.
"That's how it starts," she said softly.
I looked out over the lake again, the water still as stone. Too still.
My chest tightened like I'd just remembered something I'd lost — something I wasn't sure I was ready to find.
"Jean…" I said her name like a question, a plea.
"I'm here," she replied, stepping closer, closing the distance. "Even if you don't remember how we fit, your heart does. It always has."
I wanted to say something, but the words were tangled in my throat.
She handed me something then. Small. Familiar. My fingers wrapped around it without thinking.
A compass.
It was worn. Scratched. The needle steady. I almost felt like it had been waiting for me. Waiting for this moment.
The second I touched it, something jolted through me.
Another flash.
Longer this time. Stickier.
We're on the dock again, but it's not now. It's… somewhere else. Somewhen else.
The air's warm. The light's golden. Like it's a time that's already slipping away.
I'm holding the compass, and it feels heavier. Jean's hand is around mine, steadying me. Her thumb brushes over my palm.
She's saying something, but the words are distant. I catch fragments:
"…if you ever forget…"
"…just follow…"
"…always find me…"
And then silence. Not empty silence. The kind that hums with meaning.
The world stills. The breeze dies.
It feels like the entire world is holding its breath.
I look at her. Not the Jean standing beside me now — but the one I can't quite reach. The one who's bright and full of something I can't touch anymore.
And just as I try to speak — to ask her what we promised, to try and keep it — everything tears away. Like waking from a dream you didn't even realize you were having.
I gasped.
Jean's eyes were locked on me. She didn't say a word. She didn't need to. She'd been waiting for this.
"I remember," I whispered, the words jagged. "I almost remember."
Her eyes weren't just full of hope anymore. There was something darker in them. Something she was keeping from me. Her hands shook slightly, and I saw the tightness in her jaw. Whatever it was she was holding onto, it was bigger than either of us.
"You're close," she said, her voice barely audible. "But memory is cruel. It doesn't come without a cost."
My heart stuttered. "What do you mean, a cost?"
Jean's gaze fell. She didn't answer right away. Just stood there, still. Like she was afraid of saying too much.
"I don't want to scare you," she said, her voice breaking the silence. "But I need you to be ready. Ready to remember. It's not going to be easy."
"What's not easy?" I stepped closer, the weight of her words crushing me.
She shook her head, her eyes distant. "You don't need to know everything, Kieran. Not yet. Just know that we're going to protect each other. All of us. You have to trust me."
I wanted to demand more. To scream at her for the truth. But there was something in her eyes that stopped me. It wasn't fear. It was desperation. Like she couldn't lose me.
"What do I have to do?" I asked, almost pleading.
She handed me the compass again. The one she'd given me before. The one that was still steady in my hand.
"This is yours," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Always has been. When you remember, you'll know what to do with it."
I stared at the compass, its needle steady in my palm. "How do I remember?"
"Start with this," she said. "Start with me."
I held the compass tighter, feeling its weight. But the weight of her words pressed even harder.
I didn't know what was coming. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. But I did know one thing.
I had to trust her.
Even if I didn't understand why yet.