Echoes of Her

~Dorian~

I step out, running a hand through my damp hair—then stop dead.

That isn’t Edith.

For a split second, I think I’m still half-dreaming. I’d sworn it was her voice calling me. Maybe my mind is finally slipping, stitching familiar sounds into strangers.

The woman in front of me is young. Blonde. About Hazel’s age.

“Oh my God—I’m so sorry,” she blurts, slapping a hand over her eyes like she’s