The bus rattles to a stop in a village sculpted by mist and stone. Warm, stale air gathers in the aisle as the heater falls silent, and the vinyl seat clings to the back of Kali's legs. A gull's distant call weaves through the gentle hiss of the bus door, which hangs open, letting in a curl of cool, damp air.

Kali Peterson presses her forehead to the cold glass, leaving a faint print where her skin meets the window. Beads of moisture gather there, spreading coolness across her brow. The driver hefts her two battered suitcases onto the gravel; the thud echoes along the roadside.

Aelridge unfurls beneath the cloud-heavy sky, narrow lanes winding between buildings that tilt inward, their stone shoulders nearly touching as if sharing secrets. The breeze threads past, bringing with it the briny scent of seaweed, a promise of water hidden beyond the mist.

Rain glides down the slate roofs, tracing patterns that glimmer on the dark stone. Droplets slip from eaves, landing with a soft percussion that lingers in the morning quiet. Fallen branches lie scattered, their shapes half-swallowed by mist curling at the ground. The fog drapes the village, slipping between houses, swallowing fences and gardens until lines and edges dissolve into pale, shifting veils.

The driver glances back, his warm smile creasing at the corners as he speaks."Here we are, my love. End of the line."

Kali swings her backpack onto one shoulder and rises from the seat. The movement draws a wince as her stiff legs protest, the hours of sitting having left them heavy and slow. She pushes upright and steadies herself, fingers digging into the seat's edge until her knuckles pale. Her knees threaten to buckle beneath her, a tremor rippling through her body. The ache, always lurking, winds tighter in her chest, coiling until the world blurs and the weight of absence settles inside, dense and unmoving.

Three months have passed.

The memory snaps into focus: tyres losing grip, a blur of headlights on black ice, metal shrieking. Her parents' laughter, silenced in an instant, plunged the world into a new silence. Ninety days marked by mornings that arrived without welcome, each one carving deeper the shape of a life she never chose.

Kali steps down from the bus, the air saturated with rain-soaked earth and the tang of wood-smoke. Her boots scuff and crunch over loose gravel as she steadies herself, shoulders hunched against the chill. Peat smoke unfurls from a nearby chimney, weaving through the mist. The door seals itself behind her with a final hiss. The bus rumbles away, gears gnashing, red tail lights dissolving into the fog and leaving her solitary on the corner. A dog barks once—sharp, distant—before quiet folds around her again.

Kali stands rooted, bags huddled at her feet. Mist trails across the street, muting the outlines of houses and swallowing up the glow from the streetlamp. The borders of the village melt into shadow. The newness of the place presses close, unfamiliar shapes looming at the edges, every angle and corner both an invitation and a warning.

Manchester lingers behind her, the city she called home until yesterday. Neon glimmers on slick pavement, sirens weaving through the midnight air. Laughter rises from the street, slipping through an open window to mingle with the smell of rain and the jumble of books and curling posters filling her old bedroom. School mornings press her into crowded buses, damp coats brushing against hers. Every wall, every corner, stamped with certainty and belonging.

Now the shelves stand empty, the walls bare except for faint rectangles where posters once clung. Boxes hold the last of her books, laughter, and neon fold