Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rachel stirred to the warmth of sunlight spilling across Arcadia Bay—only to be met with devastation. The sky was clear, but the world below was fractured.

“It’s… all… destroyed,” she whispered, her voice barely catching the wind as she stepped forward. Something felt wrong. Off. She glanced down. Her hands shimmered, translucent.

“Oh. I’m a spirit now. Wonderful,” she muttered, dry as dust.

The junkyard stretched before her—twisted metal, shattered glass, the skeletal remains of vehicles long abandoned. A familiar shack sagged in the distance, its roof caved in like a forgotten memory.

“Was this where I was buried?” she asked aloud, the words tasting strange in her mouth. She drifted toward the shack, each step echoing with a weightless hush.

Inside, the air was thick with silence. Dust motes danced in the sunlight. She sank into the worn couch, and the past rushed in like a tide.

“This is where I last saw Chloe,” she murmured. “Before I… before everything fell apart. We fought. I left. No goodbye.”

Her eyes caught a crumpled note poking out of a rusted bin. She reached for it, fingers brushing paper like breath.

*If I had just talked to her instead of running away, I might still be alive.*

She stared at the words, her chest hollowing.

On the wall, faded graffiti bloomed in color.

“Max was here,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “She came back for her. That’s… kind of amazing.”

A sudden engine growl shattered the quiet. Rachel tensed.

“Didn’t think anyone was still in this town,” she said, half to herself. “Probably just looters.”

She rose, casting one last glance at the shack. Then, with the weight of memory trailing behind her, she stepped into the ruins of Arcadia Bay.

The road out of Arcadia Bay was cracked and silent, the town center a blur of broken windows and ash. Chloe eased the truck to a stop, her hand reaching out to rest gently on Max’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Max. We’ll get through this together,” she said, voice low but steady. “Max and Chloe.”

Max turned, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion. “Always together,” she echoed, sitting up straighter, as if the words themselves stitched her back together.

Chloe gave a soft smile and tapped the gas. The truck rolled forward, heading toward Seattle and whatever came next.

Max’s phone buzzed again—another message, another missed call. Since the tornado, it hadn’t stopped. But she hadn’t opened a single one. She couldn’t. Not yet.

She glanced into the rearview mirror. Arcadia Bay lay behind them, a smear of ruin and memory.

A whole town, gone—for one blue-haired rebel.

Her throat tightened. She wanted to forget. To erase the week, the storm, the choice. But the ache in her chest told her it wouldn’t be that simple.

The road stretched ahead, uncertain and long. But Chloe was beside her. And for now, that was enough.

Rachel drifted into Arcadia Bay, the air thick with salt and silence. The town was a skeleton of itself—shattered windows, scorched rooftops, streets littered with debris.

“Man, this place is messed up,” she muttered, her voice echoing faintly in the emptiness.

She searched for signs of life, wandering through alleys and broken homes. But after an hour, there were no bodies, no movement—just the eerie stillness of survival or abandonment.

Her gaze fell on the town hall by the beach. It stood surprisingly intact, its paint chipped and roof battered, but still upright.

“How did this place survive?” she wondered aloud, drawn toward it by something she couldn’t name.

Inside, sunlight pierced the gloom, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. Rachel paused, stunned.

Nearly twenty people huddled inside—alive. Eyes wide, faces drawn, but breathing.

A woman clutched her daughter and stepped forward. “Thank you, oh thank you. We thought we were the only ones left.”

Rachel blinked. “Well… technically, I’m not alive,” she said, scanning the crowd for familiar faces.

Her breath caught. Joyce. David.

She approached with a smile. “Hey guys.”

Joyce turned toward her voice, brow furrowed. “Thought I heard someone,” she murmured, looking right through Rachel.

Rachel froze. Invisible.

She turned to leave, heart sinking, when a voice cut through the air.

“Rachel?”

She spun around. A tall girl with black hair stared at her, eyes wide.

“Steph?”

Steph stepped closer, disbelief etched across her face.

“How can you see me when no one else can?” Rachel asked.

Steph shrugged, tears threatening. “I don’t know. But damn, I’m so glad to see you, Rach.”

She moved in for a hug, only to stumble through Rachel’s form and hit the floor.

Rachel chuckled. “Yeah, I’m a spirit. Hugging’s a bit… impossible.”

Steph sat up, brushing dust from her jeans. “That was awkward.”

Rachel grinned. “I greeted people who can’t see me, so we’re square.”

They shared a quiet laugh, a moment of connection in the ruins.

Steph’s smile faded. “I need to leave this place. It’s eerie.”

Rachel nodded, eyes darkening. “Tell me about it. I hated it in life. And even now, it still creeps me out.”

Together, they stepped into the light. Behind them, the survivors followed—faces turned toward the wreckage, hearts heavy with what remained.

The diner buzzed with soft chatter and clinking silverware, but at their booth, silence reigned. Max stared out the window, her reflection barely visible against the Portland drizzle.

Chloe watched her, heart heavy. She knew this silence—knew how Max folded inward when the weight became too much.

Their orders had been placed, untouched menus now resting between them. Chloe reached across the table, her fingers brushing Max’s hand.

“Max,” she said gently, “you did what you felt was right in that moment. Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m sure people got ou—”

Max’s eyes snapped to hers, cold and raw.

“I killed everyone,” she said, voice cracking. “And for what? Because I’m selfish and couldn’t stand to see my gir… best friend die again?”

Chloe’s breath caught. Did she almost say girlfriend? Did she mean it?

Not now, Price. Focus.

She steadied herself, leaning in.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself,” Chloe said, firm but tender. “You didn’t ask for these powers. You didn’t want me to keep dying. And you sure as hell didn’t wish for that tornado to tear everything apart. You’re Max Caulfield. You’re incredible. You were handed an impossible choice—and you chose me. I’ll never stop being grateful for that.”

Max’s shoulders trembled. She reached out, clasping Chloe’s hands tightly.

“Thank you, Chlo. I know this won’t be the last time I feel overwhelmed. But… I need to know you’ll be there. Even if I become too much.”

Chloe’s chest ached. She wanted to say You should’ve let me go. Wanted to confess the guilt that gnawed at her. But Max needed her now—not her regrets.

“I will never leave you, Max,” Chloe whispered. “Not ever again.”

Max offered a small, fragile smile just as the waitress arrived with their food.

Arcadia Bay lay in ruins, the wind whispering through broken windows and scorched rooftops. Rachel and Steph moved slowly through the wreckage, their footsteps soft against the cracked pavement.

“I thought you’d left Arcadia,” Rachel said, peering into the shattered shell of the Two Whales Diner. The booths were overturned, the jukebox silent.

Steph exhaled, her voice tight. “I came to visit my mom on Wednesday. Just for a few days. I was supposed to leave Friday, but… something came up. She told me to go to the town hall without her. Promised she’d meet me there.”

Rachel turned, catching the tremble in Steph’s voice.

“You haven’t seen her since?”

Steph nodded, eyes scanning the horizon. “No. I’ve looked everywhere.”

Rachel placed a hand on Steph’s shoulder, but it goes through her. “I’m sure she’s nearby. Where does she live?”

“Next to Chloe’s,” Steph replied.

Rachel blinked. “Wow. I had no idea.”

“Neither did she,” Steph said, managing a faint smile. “Have you seen or heard from Chloe?”

Rachel’s gaze dropped. “No. I really hope she made it out.”

They stood in silence, the wind tugging at their clothes.

The street was a graveyard of memories—splintered wood, shattered glass, rooftops caved in like broken promises. Steph’s mother’s house was no exception.

Steph bolted inside, calling out, hope clinging to her voice like a thread.

Rachel lingered, her gaze drifting to the house next door. Chloe’s.

“Man, this place is wrecked,” she murmured, stepping through the doorway like a ghost returning to a dream.

The air inside was still. Dust hung in the sunlight. Rachel wandered through the familiar chaos—scattered vinyls, cracked photo frames, the scent of old incense lingering in the walls.

On the bed lay Chloe’s bullet necklace, glinting faintly.

“She forgot it?” Rachel whispered, picking it up. “She never takes this thing off.”

She curled her fingers around it, the metal cool against her palm. A keepsake. A tether.

Outside, a cry pierced the silence.

Rachel rushed toward Steph’s voice, heart pounding.

Steph knelt beside a still figure—her mother, lifeless, arms curled as if shielding something.

Rachel dropped to her knees beside her, the urge to hold Steph overwhelming.

Damn spirit nonsense, she cursed silently, wishing for weight, for warmth, for touch.

Steph’s sobs eventually faded into quiet breaths. She lay curled beside her mother, exhaustion overtaking grief.

Hours passed. The sun dipped low. Rachel stayed.

She looks so peaceful asleep, Rachel thought. I just wish it were under better circumstances. Her mother… she gave everything to protect her. Despite their differences, it was love. Fierce. Selfless.

Steph stirred, her eyes twitching beneath closed lids.

Rachel reached out, her hand hovering just above Steph’s.

“I’m here, Steph,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”

And though Steph couldn’t feel her, something in her breathing softened—like the spirit of comfort had found its way in.

An hour passed in silence, the moon rising over Arcadia Bay like a watchful eye.

Steph stirred, blinking against the dim light. Rachel sat beside her, smiling softly, her hand resting in Steph’s.

Steph frowned, puzzled. “Wait… why couldn’t I hug you earlier, but now you can hold my hand? I feel shortchanged.”

She pouted, half teasing, half aching.

Rachel shrugged, her smile tinged with mystery. “I have no idea. Spirit rules are weird.”

Steph turned, her gaze falling once more on her mother’s still form.

“You sacrificed your life for mine,” she whispered. “I love you, Mum. Maybe I didn’t say it enough.”

She leaned forward, gently closing her mother’s eyes. A few tears slipped down her cheeks, quiet and unashamed.

Then, slowly, she rose.

The moonlight bathed the wreckage in silver. Steph looked up, breathing in the cool night air.

“I’m done with this town,” she said, voice steady. “I’ve got a ride.”

Rachel stood beside her, silent but present. And though the night was heavy with loss, something in Steph’s posture had changed—grief tempered by love, and the first flicker of forward motion.

The car idled in front of Max’s childhood home, headlights dimmed, the street quiet under a blanket of stars.

Max stared at her old bedroom window, heart thudding. “I’ve been ignoring everyone since the storm,” she said flatly. “They probably think we’re dead.”

Chloe reached over, turned off the ignition, and gave her a crooked smile. “Then it’ll be one hell of a surprise. Come on—we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Max hesitated, then followed Chloe to the porch, standing just behind her.

Chloe knocked. “Why am I knocking? They’re your parents.”

Max said nothing. The door swung open before she could answer.

“OH MY GOD, you’re both alive, I can’t believe it!” Vanessa cried, pulling Max into a tearful embrace.

“Yeah, we sure are,” Chloe added, caught in Ryan’s bear hug.

Inside, the living room glowed with warm lamplight. Vanessa’s voice trembled as she asked, “How did you escape?”

“We waited at the Lighthouse until everything calmed down,” Chloe explained. “It was the only place out of harm’s way. We left this morning and made a few stops. Should’ve arrived earlier—sorry.”

Vanessa waved it off. “I’m just relieved you’re safe. You girls need rest. Max, your room’s just as you left it.”

Max lit up. “Really? That’s amazing. Thanks, guys.”

She hugged her parents tightly, then dashed upstairs with Chloe trailing behind.

In her room, Max sat on the edge of her bed, arms wide. “Welcome to where I used to cry over you,” she said with a smile.

*Oh, Max…*

Chloe stepped into the dim room, sat beside her, and wrapped her arms around her.

“We’ll get through this, Maxi. We will.”

Max leaned into the hug, her smile soft. “I know we will, Chloe.”

On the Road, Somewhere Beyond Arcadia
The night air rushed through the open window, cool and cleansing.

Rachel leaned out slightly, her hand slicing through the wind.

“So, Steph,” she asked, voice light, “where are we headed?”

Steph grinned, eyes on the road. “Wherever the road takes us, Rachel the Fallen Angel.”

Rachel laughed, the sound soft and free. “I like that.”

The car rolled on, headlights cutting through the dark, two survivors chasing something new—freedom, healing.

Chapter Text

The roadside was quiet beneath a blanket of stars, the hum of distant crickets the only sound. Steph lay curled in the backseat, her breath slow and steady. Rachel sat beside her, cross-legged and watchful, the night air brushing through her translucent form.

She didn’t need sleep—but something about Steph’s vulnerability tugged at her.

*I was so oblivious to Steph’s crush back in school,* Rachel thought, watching her stir. *Too wrapped up in Chloe. Too desperate to escape Arcadia. I was such a fool.*

Steph murmured something, her lips barely moving.

Rachel leaned closer.

“Mum…”

Rachel’s heart ached. She lay down beside her, whispering, “It’s alright, Steph. I’m here.”

Steph’s breathing deepened, her body relaxing. The rest of the night passed in quiet peace.

8:00 AM

Sunlight spilled across the roadside, golden and soft. Steph blinked awake, stretching with a groan.

She glanced over—and blinked.

Rachel was asleep.

Steph chuckled. “Even in death, this girl loves her sleep.”

She slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine roared to life.

Rachel jolted upright, eyes wide.

Steph grinned, mimicking her voice. “Ooh, I’m a spirit. I don’t need sleep. I’ll keep watch over you all night.”

Rachel climbed into the passenger seat, groaning. “First, I didn’t know I could sleep. Second, you were muttering about your mom. And third—screw you.”

Steph laughed, pulling onto the road.

“So, where to?” Rachel asked, brushing phantom dust from her jeans.

“Colorado,” Steph said, eyes fixed ahead.

Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Oh… why there?”

Steph didn’t answer. Just gave her a knowing wink.

The car rolled forward, the horizon wide and waiting.

Max sat on the edge of her bed, the early light casting long shadows across the floor. Chloe slept soundly beside her, breath steady, untouched by the storm raging inside Max’s mind.

The screams won’t stop, she thought, fingers clenched in her lap. Joyce. David. Dana. Frank. Victoria. Kate.

Each name echoed like a bell tolling in her chest.

“I can’t believe Chloe forgave me,” she whispered. “I killed them all. For what? Because I couldn’t bear to lose her again?”

She glanced at Chloe, peaceful in sleep.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Max murmured. “Though… maybe I’d be worse off now.”

Downstairs, she heard movement—her father rising, footsteps soft against the hardwood.

She followed, drawn by the need for something grounding.

In the kitchen, she poured coffee, the scent familiar and calming.

“Morning, Dad,” she said, voice quiet.

Ryan looked up from his phone, then set it aside and pulled her into a hug.

“Hey, Max. How are you feeling this morning?”

Max leaned into the embrace, grateful. “Not great. But I guess that’s expected. Chloe’s been amazing, though. I’d be lost without her.”

Ryan nodded, sipping his coffee. “She’s one of a kind. You two… you’ve been through hell. There’ll be rough patches, sure. But lean on each other. You’ll make it through.”

Max smiled faintly, hugging him again. “Thanks, Dad.”

They sat in silence for a while, the quiet hum of the house wrapping around them.

An hour later, Chloe stirred awake to the rich aroma of coffee and the soft glow of Max’s phone screen. Max sat beside her on the bed, legs tucked beneath her, sipping quietly.

Without a word, Chloe reached over and snatched the cup from Max’s hands, taking a long sip.

“Ahh, that hits the spot. Cheers, Max,” she said, handing back the now-empty cup.

Max peered into it mournfully. “Goodbye, sweet coffee. You will be remembered.” She bowed her head solemnly.

Chloe rolled her eyes, but guilt flickered across her face.

“I got you,” she muttered, grabbing the cup and bolting from the room.

Max heard the unmistakable thud of Chloe tumbling down the last two steps and couldn’t help but laugh.

Ten minutes later, Chloe burst back in, triumphant, arms full.

“Two coffees. Two donuts. One bruised ego,” she announced.

Max clapped dramatically. “Oh, thank you, my hero,” she teased, reaching for her coffee and donut.

Chloe flopped onto the bed beside her, rubbing her elbow.

“Had a very awkward conversation with your dad while making these,” she said, biting into her donut. “So they better be good.”

Max raised an eyebrow but said nothing, choosing instead to savor the moment—the warmth of the coffee, the sweetness of the donut, and the quiet comfort of Chloe beside her.

Whatever Chloe had said to her dad could wait. For now, this was enough.

The TV flickered to life, casting soft light across the room. Max curled up beside Chloe, remote in hand, her voice quiet but steady.

“Want to watch anything, Chloe? I’m not up for much today… if that’s okay.”

Chloe, finishing the last bite of her donut, nodded. “After the week we’ve had, a do-nothing day sounds perfect.”

Max smiled, grateful. The idea of spending the day in bed—with Chloe, with comfort, with silence—felt like a small miracle.

“We’re watching Blade Runner,” she declared. “Since you’ve never seen the end. And I doubt you’ll fall asleep again.”

Chloe widened her eyes dramatically, pulling her fingers apart like cartoon eyelids. “I promise to stay awake this time.”

Max laughed, but Chloe felt a flicker of nerves.

“If you fall asleep again,” Max teased, “you’re on coffee duty for a week. And you’ll have to endure plenty of awkward chats with my parents.”

Chloe groaned. “You’re wicked.”

Max leaned in, eyes twinkling. “Stay awake, and there’s a surprise in store for you.”

Chloe smirked. “I almost wish you had sacrificed me now.”

The words hung in the air like a dropped glass.

Max’s smile faded. “Chloe…” she whispered.

Chloe’s heart sank. She reached for Max, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“Damn, Max, I’m sorry… I wasn’t thinking.”

Max didn’t pull away. She rested her head on Chloe’s chest, the sound of her heartbeat grounding her.

Chloe held her close, silently cursing herself. *Why do I always joke when things get real?*

Max hit play. The opening chords of the film filled the room.

The credits rolled, the room dim and quiet. Chloe blinked at the screen, then turned to Max with a triumphant grin.

“I stayed awake,” she said, smug. “No coffee duty. No awkward parent chats. So… where’s my surprise?”

Max swallowed hard, heart thudding.

*I didn’t think she’d actually stay awake when I made the bet,* she thought, panic rising.

“Well… shoot,” she muttered aloud. “To be honest, I didn’t really think you’d stay awake.”

Chloe’s smile widened, eyes sparkling.

*Don’t look at me like that, Chlo. That smile—it’s too beautiful,* Max thought, her chest tightening.

She exhaled, trying to steady herself. “Alright. A deal’s a deal. For staying awake…”

Chloe leaned in, waving a hand in front of Max’s dazed expression. “I’m waiting, Max.”

Max blinked. “Oh, sorry… Okay… your reward for staying awake is…”

She handed Chloe her phone, screen open to a pet adoption site.

Chloe stared. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Max fidgeted. “What’s up, Chlo? Thought you’d be happy.”

Chloe didn’t answer right away. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Max in a sudden, fierce hug.

“Max, I’m freaking ecstatic. I GET TO CHOOSE A NEW CAT!” she shouted, practically vibrating with joy.

Max laughed, relief washing over her. “Heh, I’m glad you’re excited, Chlo. Now, go get your keys.”

Chloe bolted downstairs like a kid on Christmas morning.

Max sat for a moment, catching her breath.

“Good job, chickenshit,” she muttered to herself, smiling despite the nerves.

Then she stood, heart still fluttering, and followed Chloe—toward a new beginning, one paw at a time.

The shelter was quiet, tucked between rows of sleepy storefronts. Max lingered near the entrance, watching Chloe crouch beside a fluffy white kitten with mismatched eyes and a curious tilt to his ears.

“He reminds me of Bongo,” Chloe said softly, scratching under his chin.

Max smiled, heart tugging. *I might’ve backed out of saying what I really wanted to, but this is still a win.*

“He’s perfect,” she said, stepping forward to handle the paperwork.

By the time they returned home, the house was theirs alone—Vanessa and Ryan still at work, the afternoon sun spilling across the living room floor.

Chloe opened the carrier, and Kimba darted out like a shot, tail high, nose twitching.

Max watched him explore, her heart lighter than it had been in days.

“How did you come up with ‘Kimba’?” she asked, settling onto the couch.

Chloe gasped in mock horror. “You don’t know Kimba the White Lion? Didn’t you watch anything back in your room?”

Max smirked. “So, Chloe Price did more than stir up trouble?”

Chloe flopped beside her. “It was my go-to show for zoning out. We’ll watch it together soon.”

Upstairs, Kimba leapt onto Max’s bed like he’d always belonged there.

Max followed, lying down beside him. “He prefers me,” she teased.

Chloe leaned against the doorway, watching them.

*Hopefully, he does,* she thought. *He’s your little therapy cat.*

She joined Max on the bed, the three of them nestled in quiet companionship.

Outside, the world still spun with grief and memory. But in this room, with soft fur and shared laughter, healing had begun.

The city shimmered below, neon veins pulsing through the night. Steph leaned against the window, wine glass in hand, her breath fogging the glass slightly.

Rachel hovered nearby, half-present, half-ethereal, her gaze fixed on Steph’s reflection.

“Not sure how you swung this,” Steph said, uncorking the bottle with a grin. “But no complaints here.”

Rachel smirked. “Turns out being dead has its perks. People don’t argue with ghosts.”

Steph laughed, pouring two glasses out of habit.

“Meeting you—spirit or not—has been a blessing,” she said, voice softening. “I’d have been at a loss otherwise.”

Rachel sat beside her, the sofa barely reacting to her weightless form.

“It’s mutual,” she replied.

They clinked glasses—one real, one imagined—and let the silence stretch, the view sprawling before them like a promise.

Moonlight spilled across the bed, casting soft shadows over Chloe’s sleeping form. Kimba lay curled on her stomach, purring faintly.

Max sat beside them, coffee cooling in her hands, heart heavy with words unsaid.

*Still mad I backed out earlier,* she thought. *But I don’t think either of us are ready. She’s still getting over Rachel. And I’ve never been in a relationship. So as much as I want to kiss her… we’re better off waiting.*

She lay down slowly, careful not to disturb Chloe or the cat.

The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of Chloe’s breath.

Max closed her eyes.

*I love you, Chloe.*

The words didn’t need to be spoken—not yet. They lived in the space between them, patient and true.

Chapter Text

The café was small, tucked between a bookstore and a laundromat, its outdoor tables kissed by early sun. Steph sat alone, sipping her coffee and nibbling her toastie, her phone screen glowing faintly.

Rachel hovered nearby, arms crossed, watching the steam rise from Steph’s cup.

“Great, now I get to watch you drink coffee,” she grumbled.

Steph didn’t look up. “If you hadn’t died, we could both enjoy a coffee.”

Rachel flinched, then scoffed. “Fine. I’ll go explore.”

She vanished down the street, her departure leaving a chill Steph hadn’t expected.

Steph sighed, slipping on her headphones.

“Well… this sucks,” she muttered, letting music drown out the quiet.

Max and Chloe stood in front of the fridge, doors wide open, faces blank.

“Why is there nothing to eat here?” Chloe groaned, collapsing onto the couch like a defeated warrior.

Max peeked into the pantry, equally unimpressed. “I know a quaint café nearby I used to visit.”

Chloe sprang up like she’d been electrocuted. “PERFECT.”

She grabbed her keys and bowed dramatically. “Lead the way, chauffeur.”

Max rolled her eyes, grabbing her jacket. “You’re such a dork.”

Chloe grinned. “And you love it.”

Seattle pulsed around her—cars humming, people laughing, the city alive in ways Rachel no longer was. She drifted through it like a shadow, careful not to stray too far from Steph.

Seattle’s decent, she mused, pausing at a crosswalk. But it’s no Los Angeles… actually, just LA.

She watched the crowd pass, inches from her, oblivious. The loneliness pressed in, sharp and sudden.

*Why only Steph? Why just her?*

She turned to head back, the ache in her chest growing heavier with each step.

Then—

“Maaaaaaxxxx,” Chloe’s voice rang out, unmistakable.

Rachel froze.

“Chloe Elizabeth Price, if you keep asking ‘are we there yet,’ we might never get there,” Max replied, exasperated.

Rachel followed the voices, heart pounding.

She saw them—Chloe and Max, side by side, laughing, alive.

“Chloe…” she whispered.

No reaction.

“CHLOE!” she shouted.

Chloe stopped, eyes flicking toward her.

Rachel stepped closer, trembling. “Chloe, it’s me. Rachel. I know things ended badly, and I’m so sorry. Can you see me?”

She stood before her best friend—the girl she loved but never told, the girl she ran from, the girl she hurt.

Chloe’s head tilted, her expression shifting—shock, sorrow…

Rachel’s breath caught.

Then—

“Did you feed the cat this morning, Max?” Chloe asked.

Max groaned. “Seriously, Chlo? That’s your responsibility; it’s your cat.”

Chloe shrugged. “I’ll do it later.”

They walked on, laughter trailing behind them.

Rachel stood frozen, the hope draining from her face.

“I thought she saw me,” she murmured.

The city blurred around her.

With a heavy heart, she turned and began the long walk back to Steph—her only tether to the world that no longer saw her.

This moment is aching with emotional complexity, Jesse—Rachel’s grief and longing colliding with Steph’s quiet empathy, and the cruel irony of visibility. I’ve refined the pacing and emotional layering to heighten the tension, deepen the intimacy, and let the silence between them speak as loudly as the words:

---

Rachel slid into the passenger seat, her expression unreadable.

“Ahh, there’s the big adventurer!” Steph greeted, trying to lift the mood. “So, how was it?”

Rachel didn’t answer.

“Just drive, Steph.”

Steph nodded, sensing the shift. She started the engine and pulled onto the road, heading east toward Colorado.

Behind them, the café buzzed with laughter—Max and Chloe sharing breakfast, unaware of the ghost who had tried to reach them.

---

Two hours passed in near silence. The road stretched endlessly, the hum of tires on asphalt the only sound.

Steph finally reached for the radio dial, turning the volume down.

“Okay, that’s enough silence,” she said gently. “Rachel… who or what did you see?”

Rachel didn’t turn. Her gaze remained fixed on the passing trees.

“I saw Chloe.”

Steph’s heart leapt. “Holy shit, that’s incredible. I’m glad she survived the storm.”

Rachel turned slowly, her face tight with frustration.

“She didn’t see me, Steph.”

Steph’s smile faded.

“Why can you see me, but she can’t?” Rachel continued, voice cracking. “I love you, but this is absurd. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t awakened as a spirit.”

She turned back to the window, her reflection blurred in the glass.

Steph’s hands tightened on the wheel.

She was overjoyed that Chloe was alive—and likely Max too—but Rachel’s pain was palpable. Her best friend, the girl she’d loved and lost, couldn’t see her. Yet Steph, a near-stranger, could.

It didn’t make sense.

But Steph didn’t argue. She just drove, letting the silence settle again.

Chapter Text

Chloe stirred to the sound of quiet sobs, the kind that clawed their way out from deep within.

Max lay beside her, trembling, her face buried in the pillow.

Chloe reached out, gently placing Max’s hand on her shoulder.

“I’m right here, Max,” she whispered. “It’s okay. Let it out.”

Max tried to hold back, but the dam broke.

“I’M SO SORRY,” she cried, voice raw and cracking.

Chloe’s own tears welled up as she pulled Max into a trembling embrace.

“Oh, Max…” she murmured, holding her close.

The door creaked open. Ryan stepped in, eyes wide with concern.

He sat beside Max without a word, wrapping his arms around her.

Max collapsed into the hug, sobbing against his chest. Chloe sat nearby, dabbing at her tears, her heart breaking in silence.

It took nearly an hour for Max to settle, her breathing finally slowing. Ryan kissed her forehead and quietly left the room.

Max lay flat on her back, eyes red and distant.

“What’s wrong with me, Chloe?” she asked, voice barely audible.

Chloe moved closer, brushing hair from Max’s face.

“Nothing, Max. Absolutely nothing is wrong with you. You’re going through a tough—”

“WHEN WILL THE SCREAMS STOP?” Max cried, tears streaming again, her desperation paralyzing.

Chloe froze, words caught in her throat.

She didn’t know what to say.

Max buried her face in the pillows, sobbing quietly.

Chloe stood, walked to the bathroom, and locked the door behind her.

She stared at her reflection, whispering, “I can’t do this.”

Her voice cracked.

She’d been strong for Max. But she hadn’t grieved her own losses.

Her mother. Her childhood. Her sense of self.

She was the last Price. A dropout. A girl who felt like she’d failed everyone.

She washed her face, tears mixing with the water.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered. “I don’t deserve your legacy.”

She thought of Max—of the choice she’d made.

*Why didn’t she sacrifice me? Despite everything, she chose me. It has to be more than friendship.*

She remembered Portland. The almost-confession.

She sighed, dried her face, and returned to the bedroom.

Max was asleep, her breathing soft and steady.

Chloe stood in the doorway, watching her.

“Sleep well,” she whispered, voice barely audible.

The mall had been lighthearted—Rachel teasing Steph about her scent, Steph firing back with practiced sarcasm.

“Since when can a spirit smell?” Steph asked, arms full of shopping bags.

“Simple,” Rachel gagged theatrically. “You reek so badly even the dead can’t escape it.”

Steph rolled her eyes. “Always the comedian.”

They left the store, laughter trailing behind them.

But everything shifted when Steph bumped into a man outside—same age, sharp features, cold eyes. His shopping spilled across the pavement.

“For fuck sake, watch where you’re going,” he snapped.

Steph apologized, kneeling to help.

Rachel didn’t say a word.

Steph glanced up, expecting a snarky remark—but Rachel was frozen, her gaze locked on the man.

He walked away, muttering under his breath.

Steph stood, brushing off her jeans. “Uh, Rach, are you okay?” Rachel didn’t respond. Steph walked toward the car, assuming Rachel would follow. But Rachel remained rooted to the spot, her expression pale and stricken.

“Rach, it’s alright,” Steph said gently. Rachel’s voice was barely audible. “That was Nathan.” Steph blinked. “Are… are you certain?”

But Rachel was already drifting after him, her form tense with urgency. Steph placed her bags in the trunk, heart racing.

*He won’t be able to see you, Rach. And I won’t talk to a murderer.* She followed at a distance, unsure what Rachel hoped to find—but unwilling to let her face it alone.

Nathan’s eyes darted wildly, his grip tightening on the car door.

“I thought the meds were supposed to stop this,” he muttered. “But no—there’s a damn apparition that looks like Rachel Amber floating in front of me, looking pissed off.”

He tried the door again. It slammed shut.

“Not funny, wind,” he snapped.

Rachel hovered inches from his face, her voice cold and sharp.

“I’m not a hallucination, and you’re not leaving until we’ve had a friendly little chat.”

Nathan spotted Steph standing nearby, arms crossed, watching silently. He shrugged, trying to mask his nerves.

“Fine. What do you want?”

Rachel began to pace—floating, circling, her energy crackling.

Steph stifled a giggle. The sight was surreal.

Rachel stopped abruptly.

“Okay, who told you to kill me?” she demanded. “Because I know you’re not clever enough to own a secret bunker, hidden in a barn in the middle of nowhere, to drug and photograph innocent girls, and occasionally go too far and kill one.”

Nathan’s mouth opened, but no words came.

Steph’s eyes widened.

“How…” Nathan began, voice hollow.

Rachel didn’t flinch.

“It was Mark Jefferson, wasn’t it?” she pressed. “You were his puppet. Doing his bidding. But then you killed me, and he wanted you gone. He was going to kill you the night Arcadia was wiped out.”

Nathan’s face paled.

“So you survived,” Rachel continued, voice trembling with rage. “He’s dead. And here you are—living a normal life as if you didn’t end mine.”

Silence.

Steph stepped forward, her voice low. “Is it true, Nathan?”

Nathan didn’t answer. He just stared at Rachel—at the ghost of the girl he’d buried in silence.

Silence hung heavy in the air.

Nathan knelt on the pavement, sobbing uncontrollably, his shoulders shaking with the weight of guilt long buried. Steph stood beside Rachel, stunned.

“How?” she whispered, barely able to process what she’d heard. Rachel didn’t flinch. Her voice was steady, sharp.

“I was conscious the whole damn time,” she said. “The normal dose didn’t work. So he increased it.”

She stepped closer to Nathan, her tone laced with venom.

“Actually… you didn’t just double the dosage, did you, Nathan?”

She drew out the name, watching him flinch.

“You tripled it, correct?”

Nathan didn’t respond—he couldn’t.

“Well done, Nathan,” Rachel sneered. “You get a gold star.”

Steph’s breath caught. Rachel’s voice softened, but the edge remained.

“Which turned out to be too much. And instead of putting me to sleep for a few hours… the idiot killed me.”

She stood over him, her presence towering despite her weightless form. Nathan covered his face, unable to look at her.

“And you know what, Prescott?” Rachel said, her voice trembling with something deeper.

“I forgive you.”

Steph’s eyes widened. Nathan froze, his sobs stuttering into silence.Rachel turned away, her expression unreadable.

Forgiveness didn’t erase the pain.

But it was hers to give.

And in that moment, she reclaimed something Jefferson had stolen—her voice, her power, her choice.

The doors shut with a satisfying thud. Steph exhaled, her pulse still racing from the confrontation.

Rachel burst into laughter, wild and unfiltered.

“Oh man, that was brilliant,” she giggled, floating in place like a spark that refused to dim.

Steph turned to her, eyebrows raised. “Rachel, do you realize what that was?”

Rachel grinned, eyes gleaming. “Hot as fuck.”

Steph laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

But beneath the humor, something had shifted—Rachel had faced her past, and Steph had stood beside her. Whatever came next, they’d earned this moment of release.

Max lay quietly, watching Chloe sleep. The soft rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair curled across her cheek—it was a sight Max could get used to.

She gently brushed a strand away, careful not to wake her.

This is a sight I could get used to waking up and seeing, she thought, rolling onto her back.

Her mind wandered—imagining a life with Chloe, the kind of life she’d never dared to voice aloud.

“What are you imagining, Max?” came a sleepy voice beside her.

Max jumped. “Oh… nothing important.”

Chloe turned, eyes half-lidded. “Come on, Max. You always tell me what’s going on in that cute head of yours.”

Max hesitated.

Chloe smirked. “Were you imagining me naked? I wouldn’t blame you.”

Max blushed furiously, burying her face in the pillow.

Chloe stretched and stood. “Coffee duty,” she announced, heading for the door.

Max rolled back over, laughing softly.

“That’s exactly what I was imagining,” she whispered to herself. “And it was hot.”

Still blushing, she got up to follow Chloe—heart fluttering, hope quietly blooming.

The game flickered on the screen, but Max wasn’t watching. Her eyes drifted, her fingers idle on her phone.

Ryan muted the TV, sensing the shift.

“You okay, Max? You’re usually more animated during a game.”

Max set her phone aside, exhaling slowly.

“Dad… Can I tell you something?”

Ryan smiled. “Another secret? Tell or no tell.”

Max shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Noted.”

She fidgeted, unsure how to begin.

“I… um… have a crush on someone. And I need your advice.”

Ryan leaned back, patient.

Max hesitated, the name heavy on her tongue.

“It’s Chloe, isn’t it?”

Max slumped deeper into the couch, groaning. “How did you… Damn.”

She covered her face, cheeks burning.

Ryan chuckled softly. “Oh, Max. It’s not a shock. Your mother and I just want you to be happy—with a girl or a boy, it doesn’t matter. You’ve grown up together. It’s natural to develop feelings for her.”

He pulled her into a hug, warm and steady.

“But there’s more you want to say, isn’t there?”

Max nodded against his shoulder.

“I don’t know how to tell her. Or if I should. Would she reciprocate? Does she even like girls?”

Ryan laughed gently. “Firstly, Chloe is very openly gay. Secondly, there’s no rush to tell her. It might happen naturally. The important thing is to cherish having her in your life again.”

He patted her back, then settled into his seat.

“You both were lucky to survive the storm. It could’ve been a different story if you hadn’t been there.”

Max blinked, heart full and aching.

A bit on the nose, Dad, she thought, but smiled anyway, turning her gaze back to the screen. The game resumed, but her thoughts lingered on Chloe—on what might be, if she found the courage to speak.

Chapter Text

Chloe sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, face buried in her hands.
Sleep had become a stranger. The tornado replayed behind her eyes—roaring through streets, tearing lives apart.

“I should be dead,” she whispered to the dark. “I keep seeing it. The town, shredded. And I’m still here. I should be grateful. So many aren’t.”

She rose, padded downstairs, and sank into the couch. The television flickered on, casting pale light across the room.

Ryan appeared in the kitchen, barefoot and bleary-eyed, rummaging in the fridge. “Can’t sleep?” he asked, voice soft, almost teasing.

“Something like that.” Chloe stood, drawn to the quiet hum of the kitchen. “I haven’t slept well since the storm. I don’t think Max has either.”

Ryan set the cookie tin aside and pulled her into a hug. It was warm, steadying. They lingered there a moment before he offered her a chocolate cookie.

“If you weren’t shaken, I’d be worried,” he said gently. “It’s the kind of thing you don’t forget. You just… learn to carry it.” He hesitated. “Did Joyce—?”

Chloe shook her head. The silence that followed said everything.

Ryan placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re always welcome here. You know that.”

He turned to leave, but Chloe’s voice stopped him. “Have you talked to Max?”

Ryan paused, then turned back with a cautious smile. “She’ll kill me for saying this, so keep it quiet.”

Chloe nodded, heart thudding.

“We talked earlier. She told me something… personal.”

Chloe held her breath.

“She loves you, Chloe. A lot. Always has.”

The words landed like a sunrise. Her chest bloomed with warmth, disbelief flickering into joy. *Did he really just say that?*

Ryan smiled. “And I hope you feel the same.”

Chloe nodded, eyes bright. “I do. I always have.”

He grinned, nudging the cookie tin closed. “Now go to bed before Vanessa catches us stealing her stash.”

Chloe slips back beneath the covers, careful not to disturb Max. For once, she’s sleeping soundly—her breath slow, her brow uncreased.

Chloe turns to face her, letting the hush of the room settle around them. The warmth of Max’s body reaches her in waves, soft and steady.

Her gaze lingers on Max’s lips, and the butterflies stir again—restless, insistent. *God, I want to kiss her,* Chloe thinks, heart thudding. *But we need to talk first. Just a quick conversation. Clear the air.*

She leans in, brushing a feather-light kiss against Max’s nose. Max stirs but doesn’t wake.

Chloe closes her eyes, the flutter still alive in her chest. *Soon,* she promises herself. *Soon.*

Steph and Rachel arrived in Colorado just after sunrise, pulling up outside a weathered pub called The Black Lantern.

Rachel eyed the building warily. “Why here?” she’d asked more than once, but Steph had kept her reasons close.

Inside, the scent of coffee and old wood greeted them. A girl burst from behind the bar, colliding into Steph’s arms with a cry of relief.

“Alex,” Steph breathed, tears springing to her eyes.

Alex kissed her—quick, fierce, trembling. Rachel froze. *She… already has someone…* The realization hit like a punch. She retreated to a shadowed corner, silent, unseen.

Alex pulled back, her joy laced with fury. “I thought you were dead,” she said, voice cracking. “You were supposed to be back Friday. It’s Monday. What happened?”

Steph held her close. “The Arcadia Bay storm. I sheltered in the town hall. My mum… she stayed behind.”

Alex’s grip tightened. Rachel exhaled softly. *I can’t hold anger toward her,* she thought. *I’m gone. She’s alive. And she has someone to hold her.*

Upstairs, the room was modest—soft light filtering through curtains. Steph and Alex curled together on the bed, while Rachel wandered quietly, taking in the space.

“I took the scenic route,” Steph murmured. “Seattle one night, then somewhere else. I’m sorry.”

Alex waved it off. “You’re here. That’s what matters.” She kissed her again, slower this time.

Rachel sank into the couch, trying not to exist too loudly. It was hard—being used to the spotlight, now reduced to a whisper.

Alex’s shift at the bar loomed. As she showered, Rachel turned to Steph. “It’s hard not to reveal myself.”

Steph pulled her into a hug. “You don’t have to hide forever. But let me talk to Alex first. After her shift.”

Rachel nodded, torn between relief and dread. “How will you explain me?”

Steph opened the door, gesturing for her to follow. “I don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out. Come on—I’ll show you around.”

The movie ends, its final notes fading into quiet. Chloe shifts, eyes fixed on Max.

“Max, we need to talk.”

Max tenses. “Okay… about what?”

Her heart stutters. She thinks of the secret she shared with her dad yesterday—the weight of it still pressing against her ribs.

“About your powers. About us. About everything,” Chloe says, voice steady. “We’ve been dodging this since Portland. If we’re going to heal, we need to face it. Your parents aren’t home. So let’s talk.”

Max nods slowly, pulse quickening.

“Do you still have your power?”

Max hesitates. “I tried a couple nights ago. I was yelling. Nothing happened. So… no.”

Chloe exhales, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Good. We don’t need any more deathnadoes.”

Max lets out a soft laugh. Chloe counts it as a win.

Then Chloe’s voice drops. “Okay. Then tell me—why didn’t you sacrifice me? Like I asked?”

Max freezes. The question lands like a stone in her chest.

Words fail her. So she reaches out, placing her hand gently on Chloe’s cheek.

She leans in and kisses her.

It’s soft. Warm. Familiar. Electric.

Max’s heart soars. Kissing her best friend—her anchor, her storm—it feels like the world finally stopped spinning.

She pulls back just enough to breathe, her forehead resting against Chloe’s.

Giggling, breathless, she whispers, “Does that answer your question?”

Chloe smiles, eyes shining. “Loud and clear.”

And for now, the conversation pauses.

But the silence between them feels like a promise.

Steph sat cross-legged on the bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering but unmoving. The anticipation of Alex’s arrival twisted in her stomach. She’s going to think I’ve lost it, Steph thought, just as the door creaked open.

Alex stepped in, eyes heavy, shoulders slumped. “Hey babe. Busy day?” she mumbled, collapsing face-first into the pillow.

“Long. Emotional. I’m okay—just tired.”

Steph winced, guilt blooming. She slipped into the kitchen, brewed two coffees, and placed them on the table near the couch.

Alex sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. “You look like you’ve got something to say,” she said, voice still thick with exhaustion.

Steph glanced beside her. Rachel sat quietly, offering a nod of encouragement only Steph could see.

“Okay,” Steph began, voice low. “After the storm, we were trapped in the town hall. The doors were locked from the outside. It was terrifying.”

Alex leaned forward, brow furrowed.

“Someone found us. Unlocked the doors. It was… an old friend. We found my mom’s body together before leaving town.”

Alex blinked, confused. “Steph, why are you telling me this now?”

Steph swallowed. “Because that friend was Rachel Amber.”

Alex froze.

“She’s been dead for six months,” Steph added.

Silence.

Steph continued, “Not everyone can see her. Some can. Most can’t. We don’t know why.”

Alex stood, trying to process. “So… you were rescued by the spirit of your dead friend. You can see her. Talk to her. And now she’s…”

She turned slowly.

Rachel smiled. “Hi Alex. I’m Rachel. Nice to meet you.”

Alex’s breath caught. Her coffee sat untouched.

Steph reached for her hand. “I know it’s a lot. But you’re not alone in this.”

Alex blinked, her exhaustion forgotten. The room felt suddenly brighter, sharper, like reality had tilted.

“You’re Rachel Amber,” she said slowly, eyes scanning the girl beside Steph. “As in… the Rachel Amber?”

Rachel nodded, calm and composed. “In the flesh. Sort of.”

Alex stepped closer, her voice hushed. “You’re not a hallucination? Not some grief-induced projection?”

Steph shook her head. “She’s real. I mean, not alive real, but… present. Tangible. I’ve touched her. Talked to her. She helped me survive.”

Alex’s gaze flicked between them. “But why you? Why now? Why this storm?”

Rachel smiled, a little sad. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s unfinished business. Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s just… the universe being weird.”

Alex sat down slowly, processing. “Can you touch things? Eat? Do you sleep?”

Rachel laughed. “No to food. Yes to sleep, sort of. Touch is… selective.”

Alex leaned forward, eyes wide. “Do you remember everything? From before?”

Rachel’s smile faded. “Most of it. Some things are blurry. Some things hurt.”

Steph reached for Alex’s hand. “I know it’s a lot. But she’s here. And she’s helping.”

Alex nodded, still stunned. “I have a million questions.”

Rachel grinned. “Good. I’ve got time.”

Chapter Text

Steph woke to Rachel gone.

Not surprising. Disappointing, yes—but not surprising.

*She can’t stay in one place for long,* Steph thought, rubbing sleep from her eyes. *She’ll be back. She always comes back.*

She rolled over, kissed Alex’s cheek, and slipped downstairs.

Jed greeted her with a warm smile as she slid into a corner booth. “Good to see you back, kiddo.”

Steph smiled, grateful for the normalcy. “Thanks, Jed. It’s good to be back. Things were… uncertain for a while.”

Jed nodded, then pulled a folded poster from behind the counter. “This came in while you were gone. Thought it might be up your alley.”

Steph unfolded it. Her eyes lit up.

“Managing the store and the radio station?” she said, half-laughing. “I’ve never done either, but what the hell.”

After finishing her waffles, she walked to the record store, heart thudding with anticipation.

Inside, Jack was boxing up cables and vinyl sleeves.

“Does this mean I owe you fifty bucks, Jack?” she teased.

He turned, grinning. “Well, well. If it isn’t Miss ‘I’ll never work here.’”

They hugged, laughter softening the edges of the past few days.

“It’s good to see you back,” Jack said, voice quieter now. “After the storm… we feared the worst. But Alex never gave up. Neither did I.”

Steph nodded. “It was chaos. Not something I’ll forget.”

They stood in silence as Jack finished packing. Then, with care, he walked her through the setup—equipment, playlists, quirks of the mic.

“Don’t worry,” he said, handing her the keys. “You’ll find your rhythm.”

One last hug. Then he was gone.

Steph stood alone in the booth, the hum of the soundboard beneath her fingertips.

She inhaled deeply, heart steadying.

Then she leaned into the mic.

“Good morning, Haven Springs listeners,” Steph’s voice rang out, smooth and confident. “This is your new host, Steph, ready to deliver all the music you’ll ever need. Starting with this.”

Rachel paused mid-step, the voice spilling from the record store speakers catching her off guard.

*Since when is she a radio host?*

She turned, curiosity tugging her toward the storefront Steph had shown her just yesterday.

Inside, Steph stood at the booth, headphones on, fingers dancing across the controls. Rachel lingered near the entrance, watching her friend move with ease—focused, radiant, utterly in her element.

Mid-song, Steph glanced up and spotted her. “Rach, there you are.”

They embraced, and Rachel felt the familiar dissonance—warmth without weight, contact without substance.

“I’ll never get used to hugging a spirit,” she murmured.

“Tell me about it,” Rachel replied, grinning.

“I thought you were jobless?”

Steph gestured proudly to the store around her. “I was—until this morning. Jack’s heading out, and the spot opened up. So… here I am.”

Rachel nodded, impressed. “It suits you. You’ve got the perfect voice for it.”

Steph’s cheeks flushed with quiet pride.

The song faded. She dashed back to the booth, queued up the next track, and returned with a bounce in her step.

Rachel watched her, a smile tugging at her lips. *Even in the strangest circumstances, Steph finds her rhythm.*

Rachel leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Okay, need some help? I’m free.”

Steph didn’t look up right away—just rolled her eyes and gestured her in. “How long have you been waiting to use that one?”

Rachel stepped inside, grinning. “Longer than I’d care to admit.”

Steph chuckled, adjusting the soundboard. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Rachel settled beside her, watching the dials flicker. “I know. I’m charming. And dead. That’s a rare combo.”

Steph snorted. “You’re impossible.”

Rachel winked. “And yet, here I am. Ready to assist your rise to radio stardom.”

Here’s a refined version that deepens Chloe’s emotional state, sharpens pacing, and layers in gesture and subtext to heighten the warmth of the reunion and the quiet ache of worry:

---

Chloe wandered the streets of Seattle, hands stuffed in her jacket pockets, headphones blaring just loud enough to drown out her thoughts.

Max had insisted on staying home. Said she needed space. Said she was fine.

I shouldn’t have left her alone, Chloe thought, stomach twisting. But it’s what she wanted. I just hope it doesn’t come back to haunt me.

She pushed the worry aside and ducked into the café Max had introduced her to days earlier. The smell of coffee and cinnamon eased her nerves. She ordered breakfast, found a corner seat, and let herself breathe.

Mid-bite, a tap on her shoulder startled her.

“Hey… um… you’re Chloe, right? I’m Kate.”

Chloe spun around, eyes wide. “KAAATTTTIIIIEEEEEE!”

She sprang from her chair, pulling Kate into a tight hug and twirling her once before gently setting her down.

Kate laughed, a little breathless. “I didn’t think you’d remember me. We never really talked much.”

Chloe rubbed the back of her neck, grinning. “True. But you were always cool. And now you’re here. That’s wild.”

Chloe smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “My girlfriend’s told me so much about you. She’d be thrilled to meet you sometime.”

Kate’s face lit up. “I’d love that.”

Chloe nodded. “I’ll let you know when. It’s really good to see you again.”

Chloe watched her go, the warmth of the moment lingering like sunlight.

*Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.*

Chloe stepped through the front door, dropping her keys into the bowl by habit. Something felt off.

The kitchen drawer was ajar. The scissors were missing.

Then she heard it—soft crying, muffled, coming from upstairs.

Her heart seized. She moved quickly, quietly, taking the stairs two at a time.

She tapped on the bathroom door. No answer.

She knocked again, voice low but urgent. “Max? Are you in there?”

A pause. Then movement.

“It’s unlocked,” came the reply.

Chloe pushed the door open—and froze.

Max stood by the sink, eyes red, hands trembling. Her long hair was gone, chopped unevenly to match Chloe’s length.

“You… your hair,” Chloe whispered, stunned.

Max looked up, voice breaking. “I… I couldn’t stop the screaming in my head. I thought I wanted to be alone. But I was wrong. I grabbed the scissors and…”

Chloe crossed the room and pulled her into a hug.

“It’s okay, Max. I’m here. Let it out.”

And Max did—shoulders shaking, tears soaking Chloe’s hoodie.

When the sobs faded, Chloe gently guided her to sit. She found the scissors, cleaned up the uneven edges with quiet focus.

They stood together in front of the mirror.

Chloe tilted her head, grinning. “Bitchin’, if I do say so myself.”

Max blinked at her reflection, then smiled—small, but real.

“I agree, Price.”

Back in the bedroom, Chloe sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on Max. The conversation they’d abandoned yesterday—interrupted by a kiss—still lingered between them, unfinished.

She knew Max was reluctant. But it mattered.

“Max,” she said gently, her voice steady, almost clinical. “How are you feeling today?”

Max hesitated, eyes tracing the ceiling as if searching for words.

“Lately… I haven’t been myself,” she admitted. “I feel off. Distant. We barely talk anymore. It’s not you—it’s everything. I’m shattered. The screams still echo. I hear them even when it’s quiet.”

Chloe reached out, clasping Max’s hand. Her grip was firm, grounding.

“I know it sounds grim,” Max continued, “but I’m truly lost. I lie here, staring at the ceiling for hours. Day and night. I need help, Chloe. And I’m scared you’re the only one who can give it.”

A wave of fear swept through Chloe—sharp, sudden. But beneath it, something steadier: hope.

Being Max’s anchor was terrifying. But maybe she could be. Maybe she already was.

“If that’s what you need,” Chloe said, voice firm, “then so it shall be.”

Max let out a soft laugh, the sound fragile but real.

“I love you, Chloe. I’d be far worse without you.”

She lay back, and Chloe mirrored her, their hands still entwined.

Chloe brushed a strand of hair from Max’s eyes, her heart catching at the way Max looked at her—like she was the only thing tethering her to the world.

“I love you too, Max,” she whispered. “And thank you… for saving me.”

Chapter Text

Late Thursday evening, Ryan stirred from the couch at the sound of a knock. He opened the door—and froze.

Upstairs, Max slept soundly, her breathing steady for once.

Chloe sat by the window, cigarette between her fingers, watching the smoke curl into the night. *Max’s getting better,* she thought. *Maybe it’s time I focused on myself.*

She exhaled slowly, eyes catching the unfamiliar car in the driveway. *Who the hell visits at 11pm?*

She shrugged, took one last drag, and stubbed the cigarette into the ashtray she’d bought days ago. *I promised Max I’d quit. But this is the first since Arcadia. The cravings were brutal.*

Another knock.

She moved quietly, careful not to wake Max, and opened the door.

Ryan stood there, visibly relieved. “Glad you’re up, Chloe. There are some people here to see you.”

He turned to head downstairs, but Chloe caught his arm. “For me? Are you sure?”

She’d told Max others had survived. She’d wanted to believe it. But doubt had lingered.

Ryan nodded. “Yes, Chloe. It’s fine.”

Chloe hesitated, then followed him down the stairs, each step heavier than the last.

In the living room, the air felt charged—like something long buried was about to surface.

“How did you survive?” Chloe asked, her voice raw, tears still fresh from the last ten minutes.

Joyce took a breath, steadying herself. “Twenty of us made it to the old town hall before the storm hit. It was one of the few buildings still standing the next day. David and I spent the following days helping others. We only got here tonight.”

She reached for Chloe’s hand. “I’m so relieved you’re safe. And Max?”

Chloe nodded toward the stairs. “She’s sleeping. Finally.”

Joyce’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank God.” She leaned in. “Tell me everything.”

Chloe recounted the past few days—edited, of course. No mention of powers or timelines. Just the chaos, the survival, the aching aftermath.

Joyce listened, eyes never leaving her daughter’s face. “I’ll have to thank Max when I see her. It’s incredible she saved you.”

Chloe smiled faintly. She did. In more ways than one.

“Where’s David?” she asked, the name catching in her throat.

Joyce hesitated. “At our hotel. He didn’t want to upset you.”

Chloe chuckled softly, the sound brittle. “I… want to see him tomorrow.”

Joyce raised an eyebrow, surprised.

Chloe looked down, fingers curling into her sleeve. “I want to make amends. After this week… I regret not trying harder after Dad died. Now that I know you’re both okay, I want to be a better daughter.”

Joyce blinked, visibly moved. “Of course. I’ll bring him by tomorrow. I don’t expect everything to change overnight. But I’m grateful you’re willing to try.”

They embraced—tight, trembling, real.

For the first time in years, Chloe let herself believe that healing might be possible.

Chloe crawled back into bed, the mattress familiar beneath her, the room dim and still. She released a long, contented sigh.

A sleepy voice stirred beside her. “Who was it?”

Chloe turned toward Max, her silhouette barely visible in the low light. “Remember when I said some people made it out?”

Max blinked, slowly waking. “Yeah…”

“It was my mum,” Chloe said softly. “She and about twenty others found shelter in the old town hall before the storm hit. She’s okay.”

Max sat up, eyes wide, then threw her arms around Chloe.

“That’s the best news since everything went to hell,” she whispered. “I wanted to believe people survived, but it was getting harder. It’s not everyone… but it’s something.”

Chloe held her close, the weight of the past few days easing just a little.

Max pulled back just enough to press a quick kiss to Chloe’s cheek, then nestled back into the blankets.

“Thank you, Chloe,” she murmured, already drifting.

Chloe watched her for a moment, heart full. It’s something, she echoed silently. And maybe… it’s enough for tonight.

The knock came just after lunch, soft but certain.

Max opened the door and was immediately pulled into a warm embrace.

“Oh Max, I’ve missed you,” Joyce whispered, her voice trembling with relief.

Max clung to her, the familiarity grounding her like a lifeline.

“I missed you too,” she murmured. “If I’d known you were alive… we would’ve stayed. We would’ve helped.”

Joyce pulled back, brushing a tear from Max’s cheek. “Oh kiddo, it’s okay. You got Chloe to safety. That’s all that matters.”

Max stepped aside, ushering them in.

“Hey, David,” she said, her voice quieter now.

He nodded, his expression unreadable. Max remembered the moment she’d told him Chloe was gone—the way his face had collapsed inward.

She glanced toward the stairs, silently willing Chloe to keep her promise.

Please come down. Please don’t leave me to carry this alone.

Joyce settled onto the couch, her presence already warming the room. David lingered near the doorway, unsure.

Max sat beside Joyce, heart thudding. The reunion was real. The healing had begun.

But the weight of truth still hung in the air—waiting.

Downstairs, the lounge room hummed with light conversation—Joyce asking about Max’s recovery, David listening quietly, the air warm but tentative.

Upstairs, Chloe stared at her reflection, heart thudding.

*Three years of resentment. Three years of silence. How do I start this?*

She thought of Max’s words: He cares. He just doesn’t know how to show it.

*Here goes nothing.*

She descended slowly, each step heavier than the last.

Sliding onto the couch beside Max, Chloe reached for her hand, grounding herself.

“Hey David,” she said, voice tight. “Good to… uh… see you again.”

David stood, his smile sincere. “You too, Chloe. Despite everything, your safety and happiness are all I’ve ever wanted.”

Max felt Chloe’s tension and squeezed her hand in quiet support.

Chloe nodded, swallowing hard. “The storm… it made me realize some things. I’ve caused a lot of stress. To you. To Mom. I won’t say you didn’t deserve most of it. But not all of it was fair.”

Joyce’s eyes welled with tears. Max caught the moment and smiled gently, recognizing its weight.

“I saw you as a replacement for my dad,” Chloe continued. “And I lashed out. From now on… I’ll try to do better. It’ll take time. But I’m willing. If you are.”

David chuckled softly, moved. “This is as close to an apology as I’ll ever get from you, huh?”

He stepped forward. “I’ve regretted my own actions too. Since that day.”

The unspoken hung between them—years of tension, grief, and missed chances.

He offered his hand.

Chloe hesitated, her last shred of resentment flickering.

Then she rose and took it.

“A clean slate,” she said.

Joyce exhaled, tears slipping down her cheeks. Max leaned into Chloe, heart full.

A couple hours later, David and Joyce chatted out back with Ryan and Vanessa, laughter drifting through the open windows.

Inside, Max and Chloe lingered in the kitchen, beers in hand.

“You actually went through with it,” Max said, sipping slowly. “I didn’t know if you would.”

Chloe took a long swig, then shrugged. “Honestly? I had no idea what I was gonna say. Too many emotions. But I’m glad it went the way it did.”

Max nodded, then smirked. “Still gonna call him ‘stepdick’? Or ‘stepladder’? Or maybe just ‘step step step step’?”

Chloe snorted. “God, you’re a lightweight.”

Max poked her in the ribs. “You asked for it, Price.”

Before Chloe could retaliate, Max tackled her onto the couch, fingers flying in a merciless tickle attack.

“Stop—Max—can’t breathe!” Chloe gasped between laughs.

Max finally relented, letting her catch her breath.

“You’re evil,” Chloe wheezed.

“Yeah, but you love me,” Max teased.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Can’t argue with that.”

Max grinned. “I’ve got Chloe wrapped around my finger.”

“Quiet, Caulfield.”

But Max didn’t quiet. She leaned in, still smiling—until Chloe kissed her.

Max melted into it, arms sliding around Chloe’s neck, the world narrowing to warmth and breath and the quiet hum of something finally, beautifully right.

“Ahem.”

Max jolted upright, heart lurching as Joyce and David appeared behind the couch.

Chloe blinked, then offered a sheepish grin. “Uhm… surprise?”

Max felt herself shrinking, heat rising to her cheeks. David’s going to hate this. Dammit, Max, you fool.

But David stepped forward, his expression soft. “I’m happy for you both. Seriously. After everything… it’s good to see you’ve found joy in each other.”

Max stared at him, stunned. Chloe’s wide blue eyes mirrored her disbelief.

“Uhm… thanks,” Max managed. “Sorry you had to find out this way.”

Joyce chuckled, waving it off. “Oh, kiddo, don’t worry. I always suspected this might happen.”

The tension dissolved like mist.

They all embraced—Joyce first, then David, his arms tentative but genuine.

Max exhaled, her fears easing. Chloe squeezed her hand, and for the first time in days, Max felt something close to peace.

They slipped into their room, door clicking shut behind them. For a moment, silence. Then—

Laughter exploded.

“Dude, did you see his face?” Max gasped, collapsing backward onto the bed. “He was redder than a tomato!”

Chloe flopped beside her, grinning wide. Max was still giggling, breathless. “He was so embarrassed—but come on, I’m sure he’s seen worse.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “You’re probably right.”

Max tried to compose herself, sitting up with mock seriousness. “What are you looking at?”

Chloe didn’t miss a beat. “The happiest girl I’ve seen in years.”

Max’s laughter faded into a soft smile. Her chest rose and fell, steady now. “Things are starting to look up, Chlo. I didn’t think they ever would.”

Chloe reached over, brushing a strand of hair from Max’s eyes. Her touch lingered. “I’m so happy to see you smiling again, babe. Every day will get better. And when you’re ready… I want to go back to Arcadia Bay. There’s something I need to check out.”

Max’s gaze drifted toward the window, thoughtful. “Sounds like a plan. But… not yet.”

Chloe nodded. “It’s okay, Max. Take your time. I’ll always be here for you… forever.”

Max turned toward her, eyes soft. “Forever,” she echoed.

They lay there in the quiet, the storm behind them, the future unwritten—but finally, finally, theirs to shape.

Chapter Text

“In the wake of the Arcadia Bay storm, authorities have confirmed the discovery of Rachel Amber’s remains in the junkyard just outside town. Amber, a local teenager who vanished under suspicious circumstances, had been missing for over a year. The investigation into her death has been reopened, with two former residents reportedly assisting police under anonymity.”

The television flickers, casting pale light across the room. Rachel and Alex sit in silence, the news report lingering in the air like smoke.

Rachel exhales slowly. She’d buried the memory of her own body long ago—along with the life she left behind. But with Arcadia shattered, the past refuses to stay buried.

“They weren’t supposed to go back.” she murmurs, eyes fixed on the screen. “Only someone who knew where I was would even think to look.”

Alex doesn’t speak. The quiet stretches, heavy with implication.

Rachel tilts her head, thoughtful. “It’s a little mystery,” she says, almost to herself. “And someone out there still remembers.”

It’s 10 p.m. when Steph swings open the door and finds Rachel and Alex mid-conversation, their voices low, their expressions tense. She drops her bag beside the bed and flops down between them, limbs sprawling.

“What are you guys whispering about?” she asks, yawning.

Alex hesitates. “Did you catch the news today, babe?”

Rachel’s gaze doesn’t waver. “They found my body in Arcadia Bay yesterday.”

Steph bolts upright, sleep forgotten. Her eyes flick between them, searching for the punchline that never comes.

“It was discovered by two girls who asked to remain anonymous,” Alex adds gently. “But Rachel thinks she knows who they are.”

“Max and Chloe,” Rachel says, voice steady. “I can’t explain how I know—it’s just a feeling. There are things I haven’t told you. Things from before the storm.”

Steph’s mouth opens, then closes. She nods once. “Just say the word and we’ll go.”

“Not tomorrow,” she adds quickly, springing to her feet. “There’s a festival Alex mentioned, and I’ve been dying to go. I need to pick an outfit!”

She darts to the closet, already sorting through hangers. Rachel and Alex exchange a look.

“She always does this,” Alex murmurs, half amused, half resigned.

Rachel’s lips twitch into a smile. “It’s her way of holding the world together.”

The following evening, the room glows with soft lamplight as Steph rummages through her closet, tossing fabrics and sequins across the bed. Rachel sits nearby, unchanged—she doesn’t need clothes anymore. But her gaze keeps drifting.

*Stop staring, Rach. You’re a spirit, remember?* she scolds herself, but her eyes betray her. Steph’s laughter, the way she bites her lip while choosing between jackets—it’s magnetic. Rachel feels a blush rise, a warmth she didn’t think her form could still conjure. Her thoughts spiral, bold and reckless.

She stands, drawn toward Steph by something she refuses to name.

Then the door swings open.

Alex steps in, radiant and casual. “Heyyyy babe, how was work?”

Steph spins, grinning, and plants a kiss on Alex’s cheek. Rachel freezes mid-step, then turns sharply toward the wall, jaw clenched.

*Damn you, Alex.*

The moment passes. Rachel waits in silence as Steph finishes dressing, her heart a phantom ache she can’t shake. When Steph finally turns, ready for the festival, Rachel joins them—smiling just enough to hide the fracture.

Steph tugs Rachel toward a small truck trailer parked near the edge of the festival. Inside, a microphone glints among a maze of buttons and switches. Rachel peers in, puzzled.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Steph says, slipping into the booth. “Since I run the radio station here in Haven, they asked me to host live from the festival. So… you’re flying solo tonight.”

She dons her headphones and winks. Rachel offers a faint smile, but her eyes linger too long. Steph’s voice fades into the hum of the soundboard as Rachel steps back, gaze drifting to a fire ringed by logs. Thankfully, it’s quiet there.

She settles onto one, watching Steph dance joyfully in the distance, her silhouette lit by lanterns and laughter. Rachel’s heart stutters.

*Come on, Rach. She’s happy with Alex. Time to let this go.*

She exhales and surveys the festival—food stalls glowing under string lights, jellybean contests drawing cheers, a box of roses passed between strangers. It’s beautiful. Alive. And she’s not really part of it.

She wanders for a while, invisible to the crowd, then returns to the trailer. Steph’s still jamming, swaying to the beat, mouthing lyrics between announcements. Rachel chuckles and taps the bench.

Steph spins toward her. “Yo, Rach! Enjoying the show? Got drunk yet?” She sways dramatically, pretending to stumble.

Rachel smirks. “Nah. I’m a spirit, remember? No drinks. Just vibes.”

Steph groans at a group hauling a drum kit onto the stage. “I swear, those guys… I’ll move it myself next time.”

She steps out and throws her arms around Rachel in a quick hug. “Come with me to the stage. I’ve got something to show you.”

“You have your own drum set?” Rachel asks, astonished as Steph begins setting up on stage.

Steph grins, adjusting the cymbals. “Yep. Picked it up after leaving Arcadia. Tonight, you get to see me shred.”

Rachel’s already claimed her spot at the front, practically vibrating with excitement. When Steph finishes her set—sweaty, glowing, triumphant—she leaps off the stage and throws an arm around Rachel.

“I usually play with Alex,” she says, breathless. “But she’s not feeling it tonight… sooo… I need a replacement.”

She flashes puppy-dog eyes, the kind that make Rachel’s chest tighten and her ghostly form feel far too warm.

Rachel groans. “You’re not seriously asking a spirit to sing for a crowd. Think about it.”

Steph blinks, then winces. “Right. Sorry, Rach. It’s easy to forget sometimes.”

She turns and jogs toward Alex, who’s lingering near the sound booth. A few whispered words, a reluctant nod, and soon Alex is climbing onto the stage.

Rachel watches, torn between pride and longing. Steph hadn’t meant to hurt her—but the reminder stings all the same.

Still, she smiles as the music starts again, letting herself sway to the beat. Even if she can’t join in, she can still be part of the moment.

After the show, Alex is swept up in a tide of praise—compliments, hugs, selfies. Steph watches from the edge of the crowd, grinning ear to ear.

She has the voice of an angel… and she’s humble too? No wonder I love her, Steph thinks, heart full.

Her reverie is broken by Jed calling her over. She waves, distracted, and steps away.

Rachel seizes the moment.

She slips onto the stage, silent as breath, and places the rose she’d received during the show gently on the snare drum. A kiss seals it—soft, invisible. Then she vanishes into the crowd, just as Steph returns.

Steph spots the rose instantly. Her fingers brush the petals, then find the folded note tucked beneath.

She unfolds it, brow furrowing as she reads:

“Hey Steph,

You were absolutely incredible on the drums tonight. It gave me a feeling I haven’t had in years.
I know this rose symbolizes love—you know that better than anyone.
It’s a sentiment I’ve wrestled with in my inconsistent life, but with you, it feels… right.
Perhaps you’ll discover who this is soon.
–AR”

Steph finishes reading the note, brow furrowed. *AR? That’s a new one.* She doesn’t recognize the initials, but something about the message lingers—soft, sincere, and strangely familiar. Without fully understanding why, she folds the letter and slips it into her pocket.

Across town, Rachel lies in bed, eyes closed but mind racing. Did she figure it out? What if she did? Why did I have to fall for someone who’s taken—and happy? Idiot.

The door creaks open. Rachel stills, feigning sleep, though her gaze flickers beneath half-lowered lids.

Steph enters quietly, placing the rose in a tall vase by the window. She pauses, fingers brushing the petals, then turns and climbs into bed, the letter still tucked close.

Rachel exhales, a quiet sense of triumph blooming in her chest. *She kept the letter. Didn’t toss the rose. That’s something.*

Outside, the festival lights fade. Tomorrow, Arcadia Bay awaits—its ruins, its ghosts, and the truths still buried beneath the storm.

Chapter Text

Rachel and Steph had spent the morning weaving around each other—half-formed glances, unfinished sentences, and a silence that felt too deliberate. Rachel couldn’t tell if Steph was avoiding her or just distracted.

Has she figured it out? Or am I overthinking everything? Rachel wondered as she closed the trunk of Steph’s car with a soft thud. This trip is going to be awkward.

Alex stood by the porch, arms folded, watching them with a faint smile. Steph leaned in for a goodbye kiss, and Alex met her halfway—warm, familiar, easy.

“We’ll be back soon,” Steph promised. “No storms this time.”

Alex nodded. “Just come back safe.”

Rachel climbed into the passenger seat, gaze fixed on the rearview mirror as Haven Springs faded behind them. The kiss lingered in her mind like static—beautiful and painful all at once.

Storm-free outside, she thought. But inside? That’s another story.

For the first half-hour, the car is quiet—just the hum of the freeway and music filling the silence neither of them dares to break.

Rachel finally speaks. “Is something wrong, Steph? You haven’t said a word all morning.”

Steph doesn’t answer. She just reaches over and turns up the radio.

Rachel leans back, defeated. *Great job, Rachel. Try not to ruin things for once,* she thinks, eyes drifting to the blur of trees outside.

Then Steph lowers the volume again, her fingers trembling slightly. She exhales, long and slow. *How do I handle this? I love her so much… but I’m with Alex. I can’t hurt her. And now there’s this ‘AR’ person—*

Her thoughts stall. *AR…AR… RA… Oh my god.*

She slams on the brakes.

Rachel jolts awake, heart racing. “What the hell, Steph?” she snaps, rubbing her eyes.

Steph turns to her, eyes blazing. “You tell me, Ms. AR.”

Rachel freezes. Her mouth opens, then closes. This isn’t the kind of conversation you have while distracted. But Steph’s expression is unraveling—hurt, hope, confusion all tangled together.

Rachel swallows. “Okay. You figured it out. Well done.”

She looks away. “The moment Alex jumped into your arms, I was hurting like hell. I long for the day I can resurrect myself, just for the chance to be with you. But I don’t want to ruin anything.”

Steph’s heart stutters. Butterflies rise in her chest.

“I left the rose and note because I couldn’t hold it in anymore,” Rachel continues. “I didn’t mean to fall for you. I hate that I did. You’re taken. You’re happy. But Steph… I love you.”

Steph’s breath catches. She wants to kiss her. She wants to scream. But instead, she whispers, “I know you do, Rach.”

She looks down. “And damn it… I love you too. But I can’t give in to it.”

Rachel blinks, stunned. She’d convinced herself the feelings were one-sided.

“I can’t hurt Alex,” Steph says softly. “She’s been more supportive than you know.”

Rachel nods, the ache in her chest shifting. “I get it.”

Steph reaches for her hand. “Look… I’ll think it over on the way to Seattle. I’ll tell you tonight.”

Rachel’s heart lifts, just a little. “Okay,” she says. “Now let’s go.”

Here’s a refined version that deepens emotional clarity, sharpens pacing, and enriches the quiet tension between Rachel and Steph:

---

The hours slip by as swiftly as the miles until they reach the hotel. Rachel, ever the charmer, manages to secure the best room without breaking a sweat.

“Seriously, how do you do it?” Steph asks, glancing around the space—plush bedding, balcony view, soft lighting.

Rachel settles onto her bed, heart thudding. She’s been waiting all day for Steph’s decision.

Steph sits across from her, the silence stretching before she finally exhales. “You’re not going to like this… but once we’re back from Arcadia Bay, you’ll need to stay out of it.”

Rachel nods slowly, the ache already blooming in her chest. “It’s for the best. I understand. Still hurts, though.”

Steph nods, a mix of relief and regret in her eyes. “Things will work out. They always do.”

The lights dim. Outside, the city hums. Inside, two hearts beat quietly—one waiting, one torn.

Four Days Earlier

“Ah, good old Arcadia Bay,” Chloe mutters, stepping out of the car. “Didn’t expect to be back here so soon.”

It’s been a month since the storm. A month since everything changed. Chloe had wanted to return—to confirm what she suspected, to give Max the closure she deserved—but she hadn’t pushed. It was Max, quiet and resolute, who suggested the trip last night.

Even now, Chloe checks in with her. “You sure about this?”

Max nods, slipping her hand into Chloe’s and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You can do this. I’m right here.”

They walk together toward the junkyard, the place where Rachel had been buried. Chloe’s heart sinks with every step, memories clawing their way back. When they reach the spot, she kneels, fingers trembling.

“Good,” she breathes. “They didn’t mess with it. Let’s get her out, Max. Help me.”

Together, they uncover the grave. Rachel Amber’s body lies still, untouched by time. Max sees her for the first time—not in dreams, not in photos, but here. Real. Gone.

She’s beautiful, Max thinks. No wonder Chloe loved her so deeply.

Afterward, Chloe calls the Portland police, her voice steady but hollow. Then she joins Max in the old shack, the one they used to haunt like ghosts.

“You wrote ‘Max was here,’” Chloe says, tracing the faded scrawl on the wall.

Max blushes. “Yeah… back when you had me hunting bottles to shoot. I just… wrote it. Might be silly.”

Chloe kisses her, soft and sure. “Dude, that’s incredible. In a weird, totally cool way… it brings us all together.”

Max smiles, curling into her. “At least it’s something.”

Present Time

“Welcome home, Rach. How does it feel to be back?” Steph asks, her voice gentle but edged with curiosity.

Rachel scans the familiar streets of Arcadia Bay, now quiet beneath a bruised sky. Being here as a spirit still unsettles her—like walking through a memory that doesn’t belong to her anymore.

“It still saddens me, man,” she replies. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

Steph’s gaze lingers on her, sharp and searching. “What do you mean by that?”

Rachel shrugs, deflecting. “I’ll explain another time. Just head to the junkyard.”

As they drive, Rachel’s thoughts drift. Max, you owe me big time, girly, she thinks, a small grin tugging at her lips.

At the junkyard, they head straight to the spot where Rachel first awoke. But the grave is empty.

“Well, they found it, alright,” she says, standing and brushing off her jeans. “Wonder if we should rat on Nathan.”

Steph opens her mouth to respond, but voices interrupt—one of them achingly familiar.

“Damn,” Rachel whispers. “It’s Chloe.”

She steps aside, instinctively trying to remain unseen, her heart thudding with a mix of dread and longing.

From the other side of the junkyard, Chloe’s voice rings out. “The cops still haven’t caught the bastard, but they will soon.”

Steph, hearing the voice but not recognizing it, assumes it’s Max. “They will, for sure,” she replies. “It felt good to lie on the tracks again—this time without a train barreling toward us.”

Rachel watches from the shadows, unsure whether to reveal herself or let the moment pass. The past is circling back, and the weight of unfinished stories presses against her chest.

Here’s a refined version that preserves your emotional beats while tightening pacing, enriching character dynamics, and deepening the atmosphere of reunion and grief:

---

“Hey, what are you doing? Get away!” Chloe snaps, stepping protectively forward. “It’s all over the news—now everyone wants to come crawling back to town.”

Steph flinches but holds her ground. It’s been years, and Chloe doesn’t recognize her.

“Take it easy,” Steph says gently. “I know Rachel meant a lot to you. But there’s no need to yell at an old friend.”

Chloe’s eyes narrow, then widen. “Steph? Is that you?”

She rushes forward and pulls Steph into a fierce hug. Max chuckles from behind.

“STEEEEEPPPHHHH!” Chloe exclaims, nearly lifting her off the ground.

Steph laughs, breathless. “I assume you missed me? It wasn’t obvious.”

“Of course I missed my favorite nerd,” Chloe grins, earning a playful smack from Max.

“Okay, okay—second favorite nerd. My first favorite is my girlfriend,” she adds, squeezing Max’s hand.

Steph smiles and shakes Max’s hand. “Nice to meet you, finally.”

“So… I take it you two found her body?” Steph asks, voice softening.

Max and Chloe exchange a glance, then sigh.

“Yeah,” Max says. “A few days ago. We gave the cops everything we had. They’re looking for Nathan, but he’s slippery.”

Steph nods, biting back the urge to say more. *I could tell them where he is… but it’s not my call.*

“They’ll catch him,” she says. “He was always off-kilter.”

Suddenly, a branch snaps nearby, followed by a muffled curse.

Steph facepalms. *Really, Rachel?*

Rachel is half-hidden in the treeline, tangled in brush, trying to stay unseen. Fortunately, only Steph notices.

“Well… that was unexpected,” Steph says quickly, steering the conversation away.

“So, where are you living these days?” Max asks, curious.

“In Colorado,” Steph replies. “With my girlfriend. I was actually in Arcadia during the storm, visiting my mom. We sheltered in Town Hall with a few others.”

She pauses, voice catching. “My mom… she didn’t make it.”

The mood shifts. Chloe steps closer, placing a hand on Steph’s shoulder. Max’s expression softens.

“I’m so sorry,” Max says quietly.

Steph nods, blinking fast. “Thanks. It’s… been a lot.”

Behind them, Rachel watches from the shadows, heart aching for the girl who once spun joy from vinyl and laughter.

Chloe pulls Steph into a tight embrace, laughter bubbling up as memories rush in. From the car, Rachel watches quietly, her gaze softening.

I forgot how caring Chloe really is, she thinks. Leaving her was a mistake.

The group continues chatting, the air light with nostalgia and shared grief, until someone checks the time.

“Guess we should head back,” one of the girls says.

Rachel is already waiting in the car, watching the scene unfold like a memory she can’t quite touch.

“Great seeing you again, Chloe,” Steph calls out. “And nice meeting you, Max. Let’s keep in touch, okay?”

After a round of hugs—tight, lingering, reluctant—they part ways.

Chloe wraps an arm around Max, her smile gentle. “The more survivors we meet, the happier you get, huh?”

Max leans into her. “It helps. Every piece we find… it makes the story feel less broken.”

Rachel turns her gaze to the horizon, the ache in her chest tempered by something quieter. Hope, maybe. Or the fragile comfort of being remembered.

Chapter Text

“Hey Steph, how was Arcadia?” Alex asks, greeting her with a kiss.

Steph doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes Alex’s hand and leads her to the living room, sitting beside her on the couch. Her grip tightens slightly.

“I need to explain some things,” she says quietly. “Rachel’s body was definitely found… and by the people she suspected.”

Alex’s breath catches. “Max and Chloe?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

Steph nods.

Alex glances around, suddenly aware of the absence. “Where’s Rachel?”

Steph hesitates, then shakes her head. “She’s downstairs. Processing everything.”

But Rachel isn’t downstairs.

She’s in Seattle—alone.

She’d convinced Steph that her presence would only complicate things. That being near Alex, after everything, would make the air too heavy. So she left. No suitcase. No destination. Just silence and streets.

She doesn’t feel the cold. Doesn’t need food or shelter. But the ache of absence is real. The longing. The weight of watching from afar.

Rachel wanders through Seattle’s forgotten corners, her steps aimless, her thoughts tangled in Steph’s absence. Then she sees it—a boarded-up RV tagged with graffiti: FRANK.

She stops cold. *Frank Bowers. I forgot about him.* Her mind had been too full of Steph, of Arcadia, of everything she couldn’t fix.

Drawn by something she can’t name, she approaches. A familiar scent hits her—gritty, earthy, unmistakably Frank. *Weird,* she thinks. *Didn’t know spirits could smell.*

She knocks twice on the window and waits.

The door swings open. She slips inside, unseen.

Frank mutters as he shuts the door behind him. “Knock and ditch. Original.”

Rachel sits quietly on his bed, watching him move. “Frank Bowers. Drug dealer, criminal… and who knows what else,” she murmurs to herself.

Frank turns—and freezes.

His face drains of color. His breath catches. “Am… Rachel?” he stammers, stumbling to the sink and splashing water on his face again and again. But she doesn’t vanish.

“It’s a lottery,” she says softly. “Whether someone can see me or not. Today’s your lucky day.”

Frank collapses to his knees.

“I’M SORRY, RACHEL!” he screams. “I NEVER MEANT TO KILL YOU.”

Rachel hadn’t expected this. Not the rawness. Not the guilt carved so deep it bled through his voice.

“Hey, Frank,” she says gently. “Listen to me. I hold no resentment toward you. You couldn’t have known what that sicko was planning. If I can forgive you… maybe it’s time you forgive yourself.”

Frank lifts his head, eyes rimmed red. “I’m too far gone, Rach. There’s no hope for me.”

Rachel kneels beside him, her presence barely stirring the air. “Hope’s not a clean slate, Frank. It’s what you do with the mess.”

Rachel finally understands why she was brought back. For a long time, she believed it was punishment—penance for the damage she caused to those she loved. Watching them thrive without her felt like salt in the wound. But now, clarity cuts through the guilt: she’s here to support them, to forgive, and to begin with the one who hurt her most.

Frank.

“You’re not beyond saving,” she says, voice low but steady. “You want to get clean? Forgive yourself? Be someone who matters again? Then listen to me. I’ll help you.”

Frank stares at her, hollow-eyed. With nothing left to lose, he nods.

“Good,” Rachel says. “Now grab whatever drugs you’ve got stashed in here and toss them. Preferably in a bin nowhere near this place.”

He hesitates. “You know that’s my income, right?”

Rachel doesn’t flinch. “And it’s gotten you where, exactly? We’ll find you a job. But first—” she gestures to the door.

Frank bows his head and steps out of the RV. Ten minutes later, he returns, breathless. “Was a long walk,” he mutters.

Rachel doesn’t smile. “Next up, we tackle this godforsaken pigsty.”

Frank gives her a sidelong glance, already bracing for the next demand. “This better be worth it, Rach, or I swear…”

She crosses her arms, radiating calm authority. “Have I ever let you down?”

He grumbles something unintelligible, but he’s already moving.

“Okay, Rach,” Frank said, wiping his hands on a rag. “Drugs are gone, RV’s clean, Pompidou smells like lavender. Anything else?”

Rachel smirked, arms folded. “Anything else? Frank, this is just the warm-up.”

He groaned, already regretting his question. But before he could launch into a complaint, Rachel cut him off with a look—the kind that reminded him of the life he said he wanted.

By the time he opened his mouth, she was already tapping away on her phone. “House viewing. Tomorrow morning.”

Frank blinked. “You serious?”

“Dead serious. Now,” she said, scanning him from boots to collar, “do you own anything that doesn’t smell like it’s been marinating in regret?”

He shook his head.

“Great. We know what we’re doing today.”

He stepped in front of her. “With what money? You had me toss my stash yesterday.”

Rachel reached into her jacket and pulled out a crumpled wad of bills. “Found this while wandering Seattle. One-fifty. Enough for a thrift store and a sandwich.”

Frank stared at the cash, then at her. “You sure?”

“Drive,” she said, tossing it into his lap. “And maybe—just maybe—try not to screw this up.”

The following afternoon, they pull up to the house—a modest single-story brick place with two bedrooms and a backyard wide enough for Pompidou to roam. The landlord and a real estate agent wait by the front steps, smiling politely.

Frank steps out first, shoulders squared in borrowed confidence. Rachel follows, unseen, her presence brushing past the women like a breeze no one notices. As they usher Frank inside, she lingers, letting the quiet settle around her.

She drifts toward the front yard, taking in the overgrown hedges, the cracked path, the way the sunlight hits the porch. Then she sees it—parked in the neighboring driveway.

“No way,” she murmurs, moving closer.

Chloe’s truck.

She squints, heart tightening. “Well, if Frank gets his act together, she’s in for a surprise.”

Her gaze lifts to the second-story window. Max and Chloe stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, framed by soft curtains and late afternoon light. Rachel feels it like a punch—grief, longing, something deeper than regret. A kind of ache she didn’t think the dead could feel.

“One day,” she whispers, “I’ll tell them the truth about that week.”

But not today.

She turns, the weight of memory pressing against her ribs, and heads back to the RV to wait for Frank.

Frank returns an hour later, expertly backing the RV into the driveway like he’s done it a hundred times. Rachel watches from the curb, arms crossed.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

Frank steps out, grinning wide. “Parking the RV at my new place.”

Rachel blinks, stunned into silence.

He laughs. “Turns out they needed to sell by tomorrow. No other buyers. So I signed the paperwork. It’s mine.”

Rachel stares at him, speechless. Frank revels in it. “Rachel Amber, lost for words? I need to get my camera. This moment deserves documentation.”

She slaps his shoulder, half-playful, half-proud. “Dude. That’s incredible.”

Then her gaze drifts next door. “By the way… did you notice who’s living to your left?”

Frank follows her eyes. The truck. Chloe’s truck.

“Chloe Price,” he breathes.

They both stand there, the weight of memory and possibility hanging between them.

“Well, goddamn,” Frank says.

Rachel chuckles, the sound soft and real. “Guess this place has more history than you thought.”

Pompidou bounds through the backyard, tail wagging, nose buried in unfamiliar grass. Rachel watches him with a quiet smile, then turns to Frank.

“You’re clean,” she says. “You’ve got a roof that isn’t bolted to wheels. Next step—job.”

Frank lights up. “I’ve got the perfect spot. The mechanic shop in town’s hiring. I know engines—I’ve kept the RV running this long. We should go now.”

Rachel studies him, surprised by the spark in his voice. This version of Frank—hopeful, decisive—is new. And she likes it.

She rises, ready to leave, but a knock at the door stops her cold.

“I’ll take Pompidou,” she murmurs, slipping out back as Frank heads to the front.

He opens the door and freezes.

“Chloe fucking Price,” he says, trying for his usual bravado. It crumbles instantly.

“Frank?” Chloe’s eyes widen. “Shit, Max was right.”

He pulls her into a hug before she can say more. “Missed you, Price.”

She hugs him back, fierce and familiar. “Missed you too, man. Can’t believe you survived the storm—and found yourself a new place.”

Frank steps aside, gesturing toward the living room. “Come in. Take a look.”

As Chloe enters, Rachel lingers just beyond the fence, watching the reunion unfold through the window. She doesn’t need to be seen to feel the warmth of it.

“Yeah, I just signed the paperwork about twenty minutes ago,” Frank says, leaning against the doorframe. “An old friend helped me get my life back on track. I’m job hunting tomorrow.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Frank Bowers going straight? That friend of yours must be an angel.”

From the backyard, Rachel hears it. Her breath catches.

You did call me an angel once, Chloe.

Chloe glances at her phone. “Anyway, I better head back before Max thinks I’ve been abducted. See you around.”

Frank nods. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Door clicks shut behind her, Rachel steps back inside, brushing grass from her jeans. “I’m an angel now,” she says, smug.

Frank rolls his eyes. “Sure, Amber.”

But there’s a flicker of warmth in his voice. A hint of belief.

The following afternoon, Frank chatted with the mechanic shop’s boss while Rachel wandered the lot, invisible to everyone but herself. The scent of oil and sun-warmed metal clung to the air. She watched a young apprentice wipe grease from his hands, laughing with a coworker.

*Helping Frank is rewarding,* she thought, *but I miss Steph. We shared something real—music, laughter, late-night talks. Unless a miracle brings me back, this path is all I have.*

A tear slipped down her cheek, landing silently on the pavement.

*Since when can a spirit shed tears?*

Frank returned, grinning. “Start next week,” he said, sliding into the driver’s seat.

Rachel blinked, still caught in her thoughts. “Dude…” was all she managed.

Later, he dropped her off in the middle of town. The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the sidewalk.

“Thank you, Rach,” Frank said, voice softer than usual. “Without you, I’d still be lost. You saved my life.”

She shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Nah. You just needed a kick in the butt to get going.”

They exchanged goodbyes, and Rachel watched the RV rumble down the street, trailing dust and possibility.

She stood alone, the town bustling around her, and felt something she hadn’t expected.

Loneliness.

*So spirits can feel that too,* she thought, folding her arms against the ache.

Chapter Text

Max and Chloe wandered the mall, weaving through racks and storefronts in search of clothes that actually suited Chloe. Max’s wardrobe had been a temporary fix—too soft, too plain. Chloe needed something louder. Fiercer.

They were about to give up when Max spotted one last shop tucked between a bookstore and a tattoo parlor. The neon sign blared punk rock rebellion. Chloe’s eyes lit up instantly.

“This is it,” she said, already halfway through the door.

While Chloe dove into the racks, Max drifted aimlessly, fingers brushing faded denim and studded jackets. Then a familiar voice cut through the background noise.

“No, Victoria, I’m not buying you new clothes. You lost yours in the storm, sure—but other people lost way more.”

A pause. Then, quieter: “The world could be ending, and she’d still obsess over her damn wardrobe.”

Max turned the corner, smiling before she even saw her. “Dana?”

Dana spun around, eyes wide. “MAAAAAAXXXXX!”

She lunged, lifting Max off the ground in a whirlwind hug, spinning her once before setting her down gently.

Max gasped, laughing. “Missed…you…too…Dana.”

“You better have,” Dana said, grinning. Then her expression softened. “How’d you survive the storm?”

Max hesitated. “Stayed at the lighthouse with Chloe. It held. We left for Seattle the next morning.”

Dana’s smile faltered. Her eyes flicked downward, remembering.

“What about you?” Max asked, then quickly added, “You don’t have to talk about it. I know it was… a lot.”

Dana nodded, grateful. “Maybe some other time. The wound’s still fresh.”

Max reached out, pulling her into a quiet hug. “It’s okay, Dana. I’m here.”

Their moment is cut short by Chloe’s unmistakable voice echoing through the store. “BABE, COME HERE!”

Max rolls her eyes with a grin. “I’m wanted. Let’s go.”

Dana trails behind, curious, until she spots the blue-haired punk waiting impatiently by a pile of clothes.

“Yes, babe, what’s up?” Max asks, already bracing herself.

Chloe gestures to a chaotic stack of shirts, jackets, and jeans. “Do I look like I’m made of money?”

Then come the puppy eyes—wide, dramatic, impossible to ignore.

Max groans. “God, you’re the worst. Fine, give them here.”

She heads to the counter, muttering under her breath as she pays.

Meanwhile, Dana steps forward. “Hey there—Chloe, right?”

Chloe nods, sizing her up. “That’s me. Dana… right? I’ve seen you around Blackwell.”

Dana smiles. “Yeah.”

“In case you haven’t figured it out,” Chloe says, casually, “Max is my girlfriend. It kind of happened after the storm.”

Dana blinks, surprised—but her smile only grows. “You two couldn’t be any more different, yet somehow it works.”

Chloe shrugs. “We’re more alike than you think. Plus, we grew up together.”

Max returns, arms full of bags. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

Chloe smirks. “I won’t. Not today.”

Max turns to Dana. “So—got any plans?”

“Nice place, Max,” Dana says, stepping inside and taking in the cozy living room.

Max shrugs with a smile. “It’s my parents’, but thanks. We’re still recovering from the storm, so we haven’t started looking for our own place yet. Soon, though.”

She leads Dana down the hall to her room, where a furry resident sprawls across the bed.

“KITTTYYYYYY!” Dana squeals, diving onto the mattress and showering the cat with pats and kisses.

Max laughs. “That’s Kimba. We got him the day after the storm.”

Chloe leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Yeah, I got him for Max. She needed something soft to hold onto.”

Max blinks. “Chloe Price being sentimental? Am I dead?” She mock-checks her pulse and collapses onto the bed in dramatic fashion.

Chloe snorts. “Enjoy your damn cat, woman.”

Max grins. “There’s my Chlo.”

Kimba purrs between them, Max asks, “Where are you living these days, Dana?”

“With some family here in Seattle,” Dana replies. “Like you guys.”

Max perks up. “That’s great. Means we’ve got a friend close by.”

Dana nods. “Victoria survived too—she’s in LA. And Kate’s staying with me for now.”

Max’s shoulders ease. “I’m glad Kate’s okay. After everything…”

Max’s voice softens. “Steph survived too. She’s in Colorado.”

Max glances at Chloe, who nods quietly. “Not super close with Steph,” Dana adds, “but it’s good to know more of us made it.”

They fall into easy conversation, swapping stories and memories until Dana checks the time.

“I should head out,” she says, reaching for her phone.

Max stops her. “Don’t leave just yet. Stay for dinner. My parents will adore you.”

Dana grins. “Free food? I’m in.”

She sends a quick message to Kate, then follows the girls into the living room, laughter trailing behind them like a thread stitching old friendships back together.

The scent of pork roast filled the dining room, rich and comforting. Dana inhaled deeply as she took her seat. “Man, I haven’t had a roast in ages. Smells amazing, Vanessa!”

Vanessa, catching the comment amid the chatter between Max and Chloe, smirked. “At least someone appreciates my work. Thank you, Dana.”

She sat down and cleared her throat, gently but pointedly. The girls quieted.

“So, Max, Dana—how did you two meet?” Ryan asked, passing the serving dish.

Dana smiled, helping herself. “We weren’t really in the same classes, but her room was just a few doors down from mine. We’d chat now and then. I wouldn’t say we were close, but there was mutual respect. After the storm… we’ve definitely become friends.”

She threw an arm around Max, pulling her into a side hug. “See? Friends.”

Max giggled, squirming. “You’re choking me, Dana!”

Dana let go, laughing. “Oops. Bad first impression, huh?”

She shook her head, clearly delighted to have someone besides Chloe to lean on.

After dinner, Dana gathered her things, but not before scribbling her new number onto a napkin and handing it to Max and Chloe. “Don’t be strangers,” she said, hugging them both.

They watched her car disappear down the street, taillights fading into the dusk.

Max exhaled, soft and content. “Today was a good day, babe. Found out some friends survived… even Victoria.”

She turned to Chloe, eyes bright. “You know what? I think it’s time we look for a place of our own.”

Chloe nodded, her hand finding Max’s. “Tomorrow, then.”

And just like that, the next chapter began.

Chapter Text

Kate’s arms tighten around Max. “Hey, Max. I’m so glad you’re alive and well.” Her voice trembles with sincerity, and Dana, quiet but steady, trails behind as they head to the kitchen.

Max pours drinks, the clink of mugs and hum of the kettle filling the silence. Once seated, Dana, sensing the shift in air, asks gently, “Where’s Chloe?”

“Shopping,” Max says, eyes flicking to Kate. “I needed some time alone.”

Max nods. “It’s really good to see you again. How’ve you been?”

Max studies her—still fragile, still luminous. That persistent smile, despite everything, is something Max has always cherished. “It’s been hard,” Kate admits, glancing at Dana with quiet gratitude. “But staying with Dana’s been a blessing. Her family’s been so kind.”

Dana wraps an arm around Kate, and Kate leans in without hesitation. Max watches the gesture, heart tugging. “You seem… better,” Kate says softly.

Max exhales. “Some days are okay. Today wasn’t. But this?” She gestures to the three of them. “This helps.”

She doesn’t mention the storm. Not yet. Some truths need silence before they’re spoken.

While at work in Haven, Steph’s thoughts drift to Seattle. She knows parting was for the best, yet she can’t help missing her.

Last night, she and Alex talked about Rachel’s move. Steph had kept some truths tucked away, thinking, I can’t spill everything. Not yet. I’m still hoping Rachel comes back.

She shakes off the thought, refocusing on her playlist. Ads roll. She queues the next song, fingers moving on autopilot.

Then her phone buzzes.

Alex: Dinner date?

Steph smiles. She’d love nothing more—but the station still needs her.

Steph: I’d love to, but I need someone to take over here.

Alex: It’s taken care of. See you at 7.

Steph: You’re going to keep me guessing?

Alex: Absolutely. Talk to you later.

Steph leans back in her chair, heart skipping. It’s been ages since she and Alex carved out time like this. As the afternoon hums on, she wonders who’s covering her shift, thinking, *Won’t have to wait long.*

Four hours later, Steph queues up three songs—enough to cover her absence—and slips out of the station. The restaurant Alex chose is unfamiliar, all velvet booths and glittering chandeliers. Steph pauses at the entrance, awestruck.

“Wow,” she breathes. “This place is incredible.”

Alex grins. “It’s the fanciest spot in town. Figured you deserved a treat.”

They’re seated just as the final track in Steph’s queue fades out. She leans forward, listening, heart ticking faster.

A voice crackles through the speakers:
“Goooooooood eveniiiinnnggggg Haven. I’m not your regular host—Steph’s out on a date with her lovely partner, so I’ll be taking over tonight. But enough about me. Let’s kick things off with some music.”

Steph freezes. Alex hides a smirk behind her drink.

They order food, chatting between songs. Steph’s still trying to place the voice.

“You didn’t tell me your work was going so well,” she says, eyes lingering on Alex.

Alex shrugs, casual. “Touring’s been good. Performing across America pays better than I expected. And with shifts at The Black Lantern when I’m home… we could almost afford our own place. If you want to move out of the room.”

Steph blinks. “You’ve never said that before.”

Alex smiles. “It’s something to think about.”

Their drinks arrive. Steph’s fingers tighten around her glass as the voice returns:

“Still learning the ropes here. I helped out our wonderful host once before and was completely lost…”

Steph’s breath catches. That memory—one person helping her through a chaotic broadcast—flickers to life.

“My name is Rachel, and I’ll be your host this evening.”

Steph’s mouth drops open. Alex bursts into laughter.

“We talked about this before you left for Arcadia,” Alex murmurs. “Then you came back without her, and I wasn’t sure she’d remember. Or follow through.”

She lifts her glass, eyes shining.

“Happy anniversary, my love.”

Chloe gives Max an impish look, the kind that always spells trouble. Max knows exactly what it means.

“Dude, my parents are downstairs,” she whispers, half-laughing, half-panicked. “We can’t.”

Chloe steps closer, undeterred. “Max Caulfield. They’re watching a movie at full volume. I don’t think they’ll hear a thing.”

Her hands find Max’s waist, grounding them both. Her gaze is steady, electric. Max’s breath catches. The room feels smaller, warmer, charged.

She shouldn’t. She knows that. But Chloe’s here, and Max needs her—needs this.

“Chloe Price,” she murmurs, voice trembling with anticipation. “Kiss me.”

Chapter Text

In Seattle’s damp morning, Rachel drifts through the streets, lost in thought, when a voice—familiar and bitter—cuts through the hum of traffic.

“Oh, no. Not again,” he mutters.

She turns. Nathan stands a few feet away, frozen mid-step, eyes locked on hers.

“Well, well. Nathan,” she says, voice steady. “We meet again.”

He bolts, but only makes it a few strides before she catches up. “Wait. The police are after you. I’m not here to turn you in—I want to help.”

Nathan scoffs, breath ragged. “Help? Jail’s what I deserve.”

“No,” she says, softer now. “You regret what you did. That’s punishment enough. You need support, not a cell.”

He stares at her, disbelief flickering into something sharper. “What’s in it for you, Rach? You don’t do charity. You never have.”

The words land hard. She flinches, not visibly, but enough to feel it. He’s right. Her mind reels through the wreckage—Chloe, Arcadia, the deals she made, the people she used. Nathan’s wealth, Chloe’s trust. All of it transactional. All of it survival.

But this moment feels different. Not clean. Not redemptive. Just… real.

“I know I’ve used people,” Rachel says quietly. “And it’s cost me my life. But I want to make it right—starting with you. If you’ll let me.”

Nathan scans the street, shoulders tense. Sirens echo faintly in the distance. He knows what’s waiting if he faces this alone. Jail. Shame. Silence.

He exhales, slow and bitter. Then, with a gulp of humility, he stands. “Fine. We have an agreement. But if this goes sideways—if you’re playing me—the deal’s off.”

Rachel nods, remembering how she once brokered a fragile truce with Frank. She’d pulled it off then. She can do it again. “You’re going to be okay,” she says, more promise than fact.

Nathan’s situation is a paradox—easier, because he used his inheritance to buy a house and car, giving them a place to start. Harder, because the police are closing in. Time is tight. Options are few.

An idea flickers in Rachel’s mind—risky, but possible. She tucks it away for later.

“First,” she says, “take me to your place. We’ll figure it out from there.”

Rachel collapses onto the couch, limbs heavy with fatigue—a strange ache for someone who no longer has a body. The sensation unsettles her. Maybe guilt has weight after all.

“You’ve got a place. A car. That’s more than I had with Frank,” she murmurs.

Nathan sits across from her, pen in hand, scribbling notes like he’s trying to anchor himself to something solid.

“We won’t talk jobs until you’re ready,” she says. “Mentally. Emotionally. If you’re careful, your money can stretch. You don’t have to rush.”

He nods, eyes flicking toward the window, where sirens echo faintly in the distance.

“We need to shake the police,” she continues. “And find you support. I’ll handle the first. The second… might be harder.”

Nathan hesitates, then pulls out his phone. “There was someone. A therapist in Arcadia. I saw her a few times.”

He scrolls, thumb trembling slightly. “If she made it through the storm,” he adds, voice low, “I’ll reach out.”

Later that night, Nathan retreats to bed, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. Rachel waits until his breathing evens out, then slips through the door and into the night.

“I should remember where it is,” she mutters, scanning the streets. “I’ve been haunting Seattle long enough.”

It takes her nearly an hour to find the police station. Not ideal. Her plan? Even less so.

“Okay, Rach, this plan isn’t getting any smarter,” she grumbles. Breaking into the station to erase Nathan’s arrest warrant isn’t exactly textbook redemption. But being a spirit has perks—no cameras, no alarms. Just one problem.

“How am I supposed to hack into a compu—never mind.”

She drifts through the precinct, scanning desks until she finds it: Jessica’s office. The chief of police. And, conveniently, a woman notorious for forgetting her passwords.

A sticky note taped to the monitor reads:
“Jessica, since you keep forgetting your password, I’ve written it down. Again.”

Rachel smirks. “Thanks for the terrible memory, Jess. And… we’re in.”

She navigates the system, fingers flying across keys she doesn’t technically touch. “Now to find the warrant… GOTCHA.” A few clicks later, every trace of Nathan’s arrest vanishes from Washington’s databases.

“Ninja,” she whispers, slipping out the way she came.

Morning light filters through the blinds. Nathan flips on the TV, half-asleep, only to sit bolt upright.

“The arrest warrant for Nathan Prescott has been rescinded overnight,” the anchor announces. “Officials cite missing documentation and an inability to pursue the suspect without it.”

Rachel strolls in, stretching like she hadn’t just committed digital espionage. “Miss anything?”

Nathan stares at her, stunned. “You’re a miracle worker.”

“All part of the job,” she says, flopping onto the couch.

“Anyway,” she adds, “did you hear from your therapist?”

“Yeah. She sent over a list of specialists in Seattle.”

Rachel scoots closer, and together they sift through the recommendations, page by page, hour by hour—until they settle on one.

“Hello, Mr. Prescott. I’m Michael,” the young man says, voice steady despite the nerves flickering behind his eyes. “I’ll be taking care of you during your stay.”

Nathan nods, jaw tight. He’s here for himself. For a future he’s not sure he deserves.

Rachel slips in behind him, silent as breath. Michael steps out, leaving them alone.

“How are you feeling, dude?” she asks, sensing the tremor in him—and, strangely, in herself. Anxiety. A pulse of it. Spirits aren’t supposed to feel that. Are they?

“Scared as hell,” Nathan admits. “But I have to remember why I’m doing this. It’s for me.”

Rachel nods. She knows it’s time.

“I should go,” she says gently. “I’ll visit when I can. Just to check in.”

She turns to leave, but his voice stops her.

“Rach… thank you. You didn’t have to help me. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you never wanted to see me again. Hell, you said as much last time.”

He swallows hard. “You saved my life. And even if I never forgive myself for what I did to you… I’m grateful you forgave me.”

Rachel doesn’t speak. She just nods, eyes shining with something she doesn’t yet understand.

Outside, the night is cool and quiet. She rounds the corner of the building and collapses to the ground, sobbing. Not just misty-eyed. Full-body, gut-wrenching tears.

*Since when could a spirit cry?*

It’s in that moment—huddled against brick and silence—that it hits her.

*Am I becoming human again?*

Chapter Text

A week has passed. Rachel isn’t fully human yet—but the changes are undeniable. She sleeps now. Eats. Hungers in ways she didn’t when she first woke as a spirit. It unsettles her. Thrills her. The possibility that she’s cracked some cosmic cheat code, clawed her way back from death—it’s terrifying. And exhilarating.

She sits by the water, knees drawn to her chest, watching the light ripple across the surface. The quiet feels earned. Almost sacred.

Then the shouting breaks it.

“No, Kate! I can’t keep bowing to your every need! I took you in when you had nowhere else, but you’re acting like you’re the only one grieving! The only one who lost someone! You’re fucking NOT! Try thinking of someone else for once!”

A second voice follows—smaller, cracked. “Dana… I… sorry.”

Rachel’s breath catches. She scrambles to her feet.

“Kate? Dana?” Her voice is barely a whisper. Then louder. “Holy shit.”

She takes off toward the voices.

She finds them in the carpark, still arguing. Rachel hesitates at the edge of the lot, unsure if they’ll be able to see her. The air feels brittle, like something about to snap.

“I think it’s time you find your own place, Kate,” Dana says, voice low but final.

Kate wraps her arm around herself, fingers digging into her sleeve like she’s holding herself together by force. “Okay,” she says, barely audible. Defeated.

Rachel steps closer, heart thudding. “What’s going on?”

Both heads turn.

Dana shrugs, casual. “Sup, Rach? Nothing’s going on. Just an argument.”

Kate doesn’t speak. She just stares—like Rachel’s a mirage she’s afraid to believe in.

Rachel waits. Five seconds. Then Dana’s eyes widen, mouth falling open.

“WAIT. WHAT THE FUCK!?”

Rachel grins. “Hi! Yes, I died. Yes, I came back as a spirit. Yes, you can see me. No, I’m not resurrected… yet.”

She’s said it enough times now that it rolls off her tongue like a joke. But the way Kate’s still staring—like she’s seeing a ghost and a miracle at once—makes Rachel’s chest ache.

Kate steps back, her voice catching. “What… what do you mean, ‘yet’?”

Rachel shrugs, casual but not unkind. “I don’t know much about spirits. But I do know they don’t need food. Or sleep.”

She pauses, glancing down. “I don’t know what to say. I helped people. That made me feel more human. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully resurrect, but… it’s kind of cool.”

Kate opens her mouth to respond, but Rachel lifts a hand, cutting her off gently.

“Anyway. Enough about me.” Her tone sharpens. “I’ll ask again—what’s going on? Why the arguing?”

Dana blinks, then shakes her head like she’s trying to reboot her brain. “Okay. Wow. I’m actually talking to a ghost.” She clears her throat, straightens her jacket like she’s about to give a TED Talk. “Ahem. Get in.” She gestures to the car. “Unless you float. In which case… I guess hover politely near the passenger seat?”

Rachel raises an eyebrow, translucent and unimpressed. “Passenger seat? Please. I died with dignity—I’m not about to ride shotgun like a lost tourist.” She floats beside the car door, smirking. “Besides, I don’t buckle up. I haunt responsibly.”

Dana doesn’t miss a beat. “Haunt responsibly? Please. I’ve driven with my cousin Kyle—he’s basically a poltergeist with a learner’s permit. You’ll fit right in.”

She unlocks the door with a flourish. “Just don’t possess the GPS. Last time a ghost rerouted me, I ended up at a cemetery with snacks.”

Dana unlocks the front door of her parents’ house and steps inside. It’s quiet—just the hum of the fridge and the distant tick of the hallway clock. She drops her bag and flops onto the lounge, limbs heavy. Kate settles into the lounge chair across from her, posture tentative. Rachel floats between them, silent and patient, like a breeze waiting for permission to stir the curtains.

Dana exhales. “Kate’s done nothing wrong,” she says, voice low but steady. The words hang in the air, surprising both Kate and Rachel.

“I haven’t dealt with my grief. I took it out on you.” She rubs her palms together, then looks up. “I still stand by what I said—about always bowing to your needs. I need to start looking after mine for a while.”

Kate’s eyes soften. “That’s okay, Dana. I didn’t realize I was asking too much. I’m sorry.”

Dana nods. “I’m sorry too.”

Rachel smiles, quiet and warm. For a moment, she thinks her job might already be done.

*I didn’t even have to raise a finger,* Rachel thinks, smug and satisfied.

Then Dana turns to her. “Rach? Can I ask for your help?”

*Shit!* Rachel thinks, the smugness evaporating like mist. She schools her expression, floats a little straighter.

“Of course,” she says, with the calm of someone who absolutely did not just panic inside.

“Well,” she says slowly, “technically, I’m bound by the laws of spectral courtesy. Which means I can’t interfere unless invited three times, under moonlight, with a ceremonial snack.”

Dana squints. “Spectral courtesy?”

Rachel nods solemnly. “Ancient ghost code. Very official. Very binding. Also, I might’ve just made it up.”

Kate snorts. “You’re the worst ghost.”

Rachel grins. “I prefer ‘ethically flexible.’”

Dana narrows her eyes. “Ceremonial snack, huh?”

Rachel nods solemnly. “Very binding.”

Dana reaches into her bag, pulls out a half-melted chocolate bar, and holds it up like a sacred offering. “Moonlight’s overrated. I summon thee with sugar and sarcasm.”

Rachel stares at the chocolate, then sighs. “Damn. You found the loophole.”

Kate grins. “You’re officially snack-bound. Ghost law’s clear on that.”

Rachel mutters, “I should’ve gone with gluten-free.”

“What do you need my divine help with?” Rachel asks, floating just above the carpet like she’s auditioning for sainthood.

Dana fidgets, picking at the edge of her sleeve. “I need to visit the graveyard tomorrow. To talk to some friends I lost in the storm.” Her voice wavers, but she doesn’t look away. “You don’t have to do anything. Just… be there.”

Rachel’s teasing fades. She nods, gentle now. “Of course.”

She doesn’t say ‘I’ll haunt the perimeter like a celestial bodyguard,’ but the promise is there.

Rachel flops onto Dana’s bed with theatrical flair. “Ahhhh, it’s been so long since I last laid on a decent mattress,” she sighs, sinking into the pillows like royalty.

Dana sits beside her, eyebrows raised. “Since you died?”

Rachel snorts. “No, since I left Steph’s. That girl thinks beanbags count as furniture.”

Dana flops back on the bed beside her, grinning. “Ghostly standards, huh? I figured you’d be above mortal comfort. I mean, you float. You phase through walls. You haunt with flair.”

Rachel rolls onto her side, mock offended. “Excuse me, I have very refined tastes. Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate thread count.”

Dana snorts. “You died and still managed to become a diva.”

Kate, perched in the beanbag, doesn’t even look up from the throw pillow she’s absently turning in her hands.

“Glad to know death hasn’t dulled your taste for drama,” she says dryly.

Rachel raises an eyebrow. “Excuse you—this is refined haunting.”

Dana snorts. “Refined haunting sounds like a perfume.”

Kate smirks. “Notes of regret, lingering guilt, and a hint of lavender.”

Rachel props herself up on one elbow, eyes gleaming. “You joke, but ‘Refined Haunting’ would sell out in every ghostly Sephora. Comes in a mist bottle. Literally.”

Dana laughs. “Top notes of unfinished business and passive-aggressive door slams.”

Kate adds, deadpan, “With a lingering base of ‘I died dramatically and want everyone to know.’”

Rachel gasps. “Rude. I died with mystery and flair.”

Dana grins. “You woke up in a junkyard”

Rachel points a translucent finger. “A fancy junkyard.”

Dana shakes her head laughing.

Kate tilts her head, voice soft. “You stayed with Steph? She… saw you too?”

Rachel’s glow dims slightly. “Yeah. She did.” Her tone shifts, quieter now. “I kinda fell for her. But she’s already taken.”

She floats a little lower, gaze drifting toward the ceiling. “I came to Seattle so I wouldn’t complicate things. It’s been good, in some ways. Quiet. Less tangled.”

Dana watches her, surprised by the vulnerability. “So you ghosted her,” she says, deadpan.

Rachel groans. “I walked right into that one.”

Kate smiles faintly. “You really did.”

Dana leans back on the bed, arms crossed, a teasing glint in her eye. “So ghosts get heartbreak too, huh? I thought dying was supposed to come with emotional immunity. Like, poof—no taxes, no tears.”

Rachel groans. “We still get feelings, Dana. We just don’t get tissues.”

Kate smirks. “Or closure, apparently.”

Rachel throws a pillow at her, which passes harmlessly through. “Rude.”

Dana grins. “You know, for someone who’s technically incorporeal, you’re surprisingly dramatic.”

Rachel sighs, mock wistful. “Death didn’t kill my flair. It just gave me better lighting.”

The morning air is crisp, edged with the kind of chill that makes silence feel sacred. Dana stands at the gate of the graveyard, hands tucked into her jacket sleeves. The sky is overcast, soft grey light filtering through the trees like a hush.

Rachel hovers beside her, unusually quiet. No quips, no dramatic entrances—just presence.

Kate trails a few steps behind, giving Dana space but staying close enough to anchor her.

Dana exhales slowly. “I haven’t been back since the storm,” she says. Her voice is steady, but the words feel like they cost something.

Rachel nods. “I know.”

They walk past rows of headstones, the gravel crunching under Dana’s boots. She stops in front of three markers, worn but familiar. Her fingers brush the edge of one, then retreat.

The wind rustles through the trees, soft and steady, like it’s listening.

Dana kneels at the grave, voice trembling but clear. “Hey… my love. Sorry for not visiting you sooner. It’s been hard without you.”

Rachel and Kate stand back, silent witnesses.

“I thought we were forever,” Dana continues. “We had plans. Goals. You’d make it to the NFL and I’d be the lead cheerleader for your team.” She laughs, a sound cracked with grief. “I remember watching games with you. You’d tell me all the rules and I’d pretend to listen. I wish I actually listened.”

She wipes her eyes, then places a folded photo at the base of the headstone—two teenagers in matching jerseys, grinning at the camera.

“I’ll love you forever,” she says. “But I will move on. Move forward. Goodbye.”

Rachel feels the air shift. Not colder—lighter. Like something has been released.

Kate steps forward, placing a hand on Dana’s back. “He’d be proud of you.”

Dana nods, eyes still on the stone. “I hope so.”

Rachel’s form stills, the edges of her glow sharpening like frost. She tilts her head, gaze drifting past Dana and Kate toward the far end of the graveyard.

“There’s someone else here,” she murmurs.

Dana straightens. “Someone alive?”

Rachel shakes her head slowly. “No. Not quite.”

The air shifts—subtle, like a change in pressure. A crow calls once, then goes silent.

Kate steps closer. “Is it one of them?”

Rachel doesn’t answer right away. She floats forward, her voice low. “It’s familiar. Not angry. Just… watching.”

Dana’s breath catches. “Him?”

Rachel pauses at the edge of the grave, eyes wide, then nods. “I think so.”

The wind picks up, rustling the leaves. Dana kneels again, heart pounding, unsure if she’s imagining the warmth that brushes her cheek like a hand she used to know.

Rachel whispers, “Say what you need. He’s listening.”

Dana stays kneeling, her fingers brushing the edge of the photo she placed. The silence stretches, but it’s not empty—it’s full of breath, memory, ache.

“I used to think grief would feel like drowning,” she says softly. “But it’s more like… walking around with soaked clothes. Heavy. Quiet. And no one really sees it.”

Rachel watches her, the air around her pulsing faintly.

“I miss your laugh,” Dana continues. “The way you’d yell at the TV like the players could hear you. The way you’d hold my hand under the bleachers like it was a secret, even though everyone knew.”

She swallows hard. “I’m scared to forget the sound of your voice. But I’m more scared to stop living mine.”

A breeze moves through the trees, gentle and warm. Rachel closes her eyes, sensing something shift—something let go.

Dana stands slowly, brushing dirt from her knees. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For loving me. For letting me go.”

Kate steps beside her, silent. Rachel floats just behind, her glow soft as candlelight.

None of them speak. They don’t need to.

Rachel lingers near the grave, her glow dimmed to a soft shimmer. She doesn’t speak right away—just watches Dana, the way her shoulders settle after the goodbye, the way her breath steadies.

She’s seen grief before. The kind that clings. The kind that lashes out. But this—this was different. This was someone choosing to live, even with the ache.

“I used to think haunting meant staying where you died,” Rachel says quietly, more to herself than anyone else. “But maybe it’s staying where love still echoes.”

Kate glances at her, surprised by the softness.

Rachel shrugs. “I don’t know. Watching Dana say goodbye like that… it felt like something sacred. Like she cracked open the silence and let light in.”

She floats a little closer to Dana, not touching, just near. “You did good,” she says gently. “He heard you.”

Dana doesn’t answer, but her hand brushes the headstone one last time.

As Dana turns from the grave, Rachel lingers, her gaze fixed on the space just behind the headstone. The air there shimmers faintly—like heat off pavement, but colder, quieter.

She sees him.

Not fully formed, not like ghosts usually are. Just a flicker of presence: a silhouette in a jersey, hands tucked into pockets, head tilted like he’s listening. There’s no face, no voice—just the feeling of someone who used to laugh loud and love fiercely.

Rachel doesn’t speak. She knows this kind of moment isn’t hers to narrate.

But she watches as the silhouette lifts a hand, barely perceptible, and the wind shifts—brushing Dana’s cheek like a memory.

Kate sees Dana pause, eyes closed, lips parted like she’s about to say something but doesn’t. She doesn’t see the figure. Doesn’t hear the whisper Rachel catches:

“Thank you.”

Rachel blinks, and the shimmer fades. She floats back to Dana’s side, quiet.

Rachel hesitates in the doorway, her glow flickering like a candle caught in a draft. She’s halfway between leaving and lingering, the kind of posture that says she’s used to being temporary.

Dana’s voice cuts through the quiet. “Rach, wait.”

Rachel turns, brows raised.

“You can stay if you want,” Dana says, soft but steady.

Rachel blinks. She’s gotten used to exits. To being the ghost who helps, then vanishes. Nobody’s asked her to stay since Steph. Not like this. Not with warmth.

“You sure?” she asks, voice thinner than usual. “I don’t want to be a bother or anything.”

Kate, already curled up on the couch, shakes her head. “You could never be. Sit down—our favorite show’s about to start.”

Rachel floats in slowly, like she’s afraid the invitation might evaporate. She settles onto the arm of the couch, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the pull of belonging.

Dana tosses her a blanket, which passes through her, and they all laugh.

Rachel smiles. “Guess I’m haunting the living room now.”

Kate grins. “Only if you bring snacks.”

Rachel smirks. “Ghost snacks. Extra spectral.”

Dana rolls her eyes. “Just don’t possess the popcorn.”