Chapter 2

"I' ll stay," I said, my voice even.

My mother looked surprised, then relieved. One less burden to carry to California. Ashley just smirked, convinced I was a fool.

"Fine," my mother said, turning away from me. "Your uncle knows. Pack your bags, Ashley."

They left the next day. The house felt empty, but cleaner. The silence was a relief.

It didn' t last.

My uncle, a man whose loyalty was measured in dollars, showed up a week later.

"Your mom' s not sending money anymore," he said, not meeting my eyes. "You can' t stay here. I need to rent this place out."

I expected it. I packed a single bag.

Before he died in that factory accident, my father, a proud union steelworker, had secretly opened a small savings account for me. It wasn' t much, but it was enough. It was my start.

I knew from my past life about Ethan' s locket. It was his most prized possession, a small silver oval containing a microchip. On it was the last message his mother recorded before she died of cancer.

He lost it during a sailing trip on Lake Tahoe. I knew the exact day, the exact storm.

I bought a bus ticket to California.

I arrived in Tahoe a day before the storm was due. I found a cheap motel and waited. The storm rolled in, violent and loud. When it passed, I walked the shoreline, my eyes scanning the debris washed up on the sand.

It took hours, but I found it. The silver was tarnished, but it was unmistakably his. I cleaned it carefully and sat on a cold, wet bench, waiting.

By late afternoon, a black SUV pulled up. A security team fanned out, their faces grim. And then I saw him.

Ethan. Sixteen years old, his face pale with desperation, his eyes scanning the beach frantically. He looked younger, more vulnerable than I remembered.

I stood up and walked toward him.

"Are you looking for this?" I asked, holding out the locket.

He stopped dead. His eyes widened as they fixed on the object in my palm. He rushed forward, his security detail tensing.

"Where did you find it?" he breathed, taking it from me with a trembling hand.

"Washed up on the shore," I said simply.

He stared at me, relief and suspicion warring in his eyes. "What do you want? I' ll give you anything."

I shivered, pulling my thin jacket tighter. The wind off the lake was cold.

"I' m just cold and hungry," I said, looking at a hot dog vendor down the boardwalk. "Could you buy me a hot dog?"

He was stunned. The request was so small, so simple. He looked from me to the vendor, then back again. A slow, curious smile touched his lips for the first time.

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

We sat on the bench and ate in silence. He kept glancing at me, his brow furrowed in thought.

"What' s your name?" he finally asked.

"Sarah."

"I' m Ethan. How can I contact you? I owe you more than a hot dog."

I finished my last bite and stood up. I gave him a small smile.

"If it' s meant to be, we' ll meet again."

I turned and walked away, leaving him staring after me, the locket clutched in his hand and a look of complete intrigue on his face.