Page 63 of Never Quite Gone

“Sarah's remembering too,” I said finally. “I see it in the way she watches Eli. The way her hands sometimes move like she's preparing medicines that haven't existed for centuries.”

“She was always the strongest,” Marcus mused. “Even in that first life, she understood balance in ways the rest of us couldn'tgrasp.” His smile held ancient fondness. “Perhaps she'll help temper William's fire when he remembers fully.”

“And if she can't?” The question that had haunted me through lifetimes finally found voice. “If his love burns too bright again?”

Marcus was quiet for a long moment. “Then we make different choices this time,” he said finally. “Find ways to let love heal instead of burn.”

The night deepened around us, modern city sounds mixing with memories of temple bells. Somewhere in the hospital, Sarah made her rounds while William dreamed of power he didn't yet understand. And Eli worked late again, his surgeon's hands remembering older healing with each life he saved.

“Watch him carefully,” Marcus warned as we prepared to leave. “Your brother's soul carries ancient fire. When he remembers fully...” He paused, choosing words with immortal care. “Love like his can reshape reality itself. Or destroy everything it touches.”

I touched the wall gently, feeling patterns shift beneath my fingers. Everything we'd been, everything we might become, waiting to see what choices we'd make this time. Whether love could learn to warm without burning. Whether souls could heal without breaking themselves in the attempt.

“Together then,” I said quietly. “Like always.”

Marcus's smile held centuries of friendship as he guided me toward the exit. “Together,” he agreed. “Though this time, perhaps we'll all choose differently.”

The hospital watched us leave with ancient eyes, modern walls remembering older healing. Soon William would remember everything. Soon choices would have to be made that couldn't be unmade.

Soon love would have to learn new ways to burn. Or finally learn to let go.

CHAPTER 20

Healing Hands

My two weeks of leave was done. Time to face reality again. But first, my usual morning run with Sofia.

Central Park buzzed with its normal morning crowd – joggers, dog walkers, early commuters cutting through to save time. Sofia waited at our usual spot, two coffee cups in hand and concern clear in her eyes.

Three times I tried to tell her about last night. About how natural it had felt to follow Alex home, to let him love me in ways that felt both new and achingly familiar. About how the guilt I'd expected hadn't come – just a sense that Michael would have wanted this for me, would have understood about making room for new love alongside old.

“I need to tell you something,” I finally managed, “but I don't want you to think I'm having some kind of breakdown.”

Sofia's steps slowed, her expression shifting to something carefully neutral in a way that suddenly seemed practiced. “You're remembering things,” she said simply. “Lives you couldn't have lived.”

“How?” I asked, leaning forward. “How do you remember? When did this start?”

Sofia's fingers traced the rim of her own coffee cup, a gestureboth familiar and suddenly strange. “It's been... gradual. Fragments at first. A feeling of déjà vu that went beyond simple coincidence. Dreams that felt more like memories. Flashes of places I've never been, conversations I've never had.”

“And now?” I pressed.

“Now?” She let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Now it's like pieces of a puzzle are suddenly clicking into place. I'll be in the middle of a surgery, and suddenly I'm remembering a healing ritual from somewhere – somewhen – completely different. Or I'll look at an instrument and know its history before I could possibly have learned it.”

“When did you first realize?”

“About a year ago,” Sofia said, her gaze distant. “A patient – an elderly woman. She looked at me and said something in a language I shouldn't know. And I understood. Not just the words, but the context, the history behind them.” She met my eyes again, that ancient wisdom swirling beneath her professional exterior. “I thought I was losing my mind at first. But then more memories came. Clearer. More certain.”

“And you're sure about this?” The skeptical surgeon in me couldn't help but ask.

Sofia's laugh was sharp, knowing. “About as sure as I am that I've spent decades saving lives in this hospital. Some things you just know.”

“You knew.” My voice came out sharper than intended, coffee nearly spilling as I turned to face her. “All this time, you knew?”

Sofia met my eyes steadily, the way she had through countless traumas and emergencies. But this time, I saw something ancient in her gaze, something that reminded me of temple steps and sacred wisdom I shouldn't remember.

“I can't tell you everything,” she said carefully. “We were... there are rules. Limitations. You need to ask Alex about the specifics.”

My hands clenched around my coffee cup, thewarmth doing nothing to chase away the sudden chill. “We? Who's we? How long have you been keeping this from me?”

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