The hallway was dim, the early light filtering in like gray mist through the wooden slats of the old window at the end. Mira stood barefoot on the cool tiles, heart thudding just beneath her collarbone. The air smelled like dust and time.

Nothing moved.

But the stillness felt... intentional.

She took a step forward.

Then another.

Halfway down the hall, she stopped. A framed photo on the wall caught her eye — an old picture of her as a baby in her mother's arms, faded from years of sun and fingerprints. She hadn't looked at it in so long. There was a song playing when that photo was taken, she remembered. Her mother used to sing it all the time — a lullaby Mira had forgotten the words to after she passed.

But standing there now, she swore she could hear the first few notes.

Like a memory.

Like someone else was remembering it for her.

Then — a sound.

Not music this time, but movement.

A small thud from the guest room — the one they never used.

The door was open just a crack.

She hadn't noticed before.

Mira hesitated. Every nerve in her body told her to turn back. Go to Solana. Pull the covers over them both and wait for daylight to fully arrive.

But something deeper pulled her forward. A knowing that didn't come from her mind.

It came from her blood.

She pushed the door open.

Inside, the room looked untouched — same wooden chair in the corner, same dusty shelves, same curtain tied up with a worn-out ribbon. But the light... the light wasn't the same.

It shimmered faintly across the walls, as if underwater.

And in the middle of the floor, barely visible in the haze, was a child.

Not Solana.

This one was older — maybe three or four. Curly hair. Bare feet. Wearing a pale yellow dress that looked handmade.

And humming.

The same melody Mira had heard in her dreams.

The child looked up.

Eyes dark as glass.

"You forgot the song," she said quietly.

Mira's mouth opened, but no words came.

"Don't worry," the girl whispered. "She still remembers."

And then — she was gone.

Not in a flash. Not like a ghost. Just... gone. As if Mira had blinked and the world had rewritten itself.

The room was empty again.

But the song — the song was still there.

In the air.

In her bones.

And maybe, just maybe... in Solana.