Some love stories end in "happily ever after." This one keeps ending in "not again."
Eight lifetimes. Eight versions of the same girl. Eight times he's watched her die in his arms, never remembering him,
never remembering them.
Amara has a deadline, a broken heater, and dreams she can't explain, a burning temple, a screaming promise,
a man's voice that shouldn't feel like home.
She blames stress. Stress doesn't explain the stranger in her coffee shop who knows her name before she says it,
who knows the childhood fear she's never told a single living soul.
Lucien has spent centuries chasing a girl who forgets him every time the world ends.
He swore he'd find her again no matter how many lives it took, no matter what he had to burn down to do it. Now he has.
And he knows exactly how this story goes: the moment she remembers is the moment something ancient,
something that's been waiting since the first time he lost her, starts clawing its way back through the cracks.
He should let her stay ordinary. Safe. Whole.
He's about to ruin her life instead because he loves her too much to walk away.
As the visions sharpen, a mark rises on her skin, and the past bleeds into the present,
Amara has to decide whether to trust a stranger who knows her better than anyone alive or run from a truth that's already found her.
Some promises outlive death. Some loves refuse to stay buried. And some endings were never meant to be the end.
