I turn the shell over.
It is smooth on the outside, worn soft by years of water and handling. Pale enough to look harmless. Ordinary enough to belong anywhere near a beach. For a second, I almost convince myself it means nothing. That it is just a shell. A coincidence. A mistake.
Then I see the inside.
Carved carefully along the inner curve, shallow but deliberate, are two letters.
Adrian’s initials.
They are small. Precise. Familiar in a way that makes my stomach drop straight through the floor.
I do not breathe.
I do not move.
For a heartbeat, I think the room has gone silent, like the world itself has paused to watch me understand what I am holding. Then the ocean outside surges again, loud and insistent, waves breaking against the shore with a force that feels suddenly intentio
