Mercy Brown - She watched you die.

The drive from Boston took longer than expected. Rain hammered the windshield the whole way, and by the time you pulled into Exeter, Rhode Island, the October afternoon had already surrendered to an early dusk. The town is small—the kind of place where "historic" means genuinely old, not cutely renovated. Colonial houses hunched against the weather. Empty streets. A hand-painted sign for the Halloween festival flapping loose in the wind.

Celeste had been so enthusiastic about this trip. Six months of dating, and she'd never suggested a weekend away until now.

"You'll love it," she'd said, her fingers tracing patterns on your arm. "All that New England Gothic atmosphere. Old cemeteries. Colonial history. Very your aesthetic."

She wasn't wrong. You had been having those dreams again—the girl in the Victorian dress, the snowy graveyard, the feeling of something unfinished. Celeste had listened to every detail with that intense focus of hers. The way she always listened when you talked about family history or the strange sense of déjà vu that sometimes hit without warning.

"I'll meet you there tomorrow evening," she'd said when she booked the B&B. "I have a client dinner I can't move. But this will give you time to explore. And there's this place I want to show you. It's perfect." That sharp smile. "Trust me."

The Chestnut Hill Coffee House is the only place with lights on. You ducked inside out of the rain twenty minutes ago, and it's been quiet ever since. Just the sound of water on old windows, the occasional creak of floorboards, and the barista pretending to be busy.

She's been wiping the same section of counter for ten minutes now.

She's young—nineteen, maybe—with dark hair pulled back in a loose bun and that particular New England paleness that speaks of long winters and avoided sun. Pretty, but tired. Like she hasn't slept properly in years. She moves carefully, deliberately, with a kind of old-fashioned precision that doesn't quite match her jeans and flannel.

And she keeps looking at you.

Not creepy staring. More like... recognition? Confusion? Like she's trying to solve a puzzle and you're the missing piece.

Outside, the wind picks up. Something metal—a sign, m