England, 1997 The train left London in the early hours of the morning, and Isabella Iero spent most of the journey watching the landscape through the window. Little by little, the buildings and busy streets of the capital gave way to the green fields of the English countryside, small farms, and narrow roads winding through the hills. It had been four years since she had last come home. Four years since she had earned a scholarship and left for university, determined to build a life of her own far from the small seaside town where she had grown up. Her mother, Claire, was waiting for her at the station. The warm embrace and emotional smile made her arrival easier, but the feeling of unfamiliarity returned during the drive home. The town was still beautiful, with its quiet streets and the sea visible in the distance between the buildings, yet so much had changed. Some shops had disappeared, others had taken their place, and several storefronts looked completely different from the ones she remembered. The family home was no longer the same either. The exterior had been renovated, the walls repainted, and even the garden looked different. Inside, the feeling was even stronger. There were new pieces of furniture, rooms had been rearranged, and recent photographs filled the shelves. Isabella realized she was looking at entire years of her family's life that had happened without her. The thought brought a quiet melancholy. Not because she regretted leaving for London, but because she understood that while she had been building a life of her own, countless things had continued to happen in her absence. A few hours after her arrival, Claire managed to convince her to take a walk along the beach. The weather was far from inviting. Gray clouds covered the sky, and a cold wind blew in from the sea, but Isabella eventually gave in. The beach had always been her favorite place as a child. When she reached the sand, she found it nearly empty. A few families were scattered along the shoreline, a couple walked near the water's edge, and several locals were out with their dogs. Isabella wandered without any particular destination, listening to the sound of the waves and breathing in the familiar scent of salt in the air. The sea, at least, seemed unchanged. She was distracted when the sharp sound of a whistle cut through the wind. Instinctively, she turned toward it. A group of children had wandered too close to the water, and a lifeguard was calling them back. Nothing unusual. But when her eyes found the person holding the whistle, she stopped walking. Even from a distance, she recognized him immediately. Damon. The shock was so sudden that she had to blink several times to make sure she was not imagining it. Four years had passed since the last time she had seen him. Four years since they had ended their relationship only weeks before she left for London. He looked different. Taller, more mature, the features of adolescence replaced by those of a grown man. His dark blond hair was slightly longer than she remembered, tousled by the constant sea breeze, and his shoulders seemed broader. Even so, there was something instantly familiar about him. Perhaps it was the way he stood watching the ocean, or the blue eyes she had once known so well. Before he had been her boyfriend, Damon had been her best friend. They had grown up together, spent entire summers on that very beach, and shared much of their childhood and teenage years. Seeing him again awakened an unexpected flood of memories. Not only of the relationship they had once had, but of the girl she had been before she left. As if sensing that he was being watched, Damon looked up. The moment he saw her seemed almost as surprising for him as it was for her. Shock appeared immediately on his face, and for a few seconds neither of them moved, separated only by the stretch of sand between them and the years they had spent apart.