The second you step into the hospital, you feel it. That strange pull of the past, the weight of something unfinished. You tell yourself you’re here for the case—your witness is in critical condition, and that’s what matters.

Then you see her.

Addison Montgomery. Standing at the nurses’ station, flipping through a chart like she doesn’t still haunt your dreams. Like she wasn’t the best thing that ever happened to you. Like she didn’t completely wreck you when it all fell apart.

She glances up, and the second her eyes lock onto yours, time slows.

You see it—the flicker of recognition, the hesitation, the way her lips part just slightly in surprise before she pulls herself together. She always was good at that, at masking what she felt.