Grandma pushed Leyla on the swing, warm hands steady on her back. The sway was slow. Gentle. Safe.

  From the porch, Evelyn looked up from her book. Her smile lit the garden like a lamp against dusk.

  The swing, hanging from the old Japanese cherry tree, was Leyla’s secret refuge. Up there, fears slipped away. Every rise and fall carried her into a world untouched by shadows.

  Evelyn always knew what her daughter needed, silence or company. That invisible bond between them ran deeper than words, like a current always humming beneath the surface.

  The cherry tree had been Evelyn’s choice, its meaning carved into her heart: courage, loyalty, honor. The virtues of a samurai. Leyla loved it. She felt those virtues seep into her bones with every arc through the air.

  A breeze brushed her cheek.

  She saw her mother rise, moving across the grass with an almost unearthly grace, wrapped in a golden glow. Evelyn drifted closer, lips unmoving, but her voice filled the air like music carried on the wind.

  “Wherever you are, we’ll be there. Open your mind. Unlock the gift inside you. Wake up, Leyla! Come back to me, baby! Leyla!”

  The words scattered like leaves in a storm, swallowed by a sudden whirl of darkness.

  Then silence. Heavy. Crushing.

  And after that, black. Total. Smothering. No light. No hope.

  Leyla jolted awake.

  Pain ripped through her body.

  Eyes wide. Mind drowning in fog and shadows. Nausea. Crushing pressure. Her skull throbbed with a brutal, pounding ache. Arms and legs hung like dead weight, shackled by chains she couldn’t see.

  The air itself turned against her. Stale. Trapped. A sharp tang of fresh wood and paint clung, choking her, knotting her throat.

  She forced her eyes open, fighting lids that felt like lead. She swept them side to side, up and down, anything to keep them from burning out.

  But all she caught were shapes. Blurred. Twisting at the edge of sight. Specters dancing in the dark.

  Focus slipped, as the world refused to stay still.

  A dream cracking apart as she woke.

  And then the dark tide rose again, pulling her under, dragging her back into the abyss.

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  Evelyn lay on the ground, clutching Leyla’s bike like a lifeline.

  Time crawled, every second stretching into eternity.

  The fog of pain slowly began to thin, peeling back to a single, sharp thought.

  That was when the shivers hit, clothes soaked through, clinging to her skin. She needed to hold on to something, something rational.

  In the heart of chaos, a spark flickered back to life.

  She couldn’t break. She wouldn’t let the darkness win.

  Leyla needed her.

  Every muscle screaming, she forced her legs beneath her.

  Her gaze cut through the rain, into the night. As if her daughter were out there, waiting.

  “I’m coming, Leyla,” she whispered, cracked but fierce. “I’m coming.”

  No more wasted seconds. Every heartbeat was another moment her girl was alone. Evelyn had to move. Had to protect her. Had to bring her back. Whatever it took.

  She inhaled deep, forcing herself to her feet, the cold stabbing through her bones.

  Fear. Doubt. Grief. All shoved aside.

  Only one thing left. Find Leyla.

  A fire raged in Evelyn’s eyes.

  She focused on the bike, on the faint energy still clinging to it. She felt the lingering warmth, as if Leyla’s fingers had only just touched it. She closed her eyes for a moment. And the vision hit. Leyla was in danger. But she was alive.

  She breathed deep. A force ignited in her chest, setting every fiber ablaze.

  Her daughter was asleep, caught in limbo.

  But that vision… it was a beacon. A single ray of hope.

  Evelyn knew she would fight to her last breath to reach her.

  The road blurred, and before she knew it, she was home.

  Inside, she peeled off her soaked clothes, slow, mechanical, letting them fall in a wet heap on the floor.

  The cold had settled deep into her bones, sharp as a blade. She stepped under a stream of scalding water, hoping the heat would rinse away the despair. Then she wrapped herself in a blue robe; its softness, in that moment, offered her no comfort at all.

  In the kitchen, she set water to boil for tea; her hands were trembling so much the kettle knocked against the stove, nearly tipping over. When she finally gripped the mug of searing liquid, she held it with such force her fingertips turned a fiery red, as if that heat were the only thing keeping her from shattering into pieces. “Focus. Stay sharp,” she whispered, the words falling like a mantra.

  She drank in small sips, letting the bitterness pull her back to the present. Then she stood, grabbed paper and pen, and sat at the table. She had to think. She needed a plan.

  The first lines came steady, her hand moving with purpose. Then she read them out loud, as if speaking them could make them real.

  One: Police. File an official report.

  But I have to weigh every word. If I mention the visions—if I tell them I saw it all happening miles away—they’ll think I’ve lost my mind. They won’t search for Leyla; they’ll start watching me. I need to tell just enough truth to make them act, while keeping my gift hidden.

  Two: Trusted friends.

  Who can I really count on? I can’t do this alone.

  Three: Move. Right now.

  Every minute is a mile lost. Leyla is out there, breathing. I have to find her.

  She shot up from the chair, clutching the paper like it was a map.

  “I have to move. Now. I won’t let panic eat me alive. I’m her mother. And nothing will stop me.”

  Her voice broke. Evelyn covered her face with her hands, curling into herself under the weight of the absurd.

  “Leyla… my God. You’ve been taken. But by who? Why?”

  She lifted her gaze slowly to the window.

  The sky was black, scattered with distant stars.

  But not what she sought. Instead, her mother’s image appeared, calm, steady, eyes that always found their way through chaos.

  “Mom…” she whispered, barely audible.

  “Give me courage. I need you.”

  Then, like a punch to the gut, a thought struck her: the neighbors, Mrs. Pina, nosy and omnipresent, the hallway’s own Sherlock Holmes, ready to turn whispers into shouts.

  Fresh tears blurred her vision.

  She wasn’t ready for the questions. The intrusion. The pressure. Worst of all, the fear of losing her link to Leyla.

  She drew a deep breath. Wiped her tears. And pulled herself together. She couldn’t give in. She had to find the strength. For Leyla. For herself. For everything.

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