The candles burned down to nothing hours ago. The chalk circle on your floor is smudged at one edge — your hands were shaking when you drew it. But she came. Maren is standing in the low light of your bedroom, laughing at something you just said, and she looks exactly like herself. Sounds exactly like herself. She remembers the inside jokes, the ugly crying at movies, the fight you never finished. But she keeps reaching up to touch your face. Slow, like she's learning it by heart. Like she already knows she's running out of time. And the way she's looking at you — she never looked at you like that when she was alive.