Step into a story filled with:

• An isolated coastal estate where every detail is carefully controlled

• A mysterious boy who may not exist

• An impossible and slow-building romantic connection

• Fractured memories and an unreliable reality

• Family secrets and hidden motives

• Psychological suspense and science fiction mystery

• Windswept bluffs, hidden trails, and a haunting Massachusetts coastline

• A young woman determined to reclaim her identity and uncover the truth

Elara Meets Julian

And then I see him.

A boy is sitting on a lichen-covered rock a few yards away. He’s wearing a denim jacket that looks authentically frayed. It’s the first thing I’ve seen all day that actually looks old. In a world that feels increasingly polished and artificial, the worn threads of his collar stand out with a gritty, comforting realism.

The rock he’s perched on is at the tip of a dangerous overhang, and his boots dangle casually over a hundred-foot drop that descends straight into the churning surf. He’s sketching in a notebook, his hand moving with a fluid, rhythmic grace that seems to completely defy the wind whipping around him.

I freeze. My pulse hammers in my throat, a frantic, rhythmic thrum. I don’t speak. Instead, I do exactly what Dr. Aris told me to do when I see something “extra.” I squeeze my eyes shut, count to five, and visualize the person dissolving into smoke.

One. You are an intrusive thought. Two. You are a chemical imbalance. Three...

“You know, if you keep your eyes shut that close to the edge, this meeting is going to get real messy, real fast.”

The voice is crystal clear. It doesn’t sound like the muffled, underwater warble of my dreams or the distant, ringing hum of the house. It’s crisp. It carries the resonance of the salt air.

My eyes snap open. He’s still there, looking at me with a curiosity that feels almost tangible. He offers a grin that tugs hard toward the right, finding a home in the single, deep dimple that seems to catch his smile. It’s a lopsided look, as unkempt and charming as his appearance.

“I’m having a ‘lapse,’” I whisper, my hands shaking violently at my sides. “You’re a ‘lapse.’”

The boy’s expression shifts from playful to curious. He hops down from the ledge, moving with a lightness that makes me dizzy, and stands a cautious six feet away.

“I’ve been called a lot of things,” he says. “A nuisance. A nerd. An underpaid intern. But a ‘lapse’ is a new one. I’m Julian.”

He watches me intently, a breathless, hopeful anticipation radiating from him as his name hangs in the air.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, my voice rising with a frantic edge. “Nobody comes here. My brain... it likes to fill in the blanks with people when I’m lonely. That’s what Dr. Aris said. You’re just a manifestation of my social isolation.”

Julian doesn’t laugh. He looks at me with an intense frown that feels like a physical weight. Then, he shrugs his shoulders and smiles again, except his eyes still radiate sadness.

“I’m not a ghost, Elara,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, steady hum.

“Wait.” I look at him, confused. “How do you know my name?”