Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Two years later, Emily stood motionless in the living room of her new apartment.
The high ceilings, the spotless white walls, the sleek, deliberate lines of the furniture—everything about it looked expensive, calculated, sterile.
Foreign.
It had only been a few hours since they’d left Paris.
Yesterday had been Declan’s eighth birthday.
Today they stood here—with two suitcases, a forced smile, and a past that followed them like a shadow.
Elizabeth Prentiss, immaculate as always, had picked them up at the airport. At least she seemed genuinely happy. The entire drive she had spoken with Declan in French—warmly, attentively, almost lovingly—as if she had known him all along.
Emily, on the other hand, had barely said a word.
She had stared out the window, at the familiar streets that felt disturbingly normal.
Washington, D.C.
She was back.
And God, how she hated it.
The apartment—chosen by her mother, paid for by her father—didn’t feel like home. It felt like a cage with curtains.
Declan ran ahead, bursting inside and leaving the suitcases behind. His voice echoed through the rooms.
“Wow, Maman, c’est trop cool! J’ai ma propre salle de bain!”
(“Wow, Mom, this is so cool! I have my own bathroom again!”)
Emily heard him, but her thoughts lingered somewhere between Paris and D.C.
She stood there, hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, looking around the immaculate room.
Even without seeing the upper floor, she knew this place was at least four times the size of their old apartment in Paris.
“The apartment is… spacious,” she murmured, trying to sound neutral. “It must’ve cost a fortune.”
Elizabeth gently placed a hand on her arm—a gesture so unfamiliar it startled her.
“Don’t worry about that, darling.”
Darling.
The word hit her like a cold gust of air.
Her mother had never called her that.
“I’m so glad to have you both near me again,” Elizabeth sighed softly. “To have you again. After your friend’s death, you both went through so much.”
Emily only nodded.
My ex-terrorist, whom my son shot, she thought bitterly. Something you’ll never know, Mother.
Her eyes wandered over the glossy surfaces, the perfectly arranged furniture.
Everything was flawless.
Nothing was real.
Declan came running back in, his face flushed with excitement, and threw himself onto the cream-colored couch.
“Maman, tu as vu ma chambre? Elle est énorme!”
(“Mom, did you see my room? It’s huge!”)
Emily forced a smile.
“J’arrive, mon cœur.”
(“I’m coming, my heart.”)
But when she turned, her mother’s gaze stopped her.
There was something in Elizabeth’s eyes—something she was deliberately holding back.
“What?” Emily asked quietly, tension already rising in her voice.
Elizabeth hesitated. “Your father has… a condition. But please—listen before you say anything. He’s really worried. We both are.”
“Mother!” Emily’s voice had that dangerously sharp edge that even startled herself. “What condition?”
“You’re going to see Dr. Vogel again.”
For a second, time stopped.
Emily felt everything inside her tighten—her shoulders, her neck, her breath.
“I’m not a child anymore, Mother,” she said coolly. “I make my own decisions.”
Elizabeth smoothly switched to Greek, excluding Declan from the conversation.
“Ο πατέρας σου κι εγώ φοβόμαστε απλώς ότι η κατάθλιψη θα επιστρέψει.”
(“Your father and I are just afraid the depression will come back.”)
Emily sucked in a sharp breath, but before she could respond, Declan asked curiously—in fluent Greek:
“Τι είναι η κατάθλιψη;”
(“What is depression?”)
Emily closed her eyes briefly. “Declan speaks the same languages I do,” she said dryly.
Elizabeth smiled stiffly. “I’m so proud of you, Declan. You’re so talented with languages.”
Then she turned back to Emily.
“Your father has also scheduled appointments for Declan. It will be good for both of you.”
Emily’s eyes widened. “Please tell me that’s a joke.”
But Elizabeth just shook her head gently, bent down to kiss Declan on the cheek, and brushed a hand through his hair.
“I have to go now, sweetheart. We’ll talk later,” she said, then looked at Emily. “But you know there’s no alternative.”
The door closed behind her.
For a long moment, there was silence.
Only the soft hum of the refrigerator filled the air.
Declan looked up at her.
“Maman… c’est quoi, Dr. Vogel?”
(“Mom… who’s Dr. Vogel?”)
Emily exhaled slowly, her eyes resting on him—
and she knew this wasn’t a new beginning.
It was a return.