24 North Carolina.

For the past fifty years, we've developed some of the world's most advanced testing capabilities with one mission in mind: to help improve health and lives. Today, through our comprehensive clinical laboratories, we process more than 3 million patient specimens per week and, in doing so, help medical professionals and patients make important health decisions. The insights we gain through testing them fuel our drug development practice, by identifying patterns and even individuals who might benefit from enrollment in specific drug trials. It's this combination that makes us unique.

I opened my email, anticipation building within me, as I prepared to send the article to the esteemed editor, Tyler, in the networking department for its much-awaited publishing.

Finally! The last task of the day was complete, liberating me to finally head home. With a satisfied sigh, I reached for my bag, a glimmer of contentment dancing in my eyes.

Efficiently tidying my desk, I gracefully exited my office, a melodious tune escaping my lips. As I turned the corner, a mischievous idea tugged at me, compelling me to pay a visit to Samantha's office.

"HEY SAM!" I exclaimed, bursting into her workspace.

"What has you brimming with excitement?" she inquired, wearily lifting her gaze from the mountain of documents on her desk, exhaustion etched across her features.

"And why are you carrying your bag?" she added, curiosity piqued.

"Because I'm finally heading home to recharge," I replied with a blissful grin.

"Not fair! I'm the one juggling a child and a never-ending pile of tasks, not you," Samantha protested.

"Well, would you like to switch places?" I teasingly proposed.

"Yeah, sure!" she responded gleefully, embracing the idea.

"Okay, then I'll stay here and assist you in completing everything," I stated.

A radiant smile illuminated her face, but I wasn't finished yet. A mischievous smirk played on my lips.

"However, you'll have to go to North Carolina in my stead tomorrow morning," I added, relishing the mischief.

Her expression darkened even before I completed my sentence.

"No way! I'm not falling for your tricks this time. Last week, I toiled relentlessly for you, and what did I get? A mere thank you!" Samantha retorted, her voice laced with bitterness.

Confusion clouded my thoughts.

"What were you expecting?" I asked, genuinely perplexed.

Sighing, she began to explain, assuming the tone of a concerned mother educating her child. "You know, compensation. Money, gifts, or perhaps that exquisite, expensive bag you noticed me eyeing. You could have gotten it for me too. But alas, your heart seems as dark as a monkey's backside."

I gasped in disbelief. "Are you being racist?"

"What? You..." Samantha stammered, taken aback by my accusation.

"Bah, bah, bah," I interjected, silencing her. "You just compared me to a monkey!"

She appeared on the verge of tears. "But you're more Greek than black!"

"I'm not having this conversation with you right now," I declared, storming off, pretending to be both angry and hurt.

Thank goodness I possessed enough wit to never entertain the notion of compensating her with anything. Samantha, being a fashion enthusiast, would bankrupt me within ten minutes if my Amex black card fell into her hands.

As I strode toward my car, loud footsteps echoed behind me, and I recognized them without needing to turn around.

"Wait!" Samantha called out, breathless from her pursuit.

Rolling my eyes, I turned back, amused by her flushed face. The distance between us wasn't substantial; she was just exceptionally lazy.

"You may be thrilled to go home, but have you forgotten who awaits you there?" she inquired, smirking, convinced she had cleverly outwitted me.

Returning her smirk, I retorted, "Actually, I'm heading over to my grandma's house today, and I won't be seeing Sei."

She paused, contemplating her next move.

"I know exactly what you're thinking. Trust me, I have enough clothes at her place to last a year without repeating a single outfit," I proudly told.

Samantha gave me a death glare and stormed off, muttering under her breath.

Amused by the exchange, I gracefully settled into my car, preparing to drive to a destination where I hadn't received an invitation.

As expected, my granny greeted me with a dry remark. "Look who's here," she said with a hint of sarcasm.

If someone were present to witness our interaction, they might assume that my grandma despised me. But deep down, I knew she loved me dearly. She just had a stubborn way of showing it.

"I'm going on a work trip tomorrow, and I'll be gone for a week. You'll finally get a break from my awesomeness," I jokingly informed her, deliberately avoiding the topic on her discovery on my memory loss. I guess you could say in simple words that I was scared, terrified of hearing the truth.

Surprisingly, she didn't respond with her usual snappy remark. Instead, she silently poured me a cup of tea. Her actions intrigued me, and as I glanced at her, a memory flashed in my mind—the picture hidden in the attic.

I contemplated asking her about it, but the thought of potentially triggering her aversion to discussing her sisters and family made me hesitate. Furthermore, if she discovered I was harboring a stolen painting, she would likely turn me over to the authorities.

Letting out a sigh, I weighed my options.

"What's on your mind?" she curiously inquired, catching me off guard. It was rare for my grandma to initiate a conversation.

I looked up, surprised by her willingness to engage.

"Could I ask you a question? Just promise me you won't involve the police," I cautiously requested.

"Did you murder someone? Because if you did, I know the perfect spot to hide the body," she nonchalantly remarked.

I choked on the tea I was drinking. What on earth was she talking about?

"Ma! I didn't murder anyone, and there's no hiding of bodies involved," I exclaimed, slightly exasperated.

She simply shrugged, seemingly convinced by her own assumptions.

"Oh well, if you say so," she responded casually.

Feeling a mix of relief and confusion, I pressed on, eager to ask my question before I needed to start packing.

"Can I just ask my question now? I really need to get packing," I urged.

Granny nodded, granting me permission.

"How many sisters do you have?" I asked, hoping to uncover a piece of our family history.

Her expression darkened, a shadow crossing her face.

"If that's your question, then you won't be getting an answer from me," she replied, her tone firm and final.

"But you have to! We found this painting of you and three other blond women with greens eyes just like yours, then we....." I attempted to continue to reveal the existence of the painting, but my grandmother's reaction was far beyond what I had anticipated. Her face turned ghostly pale, and she nearly fainted, but I managed to catch her just in time, supporting her trembling body.

Rushing to fetch a glass of water, I watched as her hand trembled while reaching out to grasp it. I had never witnessed my grandmother in such a vulnerable state. When my adoptive parents passed away in a car accident, she remained unfazed, even though my mother was her own biological daughter. So why would the mention of a painting cause her to crumble like this? There was definitely something significant that I was missing.

"How did you find out about that painting? Where did you get it from?!" she yelled, her voice filled with alarm.

"I..." I stammered, struggling to find the words to explain.

In a sudden burst of anger, she stood up and forcefully slammed her hand on the table, causing it to split in half. I instinctively backed away, startled by the display of her fury and strength.

She glared at me with intensity, but her expression softened a little upon noticing my weary demeanor.

This definitely wasn't my grandmother.

My body instinctively prepared to flee. One more step away from her, and I would be in North Carolina.

I watched as she took deep breaths, muttering incoherent words under her breath. After a few minutes, she seemed to regain her composure, but I still found it difficult to trust the sudden shift.

"Where did you find this painting?" she asked, her tone more composed.

"At a house," I responded tentatively.

"What house, Alora?" she pressed, a sense of urgency in her voice.

"I can't remember. All I recall is that it was somewhere around Stockon. I bought it at an auction," I lied.

"You're lying," she stated plainly, causing a lump to form in my throat. Perhaps telling the truth would be the best course of action, judging by the immense effort she was exerting to maintain her patience. I confessed everything, as much as I could remember starting from the very beginning—how I met Sei, the sleepwalking episodes, and Sei living with me. My grandmother's complexion grew even paler than before, as if life had drained from her, and fear gripped my heart.

"Why didn't you tell me all of this?!" she shouted, gripping me with such force that I felt my bones might snap under the pressure. Her trembling was no longer out of fear but sheer fury.

"How did that bastard manage to enter this house without me being aware? You were never meant to meet Sei, not yet, not now! It's too sudden, and finding that painting means the thing I feared the most is about to happen."

The words struck me like a lightning bolt. I was never meant to meet Sei. Did that imply I was meant to be dead by now?

I widened my eyes, the truth slowly dawning on me.

"I have done everything within my power to alter what has already been written," she said, her voice filled with desperation. "I thought I could rewrite your story and change things for the better this time, but I guess I didn't try hard enough. Have you been experiencing any memory loss of recent ?" she anxiously inquired.

I shock my head slowly, indicating no. I feared that any sudden movement might trigger her anger once more. And, as expected, she exploded.

"That bastard! I knew there was something off about him when I last saw him. Angels! Always interfering and messing things up. This, all of this, is their fault. Their incompetence in fixing the problem is why this foolishness continues and involves innocent individuals who have nothing to do with it in the first place."

"What do you mean?" I asked, exasperated and desperate for someone to provide me with straight answers. "Is he truly an angel? What is really going on?"

She shakily took a seat and, after a moment of silence, began to speak.

"Finding that painting is the first sign that things are about to worsen. Worse, as in a shift from light to darkness is imminent."