Wait… Could she be that Grace Silver? The one June mentioned a few weeks ago? The girl who looked so same to Hannah? The one who'd been in that car accident… and was still in a coma?
His fingers tighten on the camera grip.
Slowly, Eugene looks up from the lens. Grace sits perfectly still on the stool, gazing straight at him with curious, open eyes—completely unaware of the storm beginning to churn inside his head.
He clears his throat.
"Okay, umm…" Eugene steps slightly to the side, lifting his hand in a gesture. "Can you move your head a little to the right?"
Grace tilts her head gently.
"Like this?"
He glances back through the viewfinder and gives a short nod.
"Good. And just drop your chin a little."
She does.
Everything about her pose is calm, precise, effortless.
Eugene exhales and gives her a thumbs-up.
"All right, perfect."
He hesitates, then adds, "Just to confirm—this is for your ID, right?"
"Yes," Grace replies with a polite smile. "For my ID photos."
"Got it," Eugene murmurs, refocusing on the camera.
As he peers through the lens again, Grace holds her gentle smile—simple, natural, and unknowingly haunting. It's as if he's staring into the past. Into someone else.
The shutter clicks. A bright flash lights the space—soft, then gone.
"Okay. Good, one more," Eugene says, raising a finger in the air as he peers through the camera screen.
Grace keeps her smile steady. Controlled. Almost practiced.
Another flash. Another shutter sound.
"All right. Great—we're done," Eugene says, finally looking up from behind the camera. "You're really good at smiling."
Grace gives a small smirk in response, her posture relaxing as she stands up from the stool.
"Please wait here," Eugene adds, unplugging a cable from the camera. "I'll get the prints ready right now."
"All right. Thanks."
Grace walks back to the front of the studio and settles into a low, minimalist sofa—gray fabric with clean wooden legs. As she waits, her eyes wander, drifting across the space. The studio is tasteful, warm. Shelves with neutral-toned photo books, sample frames, a coffee machine humming quietly in the corner.
Her gaze pauses at a framed wedding photo on the wall nearby.
The groom in the picture—smiling beside a woman in a delicate lace gown—looks unmistakably like Eugene.
She blinks once, then glances back across the studio.
Eugene stands by a workstation, quietly working the printer. Focused, or trying to be.
"So you're recently married?" Grace asks, tone light, almost casual—an attempt to break the lingering silence.
Eugene looks up—and freezes.
She knows I'm married? Wait—did Julian tell her? So she knows who I am? Then... she must know about Hannah, too?
"How did you know?" he asks, voice tight with confusion.
Grace laughs softly at his reaction, tilting her head.
"I saw the picture," she says, pointing to the frame on the wall. "Over there."
Eugene's eyes drift toward the wedding photo on the wall.
His breath hitches.
"Oh… that," he mutters, a short, nervous laugh escaping as he exhales. "Haha, sorry."
He turns back to the printer, fingers fumbling slightly as he adjusts the settings. But his mind isn't on the machine—it's spinning.
She really doesn't know anything… So June never told her about me? Then she must not know about Hannah either.
The low whir of the printer breaks the silence. Sheet by sheet, the images feed out in perfect clarity.
"Okay, here are your photos," Eugene says, slipping the glossy prints into a kraft envelope and walking them over to her.
Grace stands, brushing her coat sleeve as she takes the envelope from his outstretched hand.
"Thank you," she says with a friendly smile. "That was so quick."
Eugene nods, the corners of his mouth lifting with effort.
"Yeah… I upgraded to a faster printer recently." He gives a small laugh. "And you didn't really need any retouching, so I skipped the Photoshop part. Made it easier."
Grace chuckles and turns toward the exit. She reaches for the light purple coat hanging on the minimalist coat rack, slipping it back over her shoulders with practiced ease.
The door creaks faintly as she opens it.
Eugene follows quietly, stopping just before the threshold.
Grace turns to face him.
"Have a good day," she says, her tone warm, her hand still on the door handle.
Eugene offers a soft smile. Something catches behind his eyes—unspoken, unreadable.
And then, as Grace turns back to the door, about to step into the hallway, his voice follows her like a thread pulling taut between them.
"Have a good day, Grace."
She stops.
A pause.
Barely a breath.
Then slowly, she turns back to face him, her expression shifting.
Curious then slightly confused.
"How do you know my name?" she asks, brows narrowing ever so slightly. "I booked under the name Applepie."
Eugene freezes. Just a second too long.
"Umm…"
Oh, no. Right… She didn't tell me her name. Only 'Applepie.'
His heart thuds loud in his chest, the silence between them suddenly weighted.
"How do you know my name?"
Eugene startles.
"Umm…"
Oh no... right. She never told me her name. Just 'Applepie' on the reservation, his thoughts scramble, flickering like static.
"Well," he stalls, blinking fast, searching for something—anything—to say. Then it hits him. The email. The one he used to send her the photos. Relief washes over his face like a tide coming in.
"Right. I just sent you the pics—digitally, through the messenger app," he says, tapping at his phone. "That's when I saw your name. Grace… Silver, I remember?"
Grace's expression shifts—surprise curling into understanding.
"Oh, right! You sent them?" she blurts, pulling out her phone. Her eyes scan the screen. The notification pings. A digital folder appears, glowing softly in her hand. "Thank you."
She steps toward the door, her coat already half-on. She glances back, offering a polite nod, the corners of her mouth tugging into a small, almost wistful smile.
"Have a good day," she says.
"Have a good day," Eugene echoes, voice softer now.
The door clicks shut behind her. And just like that—she's gone.
Eugene stands frozen in the quiet, staring at the closed door, her presence still lingering in the air like perfume. He exhales slowly, the tension melting from his shoulders.
"So she really is Grace Silver," he mutters. A dry chuckle escapes him. "Didn't even check the email name... and it really is Grace."
He turns on his heel, padding back into the studio. The space feels different now—somehow more alive. He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head.
"If it weren't for the email address on the reservation—the one I used to send the photos—it would've been so weird that I knew her name without her ever saying it."
Crossing the room quickly, he drops into the chair at his desk, the wheels creaking slightly. He lifts his phone, thumb already hovering.
"I gotta tell June she came," he says aloud.
Without hesitation, he taps the number he's known by heart for years. The call hums to life. A beat passes. Another.
Then—
A click. A familiar voice on the other end picks up.
"Hello," comes Julian's voice—casual, but always with that open warmth, like a door never fully closed.
"June, hey," Eugene says, settling into his chair. His gaze drifts to the large screen in front of him—Grace Silver's ID photos still up, her face calm, captured just minutes ago. "Guess who just came by my studio and left?"
On the other end, Julian sits in his quiet office, half-lost in papers. He sets aside a half-marked essay, the rustle of pages faint in the background. Leaning back in his chair, he lets the cool breeze from the open window touch his face. A candle flickers on the windowsill, releasing the faint scent of sandalwood and mint.
"I don't know…" Julian says slowly, voice softening. "Someone from the Society? Someone came to L. Bingo?"
Eugene clicks the image closed, Grace's face disappearing from the screen.
"Grace came," he says.
A stillness stretches across the call.
"Oh," Julian finally replies, his voice quieter, more distant. "I see."
"Well… so she woke up. Congratulations, June," Eugene offers, his voice warm, trying to fill the silence.
Julian breathes in, then says, "Well… yeah. I'm glad she's awake."
Eugene hesitates, sensing something off. He leans forward slightly, his voice dropping a note.
"So… you're seeing her again, right?"
There's another pause—longer this time. The background hum from Julian's office fades under the weight of what's unspoken.
Eugene's brow furrows. Just before he can speak, Julian breaks the silence.
"She lost her memories," he says quietly. "After she woke up from the coma. And right now…" he pauses, the words sticking in his throat. "We're not exactly in contact."
Eugene sinks back in his seat, stunned. His head lowers slightly, eyes narrowing with regret.
"Oh…" he exhales. "I didn't know that at all. I'm sorry, June."
"It's okay," Julian replies, his voice composed, but not untouched.
There's a beat. Then Eugene, tentative but persistent, speaks again.
"But… why won't you just tell her who you are? Like… your relationship. Everything."