Epilogue
Finn
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Finn stood outside the motorcycle shop, the late-afternoon sun warming the pavement beneath his boots. The day's work still clung to him—the smell of oil, the faint hum of engines in his bones, the satisfying ache in his hands from hours spent doing something real. Something honest.
He wiped his palms on his jeans and glanced down the street.
Kallie would be coming around the corner any minute.
She'd started walking to the shop every evening after work so they could walk home together.
She said it was to stretch her legs and get some fresh air, but he knew the truth.
It was her way of avoiding Amy, who kept trying to drag her on long walks around town.
And after what they'd both seen—the shimmer on the road, the flicker in the apartment—neither of them wanted to wander too far alone.
So they stuck to their routine.
Straight to work.
Straight home.
Together.
It had been several weeks since the last strange moment.
No more ripples in the air. No more shadows that didn't belong.
No more echoes of Everstill. The world settled again, quieting around them like a pond after a thrown stone's last ripple fades.
And Kallie... she'd relaxed. Bit by bit.
Enough to smile without worry tugging at the edges.
Enough to laugh freely again. Enough to walk the long way to meet him, just so she didn't have to walk home alone.
Finn caught a laugh before it escaped.
Routines.
Whether he lived in Everstill or here, routines had always been part of his life. Wake up. Work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. In Everstill, he'd lived in a cage. A loop he couldn't break. A life that wasn't a life at all.
But here, routines weren't a burden.
Not with Kallie in his life.
Routines brought safety to their lives. He knew what to expect.
He looked down the street again—and there she was. Turning the corner, her hair catching the sunlight, her steps quickening the moment she spotted him. She waved, her smile blooming wide and bright.
The day's tiredness fled.
Every day, she looked at him like she still couldn't believe he was real. And every day, he felt the same way about her.
He was old enough to be her grandpa, but luckily, he got his time back. Most days, he only felt twenty years older than Kallie, and she kept him young. Or maybe it didn't have as much to do with their age difference as with all the love he received.
She reached him, slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed from the walk. "Hi," she said, grinning.
"Hi," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Good day?"
"Always," she said, slipping her hand into his. "Now that I'm with you."
He squeezed her fingers. "Ready to go home?"
She nodded, her smile softening. "Let's go."
They started walking, their steps falling into an easy rhythm. The world around them was steady, safe, and ordinary in the best possible way.
Finn glanced at her, at the woman who had crossed the veil for him, who had pulled him out of a place that stole decades from his life and left him a hollow man. She'd given him a life he never thought he'd have.
He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles.
"We're good, Kallie," he said quietly. "Nothing's ever going to tear us apart. Not even the rift."
She looked up at him, eyes shining. "I know."
He smiled. "We'll go home, have ice cream, and then love each other. That's the plan."
She laughed—that soft, warm sound he'd never get tired of. "Best plan we've ever had."
As they walked toward their apartment, fingers intertwined, the sun dipping low behind them, Finn felt something he hadn't felt in decades.
Peace. Real, lasting peace.
Police sirens grabbed his attention, growing louder and closer. Finn lifted his gaze, instincts firing. Beside him, Kallie stiffened, her grip tightening. The sound grew louder, echoing off the brick buildings, bouncing down the narrow street and making the air vibrate.
A heartbeat later, a motorcycle exploded into view.
It tore down the road like a bullet—fast, reckless, weaving between cars with feral desperation. The engine screamed, raw and furious, the kind of sound that spiked Finn's pulse with old memories he didn't want to revisit.
Kallie gasped, stepping closer to him.
A police cruiser followed a second later, lights strobing violently across the pavement, siren wailing in a relentless, rising pitch. The cruiser swerved, tires squealing, trying to keep up with the rider.
Finn turned, watching the motorcycle until it vanished.
An odd coldness slid down his spine. Not fear. Recognition.
"What the fuck?" he breathed, the words barely making it past his lips.
Kallie grabbed his arm, her voice tight. "Finn? What's wrong?"
He forced himself to look at her, but his heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might crack his ribs. His mouth went dry. His thoughts scattered.
Because he knew that bike.
He knew that riding style.
He knew that man.
"That was Moe," he murmured, the name tasting like a ghost on his tongue. "On that motorcycle."
Kallie's eyes widened, confusion and dread flickering across her face.
And just like that, the peace they'd built, the fragile, hard-won sense of safety they'd wrapped around themselves, cracked. Finn felt it all the way down to his bones. The evening no longer felt peaceful or still. The road behind them seemed to hum with a memory he didn't want to recognize.
For weeks, he'd told himself Everstill was behind them, sealed off, finished—but now, with the echo of that motorcycle still vibrating in his chest, he couldn't shake the sense that something had followed them out...or that someone had finally found a way through.