The rental car hums beneath her as she slows at the gate. The security booth is empty, the arm raised in silent welcome. Or maybe it's just that no one cares enough to check anymore.

She grips the steering wheel tighter. The roads haven't changed. The same potholes, the same faded street signs, the same turnoff to the old Boneyard that she'd taken a hundred times with Alison and Sarah, laughing into the wind.

But everything feels different. Heavier.

Up ahead, the familiar blue of the water peeks between the dunes. The country club's white facade gleams in the distance. A group of teenagers loiter by the dock — she doesn't recognize any of them. They're laughing, shoving each other, carefree in a way she used to be.

Someone's playing music from a boat speaker. The Smiths. "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out."

Her chest tightens.

She pulls the car to a stop at the intersection, indicator blinking toward her grandparents' house. Left, toward the old Cameron property. She stares at the turnoff for a long moment, the engine humming, her knuckles white on the wheel.