Chapter 1

On the anniversary of my sister’s death, I received a resurrection card.

Eight months ago, my twin sister, Maeve, was pushed off a rooftop by school bullies and died.

That bullying, though, was originally meant for me. Maeve went in my place for that “meeting.”

The main culprit, Kian Thorne, due to his family's influence, managed to avoid any real consequences beyond a hefty settlement payment. Soon after, he died in a high-speed car crash abroad.

“Whoever’s name is written on the resurrection card, that person will come back to life.”

My parents’ eyes were bloodshot from crying. They clutched the resurrection card, then, with all their strength, shoved it into my hands.

After I had carefully written out the name, Mom clasped her hands together and took the card. As she prepared to start the ritual, she mumbled to herself,

“Maeve, you’ll be back soon…”

Suddenly, she shrieked, flinging the card away.

“Why?! Why did you write that bully’s name?!”

I stared at the gilded card, my heart turning to ice.

A scam. Just another scam to get money.

But the gnawing, bone-deep guilt made it impossible for me to refuse.

Because I had seen it with my own eyes – Maeve falling from the rooftop.

When I rushed to the rooftop that day, Maeve’s face was already a bloody mess, slashed by her tormentors.

Kian Thorne gripped Maeve’s hair, forcing her to lift her broken face.

“Trash like you doesn’t deserve to have the same face as my girlfriend.”

My desperate sister, like a wilting leaf, fell from the edge of the rooftop.

That empty gaze, tinged with a horrifying sense of relief, became the nightmare that haunted my nights.

I’d often wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, sitting bolt upright.

If I had gone to that meeting, would it have been me who died?

Did Maeve die in my place?

This thought, like a venomous snake, gnawed at me day and night.

From the day Maeve died, my parents kicked me out of the house.

But they regularly appeared at my dingy rental apartment each month, only to demand money from me.

Séances, spirit-summoning rituals, and desperate attempts to bring the dead back to life, all peddled by charlatans and psychics – they believed and tried them all.

I waited tables at a diner by day and worked a night shift at a convenience store, sleeping less than five hours a day.

Every penny I earned almost entirely went into the pockets of those psychics and mediums.

Mom’s voice was thick with tears as she urged me,

“Rowan, hurry and write it!”

She had gotten thinner, and most of her hair had turned gray.

Dad looked haggard too, his back more stooped than before.

I looked at them, a dull ache throbbing in my chest.

Maeve was their entire world.

“Your older sister should always take care of you.”

That was their favorite thing to say.

But I never resented Maeve.

She always secretly saved me half a cake and shared half her allowance after Mom and Dad favored her.

No one missed her more than I did.

When she left, I lost my home too.

But this resurrection card now? I didn’t believe it for a hundred reasons.

I looked at the crudely made card in my hand; it reeked of cheap, cloying perfume and stale paper.

It was no different from the "soul-summoning scrolls" and "resurrection pills" I’d bought before.

My savings were completely drained; I was even in debt.

I looked at them – one with a haggard face, the other with a hunched back.

They had pinned their last hope on this thin piece of paper.

Enough.

This absurd charade had to end.

I took a deep breath, met their expectant gazes, and for the first time, gathered the courage to refuse.

“Dad, Mom, stop believing in these things.”

My voice was quiet, but tinged with a weary rasp.

“Maeve is gone. She’s not coming back.”

“We can’t let ourselves be scammed again.”

I gripped the card, ready to tear it apart.