Chapter One: The Funeral
The first thing Nia noticed about her mother’s funeral was that nobody was crying.
Not really.
There were wet eyes. Lowered heads. Quiet whispers behind hands.
But no one was crying the way Nia expected them to.
Her mother had raised her alone.
She had been the woman who stayed awake when Nia was sick, who worked double shifts when money was tight, who somehow made birthdays feel special even when there was barely enough food in the refrigerator.
So Nia had expected grief.
She had expected people to break.
Instead, they looked afraid.
Nia stood beside the grave in a black dress that suddenly felt too tight around her chest, staring at the polished wooden coffin as the priest spoke.
She heard almost none of his words.
Her mind kept returning to one sentence.
My mother is dead.
It didn’t feel real.
Even after the doctors had called her.
Even after Nia had identified the body.
Even after she’d spent the entire night sitting on the kitchen floor in her mother’s apartment, holding a mug of tea that had gone cold hours ago.
It still didn’t feel real.
Her mother was supposed to come home.
That was the stupid thought Nia couldn’t escape.
She was supposed to come home, complain about the price of groceries, ask why Nia hadn’t called in two days, and tell her she looked tired.
Instead, she was inside a coffin.
“Nia.”
The voice beside her pulled her back.
She turned.
Mrs. Okafor, her mother’s longtime neighbor, stood with a trembling hand pressed against her mouth.
“You should sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
The lie came automatically.
Mrs. Okafor looked at her for a long moment.
Then her eyes shifted toward the crowd.
Nia followed her gaze.
There were strangers among the mourners.
Three of them.
A tall man in a charcoal suit.
An older woman wearing dark glasses.
And a young woman Nia had never seen before.
They weren’t talking to anyone.
They were simply watching.
Watching Nia.
A chill moved down her spine.
“Do you know them?” Nia whispered.
Mrs. Okafor immediately looked away.
“No.”
“You were staring at them.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Mrs. Okafor.”
The older woman tightened her lips.
“Your mother had friends you didn’t know about.”
Nia frowned.
“Apparently.”
That was the strangest thing about the past week.
She kept discovering that there were parts of her mother’s life she knew nothing about.
Accounts she had never heard of.
Phone numbers saved under false names.
A locked drawer in her bedroom.
And, most disturbing of all, a photograph Nia had found tucked beneath her mother’s mattress.
A photograph of a woman who looked remarkably like her.
Not exactly.
But enough to make Nia’s hands shake.
The woman had the same dark eyes.
The same small beauty mark beneath her left eye.
Even the same slight tilt of her head.
On the back of the photograph, there had been only two words.
AMARA VALE.
Nia had searched the name online.
Nothing useful.
She had asked her mother about it two days before her death.
Her mother had gone completely still.
Then she’d taken the photograph from Nia’s hand.
“Where did you find this?”
“Your room.”
Her mother’s face had changed.
Not confusion.
Not surprise.
Fear.
“Forget her,” she’d whispered.
“Who is she?”
“Nobody.”
“You clearly know her.”
“Nia.”
Her mother had gripped her wrist.
Hard.
“Promise me you will never look for this woman.”
Nia had promised.
She hadn’t understood why.
Now she wished she’d broken that promise sooner.
A gust of wind swept through the cemetery.
The priest closed his book.
The funeral was over.
People began walking toward the cars.
Nia remained where she was.
She couldn’t make herself leave.
Not yet.
She stared at the coffin as the cemetery workers prepared to lower it.
“Goodbye, Mum.”
Her voice cracked.
She swallowed.
“I love you.”
A tear finally escaped.
Then another.
Nia wiped them away angrily.
She didn’t want her last memory of her mother to be this.
She wanted to remember her alive.
Laughing.
Annoying.
Warm.
Human.
Instead, she had to watch dirt cover the coffin.
One handful.
Then another.
Nia turned away.
And nearly walked straight into the man in the charcoal suit.
He caught her arm.
For one second, neither of them spoke.
His eyes were strange.
Not cold.
Not kind.
Terrified.
He stared at her face as though he had seen something impossible.
Nia pulled her arm free.
“Can I help you?”
The man said nothing.
His gaze moved over her face.
Her hair.
Her eyes.
The beauty mark beneath her left eye.
Then he whispered something so quietly that Nia almost didn’t hear him.
“Amara.”
Nia’s stomach dropped.
“What did you call me?”
The man’s expression changed instantly.
He stepped backward.
“Nothing.”
“You said Amara.”
“I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
He turned to leave.
Nia grabbed his sleeve.
“Wait.”
He stopped.
“Who is Amara Vale?”
The man’s face went pale.
Before he could answer, a black car pulled up beside them.
The rear door opened.
A man in a suit stepped out.
“Mr. Laurent.”
The man in front of Nia looked toward the car.
Then back at her.
There was something in his eyes that frightened her.
Recognition.
Pain.
And something dangerously close to hope.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” he whispered.
Nia’s fingers went numb.
“What?”
He stared at her as though the world had stopped making sense.
Then he said the words that would change her life forever.
“Amara…”
His voice broke.
“…you’re alive.”
He got into the car and disappeared before Nia could stop him.
She stood frozen beside her mother’s grave.
The name echoed inside her head.
Amara.
Again.
And again.
Until a funeral director approached her with a sealed envelope.
“Miss Nia?”
She looked at him.
“Yes?”
“This was left for you.”
“By who?”
He hesitated.
“Your mother.”
Nia stared at the envelope.
Her name was written across the front in her mother’s handwriting.
But underneath it was another name.
AMARA VALE.
Nia’s heart began to pound.
She opened the envelope with shaking fingers.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
There were only three sentences.
Nia,
If you’re reading this, I’m already gone.
You have ninety days to become Amara Vale.
