From the shadows, the Soulless watched the black-haired girl. How she knelt in front of the bushes, zooming in on a butterfly. 

His skin was itching, he could hear her blood rush. 

He swallowed; the poignant thirst didn't go away. The thirst that had been there since his awakening and became harder to bear each day. No drop of water was able to quench it. 

Morpheus told him he must convince her to voluntarily offer her blood to him. Only then, the terrible thirst would go away. If he would try to take her blood involuntarily, he would be burned by her. 

The Soulless didn't know any better. 

He did what he was told to do. 

He had no idea who he was — or what he was. 

But the girl's name was Abigail and she had to sacrifice herself.

That was all that mattered. 

. . .

The photography course had done Abigail well. Even though she had tried different kinds of photography — portraits, events and nature — the latter category suited her most. Back in the day, she loved to be surrounded by people, but lately, she could only find peace in nature. 

Before her life was turned upside down, she hadn't cared much about nature. It had been alien to her. With this new interest it felt like she was starting to develop as a person again; as if she was leaving her grief and pain behind. Little by little, of course. 

Would Juice have been able to enjoy nature? 

He had grown up in a big city and since he had been fleeing from the mob since he was 18, his life had been a rollercoaster. His life was all haste, with little time for self-development. Everything was dominated by the Sons of Anarchy; the club he'd devoted his life to. The club had demanded so much from him that it eventually also took his life. 

Had he enjoyed life at all? 

He died when he was 32 — and many years had been miserable, with a loveless home and a club life in which he constantly had the feeling he was failing people and that he didn't really fit in. 

And what about her? 

Had she failed him? 

Had she given him enough room to be his real self? 

Should she have tried harder to lead him away from the life of which she had always known that it would be his undoing one day?

Or had she given in too soon, because she didn't know any better than the MC world she had grown up in and which had felt familiar, despite the sacrifices everyone made, despite all the bad things they did and the pain they inflicted on themselves and everyone they loved? 

Over the years so many people had died. Club members — their families...

She got warning after warning and still, she let it come to this...

Or had Juice and she been too deep into it? Had this ending been inevitable? 

Heaving a deep sigh, she got up. 

There was no point in dwelling in the past. What's done, was done. 

She had to move on with her life. 

That intention however disappeared at the sight of a familiar face, a little ahead. 

But — that was impossible. 

Her hand shot to her throat; suddenly her heart was racing. That long hair, that friendly face...

But that's impossible, Abigail. Opie is gone. 

She however grew up with him, she would recognize him anywhere. He could impossibly have a twin brother who looked like that as well. 

"Opie?" she whispered. 

The world spun around her. She blinked, expecting him to disappear. 

Was he a ghost? 

Was she going crazy? 

Her hands were shaking. With unstable steps, she walked towards her best friend. 

He stared motionlessly at her. His head slightly tilted as if he was studying her. 

"Ope?" she asked in a tiny voice. 

Hot tears glided down her cheeks as she stood in front of him. Lifting her hands, she cupped his cheeks. 

He felt cold. 

"Harry?" she asked this time, referring to his birth name. 

His lips parted, but he didn't say a single word.

The ever-caring look in his eyes was gone. He stared at her like she was a stranger.

"How is this possible?" she whispered in disbelief. "I thought you were dead."

They told her he died in prison. Beaten to death with a bat. 

Jax had been forced to watch — and he'd never gotten over it.

That never could've been a lie. 

"Why — why don't you say something?" she asked, her lips quivering. She started to sob. "I don't get it. What happened?"

"I don't know." The words sounded hesitating as if he found it hard to pronounce them. "I don't know who you are. Who I am."

She gaped at him. 

Had he lost his memory? 

"Oh Ope..." She threw her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. "You're my best friend, Ope. That's who you are."

. . .

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