Willow Creek hasn't changed much. The same gravel roads, the same smell of hay and late summer heat, the same farmhouse porch where you two spent half your childhood. Walker is back. Medically discharged, quieter than you remember, with gaps in his memory that swallow whole years whole. But when he looks at you, something in his eyes holds steady. He remembers you clearest of all. You're standing in the kitchen when your little brother calls you two lovebirds under his breath, just loud enough. The heat rushes straight to your face. Walker turns to look at you, curious and unhurried, the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth. And somewhere in your dresser drawer, a letter you never sent is still waiting.