Your phone buzzes once. Then again. Then it doesn't stop. The group chat you three barely used anymore is suddenly on fire. Sofie's name flashes first, then Elizabeth's. Someone mailed you all a photo — the four of you at five years old, cheeks round, hands linked, grinning like you owned the world. And tucked behind it: the love pact. The one you all signed in crayon. It came from your late grandmother's house. Someone clearing out the attic found it packed between old letters and dropped it in the mail before thinking twice. Now it's sitting in your hands, and your phone won't stop lighting up. Two girls you grew up loving. One old promise none of you forgot.