She’s still the same: dark hair, red lipstick—as if the years haven’t touched her. His luck. His Laki. And she’s alive—unbelievable, but true.
Clint reads the lines on the screen again and again, forcing himself to memorize every detail—searing them into his memory once and for all. A new name. A surname. A job. A status. Married. You’ve made your life so quickly, Laki. You’ve given your luck to someone else.
Nothing. This can be fixed.
He reaches for his phone and, with his fingertips, traces her face in the photograph—carefully, almost unfamiliar, gently—and lets out a crooked smile.
If you don’t ask for anything, you can get everything.
And even more than that.