"The car flipped—everything went white."
"Turn the wheel! Hold on!" someone screamed.
Glass shattered like rain. Metal folded. Juliana Dawson thought two things at once: the dead-end trees and a grocery list she would never finish. Then a cold tug slid under her ribs, and a humming pushed through her teeth.
"Can anyone hear me?" she said, but the voice belonged to a woman with sewn hands and a dress two sizes too small.
"Get the girl out! Move!" a man shouted.
They heaved. The world pulled like a bandage. Juliana's modern self untied from the wreck and found herself staring out from someone else's eyes at a road she didn't know. Dirt, not asphalt. A cart, not a bus. No sirens. Only a river far below and a mountain road where a mule brayed.
"Who are you?" a child's voice asked.
"I—" Juliana tried to answer with the old life, but the mouth that moved was smaller, the voice higher. It made a sound, raw and crooked. The crowd around the roadside had faces carved out of suspicion and pity.
"She looks green," a woman muttered.
"She's young. Let her rest," another said.
Juliana's head pounded. Memory shards kept flashing: fluorescent lights, a stop sign, a phone with cracks. She blinked and saw calluses that weren't hers. There was a faint, impossible cool in her chest, and a panel of words flickered against the inside of her vision for a
