Pretty Little Liars, LIARS UNITED

Chapter Two: HOMECOMING

~ Two weeks before

Aria Montgomery stepped off the plane with a sense of dread she couldn't shake. Rosewood, with its postcard-perfect charm and suffocating familiarity, loomed ahead like an unopened book she had no interest in rereading. Her family's decision to return felt like peeling off a bandage too soon—too much was still raw.

The ride home was stifling. Her father, Byron, tried too hard to fill the silence, while Ella, her mother, barely disguised her tension. Mike, her younger brother, brooded in the backseat, earbuds firmly in place, his scowl a permanent feature these days. The Montgomerys were the picture of dysfunction under a glossy exterior.

The house hadn't changed, but Aria had. After a year in Iceland, she wasn't sure she fit here anymore—or if she wanted to. Every corner whispered Alison's name. Tomorrow marked a year since Ali's disappearance, and the ghost of their last summer together weighed on Aria like an unspoken confession.

Aria sat on her bed, her suitcase half-unpacked beside her. Being back in Rosewood felt like slipping on a dress that didn't fit anymore—tight in all the wrong places, suffocating, and far too revealing. Her room was just as she'd left it, a time capsule of a girl she wasn't sure she even recognized. The walls still bore faint scuff marks from the posters she'd hastily torn down before they left for Iceland, but otherwise, it was pristine. Too pristine.

The silence pressed in, heavy and familiar. On autopilot, she wandered over to her closet. A box labeled Aria's Keepsakes caught her eye, tucked away in the corner like a forgotten relic. She hesitated before lifting the lid, already bracing herself for the flood of memories.

Inside were pieces of her childhood, fragments of her past: crumpled Polaroids, faded ticket stubs, and the glitter-covered friendship bracelets they used to make at sleepovers. She dug deeper in and found concert tickets, worn paperbacks, dried flower petals pressed between journals, she smiled faintly as ran her delicate hands along the coarse dead petals. Nestled among the clutter was something more delicate—a thin gold bracelet engraved with her initials.

Her throat tightened as a memory rushed forward.

"You're one of us now," Alison had whispered, fastening the bracelet around her wrist. The five of them—Ali, Aria, Spencer, Hanna, and Emily—had gathered for one of those endless summer nights. Alison's blue eyes sparkled as she smirked. "Forever."

Aria remembered laughing then, unsure whether it was a promise or a threat.

The creak of a floorboard broke the spell. She turned sharply to see her father, Byron, lingering in the doorway.

"Lost in thought?" he asked, his tone too casual to be sincere.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"I know it's... hard to be back," he said, though the way he shifted his weight betrayed his discomfort. "But Iceland wasn't real life, Aria. Maybe this is a chance to... reconnect."

Something in his voice—condescension, dismissal, she wasn't sure—set her off.

"Reconnect?" she snapped. "With what? This?" She gestured vaguely to the room, the house, the memories she'd been trying to bury.

Byron raised his hands in mock surrender. "I didn't mean it like that." He paused, hesitating before adding, "But maybe it's time to reconnect with people, with your life here."

Aria's jaw tightened. "Right. Because everything's so normal and great here."

He sighed, clearly regretting the conversation, and backed out of the room. "Dinner's in an hour," he said over his shoulder, leaving her alone again.