⸻ ❛𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒!❜
Rory Hargrove is obsessed to uncover the truth behind Barbara Holland's disappearance, while facing her brother's enemy and buried secrets from...
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CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
MARCH, 1986
LOOSE STRANDS FALLING FROM A MESSY BUN, on the verge of giving way, were a pretty accurate visual representation of Aura's state of mind—sharp, restless, and running faster than usual.
But it wasn't just Rory's hair that was a mess—half her dorm room looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. Herself. Neat piles of folded clothes were stacked on the bed, waiting to be shoved into a duffel bag, while a downpour of documents and old, wrinkled papers were scattered across the blanket.
She instinctively ran her hands through her newly shortened hair, trying to brush away the stray strands tickling her neck, escaping the clumsy bun. A loud sigh escaped her parted lips as she stared at the ceiling.
Finding out who your biological father is after he dies... sucks. It's the kind of hollow frustration that only time travel could fix. Aurora kept trying to look over her shoulder, a physical gesture of the bitterness she felt at not being able to. She rested her chin on her shoulder as she sat in the middle of the files—birth certificates, hospital reports, x-rays, blood tests, genetic screenings...
And, of course, Seven's file—her own—holding the secrets of her memory's strange power.
Everything was there. Everything except a DNA test—the simplest, quickest, most straightforward way to kill the doubt once and for all.
But Rory Hargrove didn't need that test to feel the truth settling deep in her bones. The clinical data on her lab records matched Sara's. Same blood type, same allergies. Could it all be a coincidence? Sure, it could.
But the resemblance between Sara Hopper and Rory's childhood photos was unsettling. The same icy blue eyes, inherited from Jim, sharpened by a child's innocence; the same bone structure; the same expressions.
Sara's photos stopped at age four, and Rory's started at six—leaving a two-year gap, the same period she'd spent at the lab. There were some differences, the natural kind that come with growth, but they were subtle. The most noticeable change was the hair: from pale blonde to golden light brown—just like Jim's had done, according to Joyce.
Joyce. It was thanks to her that Rory had all those documents now. Knowing Rory's relentless curiosity and sharp intellect, Joyce had handed them over as proof of the final theory Jim Hopper had voiced just hours before he died.
Now living back in her old hometown in California, Joyce had been a vital support system—for both Rory, as she grieved her brother and possibly her biological father, and for Eleven, who was orphaned once again. It's funny how we only realize how much people matter when they're not around.
