The Echo Between Us

The scanning equipment hummed its familiar tune as I prepared for another routine soul imprint reading. Tuesday afternoons at the Savannah branch of the Soul Imprint Research Institute were usually quiet—a few walk-ins seeking past-life clarity, maybe a couple wanting to understand their karmic connections. Nothing that would make my hands shake or my breath catch.

Until he walked in.

The moment Callum Voss stepped through the frosted glass door, my world tilted on its axis. Tall, lean frame moving with unconscious grace, dark hair slightly tousled from the humid Georgia air. But it wasn't his appearance that made my heart stutter—it was the thin, crescent-shaped scar beneath his left eye.

I know that scar.

The recognition hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. In my dreams—no, my memories—I'd traced that exact mark with trembling fingers as smoke filled our lungs and the ground shook beneath our feet. The same scar that had been the last thing I'd seen before the world ended in fire and ash.

"Ms. Windsor?" His voice carried a slight British accent, cultured but warm. "I have a 2:30 appointment."

My soul imprint scanner chose that moment to emit a piercing alarm, its sensors going haywire as they detected the unprecedented energy radiating between us. Red warning lights flashed across the display, and I lunged forward to silence the machine before he could process what was happening.

"Sorry, just a calibration issue," I managed, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. My fingers fumbled with the controls, slick with sudden perspiration. The scanner's readings were off the charts—soul resonance patterns I'd never seen in five years of conducting these readings.

Callum stepped closer, concern etching his features. "You alright?"

Those two words, spoken in that exact tone—gentle, protective, tinged with worry—sent ice through my veins. It was identical to how he'd asked the same question three hundred years ago, when I'd woken screaming from visions of volcanic destruction. When I'd tried to warn him about the disaster that would claim us both.

I gripped the edge of my desk, fighting to keep my expression neutral. "Fine. Just fine. Please, have a seat."

He settled into the chair across from my desk, and I forced myself to go through the motions. Standard intake forms, explanation of the soul imprint process, consent documentation. All while my hands trembled and my scanner continued to register readings that defied everything I understood about reincarnation patterns.

"First time having this done?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. His soul signature was blazing like a beacon, completely untapped by conscious memory but burning with residual imprints.

"Yes. Honestly, I'm not sure why I'm here." He ran a hand through his hair, and the gesture was so familiar it made my chest ache. "I moved to Savannah six months ago from London. No particular reason—just felt like this place was calling me, you know?"

I knew. God help me, I knew exactly why he'd been