Morgan's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Morgan stepped back from the house, empty-handed but certain of one thing: memories lived in places. The walls had whispered nothing clear, but the pull had been real. They needed to find more locations like that one—places where their past self had left traces behind. The courthouse rose ahead, its stone columns cracked but standing. Wide steps led to heavy doors that hung open. Morgan climbed slowly, white fabric dragging behind them. Inside, the entry hall stretched into darkness. Their footsteps echoed on marble floors. Dust floated in thin streams of light from broken windows. They moved deeper, passing through doorways until they found a room lined with metal cabinets. Files spilled from open drawers, papers scattered across the floor like leaves. Morgan knelt and picked up a document. The words blurred together. Names and dates meant nothing. They grabbed another paper, then another. Each one was a stranger's life—births, deaths, marriages—but none sparked recognition. Their hands shook as they searched. Maybe their name was here. Maybe these records held proof of who they'd been. Nothing clicked. Morgan set the last paper down and stood. The courthouse had kept its secrets. But now they knew something important: official places might hold their past. They just had to find the right record.