Chapter 17 - Echoes in the Dark

  The sky over Turn was slate-gray, a thick wall of storm clouds crawling in from the horizon, casting long shadows over the cityscape below. From the highest office in Key Industries, the world looked eerily silent. A muted, distant hum of life continued as always, but in here? In Mr. Key’s quarters?

  There was nothing but the ticking of the clock on the wall.

  Ezra sat slouched in one of the expensive leather chairs across from Mr. Key’s desk, one leg crossed over the other, fingers tapping against his knee. He hadn’t been in this office much. Hell, he avoided it when he could. The view was spectacular, but the air always felt heavier up here. Like things were being decided that no one had any real control over.

  Like the weight of the world was pressing down on one man’s shoulders.

  And today? That man looked exhausted.

  Mr. Key stood by the massive floor-to-ceiling window, hands tucked into his pockets, his silhouette stark against the storm-lit skyline. His usual charisma, his sharp-eyed confidence—it was there, but buried under something else. Something Ezra didn’t like.

  "Alright," Ezra started, exhaling sharply. "You didn’t call me up here for drinks and a cigar. What’s wrong?"

  Mr. Key didn’t answer at first. He pulled a sleek remote from his pocket and pressed a button. The office dimmed. Windows darkened. The security locks engaged. Ezra sat up straighter.

  So it was that kind of meeting.

  Mr. Key finally turned, walking to his desk. He slid a tablet across the polished surface. "Read that."

  Ezra picked it up, frowning. The screen flickered to life, displaying medical documents, MRI scans, and case reports. He skimmed them quickly, eyes narrowing. "What am I looking at?"

  "A patient in India," Mr. Key said, settling into his chair. "Recovered from a fatal accident thanks to an ECHO device."

  Ezra nodded. "Okay? That’s the whole point. So what’s the problem?"

  Mr. Key leaned forward, fingers steepling. "The problem is the MRI scan from after the reversal."

  Ezra scrolled further down. His stomach twisted.

  The image was clear as day. The scan showed the human brain, the intricate pathways of neurons lighting up under analysis. But the problem wasn’t in what wasn’t there—it was in what was.

  A second set. Not a tumor. Not scar tissue. Duplicate neurons.

  Ezra’s fingers tightened around the tablet. "What the fuck."

  Mr. Key nodded slowly. "You’re not the only one asking that."

  Ezra kept scrolling. More case reports. People complaining of headaches. Vivid hallucinations. A lingering sense of… wrongness. Like something had been taken from them—or like something else had come back in their place.

  The ECHO worked. That wasn’t the issue. People were alive who shouldn’t be. But the science hadn’t caught up.

  "Jesus," Ezra muttered. "How many cases are we talking?"

  Mr. Key exhaled. "Enough."

  Ezra looked up at him. "And the plan is…?"

  Mr. Key tilted his head. "That’s why you’re here."

  Ezra huffed a humorless laugh. "Oh, so now I’m getting involved in the business side of things?"

  "This isn’t business, Ezra." Mr. Key’s voice was calm, but there was something dangerous under it. Something tense. "This is science."

  Ezra leaned back, rubbing his temples. "Look, I knew there’d be side effects. I mean, I hoped there wouldn’t be, but come on—no one just reverses time and gets away with it clean." He gestured at the screen. "But this? Duplicate neurons? That’s not just a headache. That’s… that’s something else."

  Mr. Key studied him carefully. "Do you have a theory?"

  Ezra scoffed. "A theory? Man, I barely understand half of what I’m looking at. Time reversal wasn’t supposed to be possible, let alone biologically disruptive. I figured people might get some nausea, maybe some vertigo. I didn’t expect them to start duplicating."

  Mr. Key tapped the desk once. "Then figure it out."

  Ezra blinked. "Excuse me?"

  Mr. Key’s gaze was steady. "You invented it. You built it. You understand it better than anyone on this planet. If something is going wrong, you’re the one who has to fix it."

  Ezra let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "Man, I don’t know if this can be fixed. What if this is just… how it works? What if this is the trade-off?"

  Mr. Key leaned forward. "Then you need to prove it."

  Ezra swallowed.

  That was the real problem, wasn’t it? The world needed the ECHO. People weren’t going to stop using it just because there were side effects. Reversing death outweighed trauma, and hey—that’s what psychologists were for.

  No one wanted to talk about the cost.

  But now?

  Now, that cost was clawing its way into reality, neuron by neuron, patient by patient.

  Ezra exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "You’re not gonna pull it from the market, are you?"

  Mr. Key shook his head. "Not unless we absolutely have to."

  Ezra nodded slowly. He got it. He hated it, but he got it.

  Mr. Key stood, walking to the window again, staring out at the city below. "We’re on the edge of something, Ezra," he murmured. "Something no one’s ever seen before." He turned back, eyes sharp. "And if we don’t understand it first, someone else will."

  Ezra clenched his jaw.

  Right. That was the other part, wasn’t it? The ECHO was his. But the moment he lost control of it, the moment the wrong people started experimenting with it…?

  No. No, he wasn’t letting that happen.

  He sighed. "Alright," he muttered. "I’ll look into it."

  Mr. Key smiled, but it wasn’t relief. It was something colder. Something inevitable.

  "Good."

  Ezra stood, shoving the tablet under his arm.

  "Ezra," Mr. Key called as he reached the door.

  Ezra turned.

  "Whatever this is," Mr. Key said, his expression unreadable, "it’s bigger than both of us."

  Ezra forced a smirk. "Yeah," he muttered. "Ain’t it always?"

  And with that, he left. Down in his lab, under sterile white lights, Ezra stared at the ECHO sitting on his workbench. Still. Silent. Harmless. At least, that’s what he thought.

  But now? Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  Ezra stood in the center of the reinforced test chamber, staring down at the ECHO prototype on the platform in front of him. The lab’s sterile white lights glowed faintly against the smooth, titanium walls, casting long shadows that flickered with the movement of the cooling fans humming in the background. Every monitor was active, displaying streams of data, calibrations, and real-time physics calculations.

  This was it.

  This was the moment.

  He took a slow, deep breath, rolling his shoulders to shake off the stiffness settling into his muscles.

  He had spent weeks refining the system. Weeks of adjusting power output, recalibrating the harmonics of the gravitational field, rewriting the AI-controlled timing sequences to sync the antimatter pulses down to the nanosecond. Weeks of testing variables, fine-tuning precision.

  And yet—nothing.

  Thirty minutes. That was the wall.

  Every attempt to push the ECHO beyond that threshold resulted in failure. Instability. Anomalies. The device would hum, flicker, pulse with impossible energy—and then reality itself would reject it.

  The 99% Theory.

  An old, almost laughably simple concept he had learned back in university. No system could ever reach absolute certainty. In any system—physical, digital, or conceptual—perfection was an illusion. There would always be a margin of error, no matter how small. Even in nature, even in mathematics, the tiniest fraction of unpredictability existed.

  Time was no different. And that fraction of uncertainty? It was winning.

  Ezra clenched his fists. "Not today, motherfucker," he muttered under his breath.

  His fingers danced across the control panel, inputting the final adjustments. This model was different. He had reinforced the field containment. Altered the sequencing patterns. Upped the energy efficiency. Theoretically, this was the closest he had ever gotten to stabilizing the ECHO beyond the thirty-minute limit.

  If this didn’t work…

  He swallowed the thought before it could finish.

  He wasn’t thinking about failure.

  Not yet.

  Ezra tapped the intercom. "Alright, clear the perimeter," he called out. "We’re about to push the system past its intended parameters. Safety protocol 99 is in effect."

  A voice crackled back over the speaker. "Confirmed. All non-essential personnel evacuating test floor. Good luck, Key."

  Ezra exhaled sharply.

  He had made sure this chamber was reinforced. The last time he tested the limits, the results had been... explosive. Not enough to take out the whole floor, but enough to send the lab scrambling for hazard containment protocols.

  This time, he had taken every precaution. This time, the system would hold. Right…?

  He flexed his fingers one last time before pressing the activation switch. The ECHO whirred to life. Electricity crackled through the air, the temperature in the room dropping by several degrees as the antimatter reactors engaged. The device pulsed with a faint blue glow, stabilizing as the gravitational harmonics synced with the control matrix.

  Ezra’s heart pounded as the system calibrated.

  Then— the anomaly started.

  The hum deepened. Became erratic. The ECHO's glow intensified, flickering between blue and violet, distorting like a heat mirage. Ezra's fingers tightened on the control panel as the graphs on the monitor spiked wildly, numbers fluctuating beyond anything he had ever seen.

  Then, suddenly—everything stopped.

  Silence.

  For a split second, Ezra felt the weight in the air shift. Like reality itself was hesitating. Holding its breath.

  And then—BOOM!!!

  The shockwave hit before Ezra could even react.

  A deafening blast shattered through the reinforced chamber, sending a violent ripple through the floor as energy discharged in every direction. The force knocked Ezra clean off his feet, slamming him backward into the steel wall with a sickening crack.

  Pain exploded through his ribs, sharp and unrelenting. His vision blurred. The world spun.

  Then—Darkness.

  The sound of a slow, rhythmic beeping pulled Ezra back into consciousness.

  A dull ache throbbed through his body, radiating from his ribs, his shoulders, his skull. The sterile scent of antiseptic burned at his nose. The hum of the medical bay’s air filters droned in the background.

  Ezra groaned. Shit.

  He was in the lab’s medical wing.

  His eyelids fluttered open. The overhead lights were dimmed, but even so, it took a few seconds for his vision to fully adjust. His chest ached with every breath, the familiar tightness of cracked ribs making itself known.

  "Welcome back to the land of the living."

  Ezra turned his head—slowly—to see Mr. Key sitting beside the cot, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

  Ezra smirked weakly. "Jesus. You make it sound like I was dead."

  Mr. Key gave him a dry look. "Considering you got thrown into a wall hard enough to leave a dent? It’s a miracle you weren’t."

  Ezra winced, shifting slightly. "Yeah. Feels like it."

  A silence stretched between them.

  Then—Mr. Key leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp. "What happened?"

  Ezra sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "I tried pushing past the thirty-minute limit again."

  "And?"

  Ezra exhaled through his nose. "And I got wrecked."

  Mr. Key didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there, watching him carefully. "So it’s impossible?"

  Ezra clenched his jaw. "I don’t know if ‘impossible’ is the right word. But the 99% Theory is real. I can't override it. No one can. The system hits a limit because the universe hits a limit. Time only lets me go so far before it pushes back."

  Mr. Key drummed his fingers against his knee. "You’re certain?"

  Ezra laughed bitterly. "I almost died trying to prove it. Yeah. I’m certain."

  Another silence. Mr. Key sighed, rubbing his temples. "Dammit, Ezra."

  Ezra closed his eyes. "Yeah," he muttered. "I know."

  The weight of failure pressed against his chest, heavier than the pain in his ribs. He had spent so long—so fucking long—chasing an answer, trying to break through the barrier.

  And now? Now, he was forced to admit the truth.

  It couldn’t be done. Not with what they had. Not with the laws they understood.

  Mr. Key stood, running a hand through his graying hair. "This complicates things."

  Ezra let out a dry chuckle. "No shit."

  Mr. Key turned back to him, expression unreadable. "You know what this means, don’t you?"

  Ezra swallowed. Nodded. The ECHO wasn’t perfect. It never would be. And if they couldn’t control it? Then it was only a matter of time before someone else did.

  Ezra closed his eyes, the throbbing in his skull worsening. God help them all.

  Ezra had no choice but to sit this summer out. His ribs were still healing, his arm was still stiff, and any attempts to do actual work were immediately shut down by literally everyone he knew. Julie threatened to physically tie him to a chair if she caught him sneaking off to the lab again. Ciarra, ever the enabler, had jokingly offered to "accidentally" break his kneecaps to make sure he really rested.

  And so, here he was. Stuck at home. Resting. But at least there was one silver lining.

  "Daddy! Daddy, I need help!"

  Ezra glanced up from his spot on the couch just as Adam came barreling through the hallway, his little legs moving faster than his coordination could keep up with. He nearly tripped over his own feet before scrambling up onto Ezra’s lap, clutching his tiny hands into fists.

  Ezra blinked. "Whoa, slow down, kiddo. What’s the emergency?"

  Adam wiggled impatiently. "I was playin’ on your ‘puter, an’—an’ I keep dyin’!" His frustration was palpable, his chubby cheeks puffing up like an angry little pufferfish.

  Ezra frowned slightly. "Wait, my computer?"

  Adam beamed proudly. "Yup! Uncle Bruiser said I could!"

  Ezra let out a long sigh, shaking his head. Of course Bruiser would put a six-year-old on his high-end gaming setup. "Alright, c’mon, let’s see what you’re playing."

  Adam scrambled off his lap and ran back to Ezra’s home office, practically vibrating with energy. When Ezra followed, he found his son perched in his oversized gaming chair, tiny hands gripping the mouse like it owed him money.

  The game on-screen?

  Factorio.

  Ezra snorted. "Seriously? Bruiser had you playing Factorio?"

  Adam nodded enthusiastically. "It’s got math!"

  Ezra rubbed his temples. "Yeah, a lot of math."

  The voice of the man himself came crackling through the speakers. "Yo, lil’ dude’s a savage, bro. He didn’t even ask what the goal was—just started clickin’ like a maniac. I respect it."

  Ezra raised a brow, settling into the chair beside Adam. "Lemme guess. He tried speedrunning it?"

  "Oh yeah. Wouldn’t read a single tooltip. Just click, click, click—‘I WANNA GO FAST!’"

  Ezra chuckled, watching Adam’s screen. It was a disaster. Conveyor belts were snaking in every direction, looping back on themselves in a tangled mess of inefficiency. Some factories were working, others were completely stalled. There were… random power poles in places they absolutely didn’t need to be.

  Adam, still gripping the mouse, growled as he watched his machines stall. "It’s not workin’! Why is it not workin’?!"

  Ezra reached over, gently placing a hand over Adam’s. "Alright, alright. First rule of engineering, kid? Slow down."

  Adam pouted. "But I wanna win!"

  Ezra nodded. "And you will. But lemme show you something."

  He gently took control, slowing down the camera, zooming out. "You see all this? This is why things aren’t working. You built so fast that you didn’t stop to make sure everything was connected properly."

  Adam blinked, his little brows furrowing. "But… I wanted it done."

  Ezra smirked. "Yeah? And did that work?"

  Adam huffed. "…No."

  Bruiser chuckled in the background. "Kid’s got that prime touch-of-’tism gamer rage!"

  Ezra ignored him. He carefully dismantled one of Adam’s tangled conveyor systems. "Alright, buddy. We’re gonna do this together. Watch closely."

  He slowed down the process. Placed one conveyor belt. Then another. Carefully routing resources where they needed to go. He explained as he worked. "Look at this belt. Where’s it taking things? Nowhere. So what do we do?"

  Adam hesitated. "…Make it go somewhere?"

  Ezra grinned. "Bingo."

  Adam started to get it.

  Instead of just clicking frantically, he watched. Thought before acting. Started placing things with intent instead of just slamming buildings down and hoping for the best. His little hands were still jittery with excitement, but the frustration was fading.

  After about ten minutes, the factory was running smoothly.

  Adam gasped dramatically. "IT WORKS!"

  Ezra laughed, ruffling his hair. "See? Slowing down gives you time to think. When you’re rushing, you’re just making more problems for yourself."

  Adam grinned up at him. "So, like… I should go slow to go fast?"

  Ezra’s smirk widened. "Exactly, kiddo."

  Bruiser whistled. "Damn. Kid learned efficiency before some of my actual coworkers did."

  Ezra barked a laugh. "Facts!"

  Adam, now feeling triumphant, turned back to the game with renewed focus. "Okay, now I wanna build a super ultra mega base!"

  Ezra smirked. "Alright. But slow."

  Adam nodded seriously. "Slow. Like a turtle."

  Ezra chuckled, leaning back in his chair. He might’ve been stuck resting this summer. But honestly?

  Watching his son learn?

  That wasn’t so bad.

  It started on a quiet summer evening. Adam was still on the computer, still tinkering in Factorio, still mumbling to himself about conveyor belts and smelting efficiency. He was determined now—hyper-focused. Ezra knew the signs. The kid had latched onto the task, and nothing was going to pull him away from it.

  Ezra, nursing a cup of coffee, smirked from the doorway. "You’re still at it, huh?"

  Adam didn’t look away from the screen. "I wanna make the biggest base ever."

  Ezra chuckled, stepping into the room. "You know, you’re gonna hit a point where everything falls apart, right?"

  Adam finally turned, scrunching his face. "Why?"

  "Because," Ezra said, taking a seat beside him, "that’s how everything works. No matter how good you are, no matter how careful, something will eventually go wrong." He motioned at the screen. "A bottleneck will clog your supply. You’ll run out of power. The biters will break through your walls."

  Adam frowned at the thought. "But I planned for all of that."

  Ezra smirked. "Sure, you think you did. But trust me, kid—problems you don’t expect will find you." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "And when that happens? What’re you gonna do?"

  Adam hesitated. Then, in a small voice: "…Try again?"

  Ezra’s grin widened. "Bingo."

  The next day, Ezra decided to put this lesson to the test.

  Adam was outside, tossing a rubber ball against the side of the house, giggling when it bounced back into his hands. It was a simple game, but one he seemed to enjoy.

  "Hey, kiddo," Ezra called, stepping onto the porch. "Wanna try something harder?"

  Adam’s face lit up. "Yeah!"

  Ezra tossed him a real ball—a leather baseball, heavier than the one he was used to. "Alright," he said, standing a few feet away. "Throw it to me."

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  Adam wound up and threw. The ball wobbled, flying wide and landing in the grass. Adam pouted. "That was bad."

  Ezra retrieved the ball, tossing it back. "So what do we do?"

  Adam frowned. "Try again?"

  Ezra grinned. "Good answer."

  And so they did. Over and over. Adam kept missing. Kept fumbling. Sometimes, the ball didn’t even make it halfway. But every time, Ezra just threw it back and told him to try again.

  The sun started setting. Adam’s arms were getting tired. His throws were getting sloppier. Finally, after a particularly weak toss, he sighed loudly and plopped onto the grass. "Daddy, I can’t!"

  Ezra sat beside him, stretching his legs out. "You can’t? Or you haven’t yet?"

  Adam groaned. "It’s too hard."

  Ezra picked up the ball, rolling it between his fingers. "You know, when I was your age, I sucked at math."

  Adam looked up, wide-eyed. "No way."

  Ezra snorted. "Oh yeah. I was terrible. Numbers just didn’t make sense to me." He tossed the ball up, catching it lazily. "Every time I tried to do my homework, I’d get so frustrated I wanted to quit."

  Adam’s little hands fiddled with the grass. "So what happened?"

  Ezra smirked. "I kept trying." He leaned over, nudging Adam’s side. "And you know what? One day, it finally clicked. Because I didn’t give up."

  Adam was quiet for a moment. Then, he sat up. "One more try," he muttered.

  Ezra grinned, handing him the ball. "That’s my boy."

  Adam took a deep breath. Pulled his arm back. And threw.

  The ball flew straight into Ezra’s glove. Adam gasped. "I DID IT!"

  Ezra chuckled. "Hell yeah, you did!"

  Adam beamed. "Again! Again!"

  And so they kept going. Not because he got it right that one time. But because now—he knew he could.

  That night, after Adam had passed out on the couch mid-cartoon, Ezra sat on the porch, staring out at the darkened yard. He took a slow drag from a joint, exhaling smoke into the warm night air.

  Bruiser’s voice crackled through his headset. "Yo, you been quiet. Something on your mind?"

  Ezra smirked. "Just thinking about the kid."

  "Adam?"

  "Yeah. He’s got that thing," Ezra murmured. "Y’know, that thing where he just doesn’t quit."

  Bruiser chuckled. "Hah. Wonder where he got that from."

  Ezra huffed a laugh.

  "Thing is," he muttered, staring at the glowing ember of his cigarette, "he’s gonna have to learn what real failure feels like one day." He took another drag. "And I just hope… when that happens… he still gets back up."

  Bruiser was quiet for a moment. Then—"If he’s anything like you?" A smirk in his tone. "He’ll get up every damn time."

  Ezra let the words sit. Then, he smiled. Yeah. Adam would get back up.

  Every. Damn. Time.

  One afternoon, Adam comes running into Ezra’s workspace, clutching a small, plastic model kit. His face is bright with excitement. "Daddy! I wanna build a spaceship!"

  Ezra, still sore from his injuries, sits back in his chair, raising a brow. "Oh yeah? That’s a tough one."

  Adam nods furiously. "But I can do it!"

  Ezra chuckles, ruffling his hair. "Alright, champ. Show me what you got."

  At first, Adam is laser-focused. He carefully sorts the pieces, glancing at the instruction manual, his tongue sticking out in deep concentration. Ezra watches from his seat, sipping coffee, amused at how serious the kid looks.

  But then—trouble.

  Adam tries to snap two tiny parts together… and they don’t fit. He frowns, adjusting his grip, trying again. Still no luck.

  His small hands fumble. The piece snaps in the wrong direction. His whole model wobbles, tilts— CRACK.

  The entire half-built spaceship falls apart.

  Adam freezes.

  Ezra sees it before it happens. The stiffening shoulders, the sudden clenching of tiny fists. Adam’s breathing speeds up. His chest rises and falls in sharp, frustrated bursts. And then—

  "STUPID SPACESHIP!" Adam yells, smacking the pieces away.

  Ezra tilts his head. "Whoa there, kiddo."

  Adam snaps. "IT’S BROKEN! I CAN’T DO IT!"

  Ezra watches, his face unreadable. He waits. Lets the kid feel it. Adam glares down at the scattered pieces, his little fists trembling. Then—Ezra calmly reaches over. Picks up one of the plastic parts. Holds it up between his fingers.

  "Y’know," he says, rolling it in his palm, "when I was your age, I sucked at building stuff too."

  Adam sniffles, rubbing his eyes. "No, you didn’t!"

  Ezra smirks. "Oh yeah, I did. Ask Nonna. She’ll tell you all about the time I tried to build a toy car and nearly set the damn kitchen on fire."

  That gets a tiny giggle.

  Ezra leans in. "But you know what I did?"

  Adam hiccups. "What…?"

  Ezra holds out the broken spaceship piece. "I picked it back up."

  Adam looks at it. Then back at his dad. Ezra waits. Finally—Adam sniffles again, but this time, he reaches out. Takes the piece. Turns it over in his hands.

  Ezra smiles. "Now, you wanna try again?"

  Adam hesitates. Then—he nods.

  Ezra pats his head. "That’s my boy."

  And so they try again. Not because they got it right the first time.

  But because giving up and failing aren’t the same thing.

  Ezra walked into the core chamber, clipboard in hand, fully prepared for another routine report. The hum of graviton energy buzzed around him, the soft flickering of containment stabilizers casting eerie shadows against the walls. Clover stood off to the side, arms crossed, waiting. Silent as always. Ezra barely acknowledged her, already muttering about how much he hated this job, the core, and whoever decided that sticking him in this radiation-fueled headache generator was a good idea.

  Then— he showed up.

  "Hey, kiddo."

  Ezra flinched so hard he nearly threw his clipboard across the room.

  Standing there, leaning against a console like he owned the place, was Mr. Shoelace. Same cocky smirk, same slightly disheveled look, same casual attitude that made Ezra want to rip his own hair out.

  "Oh, for fuck’s sake," Ezra groaned, rubbing his temples. "I was really hoping today could just be normal."

  Mr. Shoelace grinned. "Buddy, we passed 'normal' about fifty ECHO explosions ago."

  Clover blinked, staring at Ezra like he had just started talking to the walls. Ezra, ignoring her entirely, jabbed a finger toward Mr. Shoelace. "Alright, first of all, if you’re here to give me some cryptic-ass warning again, save it. I’ve got enough existential nightmares, thank you very much."

  Mr. Shoelace whistled. "Wow. The attitude today. What, did Adam finally beat you at Factorio?"

  Ezra’s eye twitched. "First of all—fuck you. Second of all—FUCK YOU! Third—do you have ANY IDEA how hard it is to explain supply chain logistics to a six-year-old?!"

  Mr. Shoelace smirked. "Man, if you think teaching a kid about conveyor belts is hard, just wait till you figure out where I am."

  Ezra paused mid-rant, his brain catching onto that phrasing like a faulty ECHO unit stuck on repeat. "…What?"

  Mr. Shoelace’s grin widened. "Oh? That got your attention?"

  Ezra narrowed his eyes. "You always do this. You say just enough to make me insane, but never enough for me to actually understand anything."

  "Well, yeah." Mr. Shoelace shrugged. "Wouldn’t be fun if I just told you."

  Ezra let out a strangled scream.

  Clover—who had been completely silent up until now—finally spoke. "…Are you okay?"

  Ezra ignored her, fully engaged in what could only be described as an absolute meltdown.

  "You know what? Fine! Let’s just pretend you’re not the most obnoxious, unhelpful, passive-aggressive guardian spirit or whatever-the-fuck you are! Let's just pretend I haven’t been bending the laws of physics backwards like a circus contortionist trying to figure out literally anything you’ve ever said to me!”

  Mr. Shoelace nodded. "Yeah. That does sound exhausting."

  "THANK YOU!" Ezra threw his arms up. "See, this is why you suck! You always act like you're being helpful, but in reality? You just sit there, make snarky comments, and then disappear like an overpriced therapist who only works in riddles!"

  Mr. Shoelace chuckled. "Well, technically—"

  "NO. No technically! Either tell me what the hell is going on, or I swear to god, I am going to lose what little remains of my fragile sanity!"

  Mr. Shoelace tilted his head. "Buddy. Look around."

  Ezra blinked. Then blinked again. Then turned his head ever so slightly to the left—where Clover was standing.

  Still there.

  Still staring.

  Her expression? Somewhere between "oh great, he’s finally snapped" and "this is the worst day of my entire career."

  Ezra processed this for a long, agonizing moment. Mr. Shoelace? Gone. Ezra? Standing alone. Clover? Watching him argue with absolutely no one like he had completely lost his goddamn mind.

  Ezra slowly lowered his hand, cleared his throat, and muttered, "I can explain."

  Clover’s stare remained completely, terrifyingly neutral. "Can you?"

  Ezra ran a hand down his face. "…No. No, I really can’t."

  She sighed. "You’re done."

  Ezra blinked. "Wait, what?"

  Clover turned on her heel. "No more duty calls for you. You’re done. Go home before the radiation actually melts your brain."

  Ezra’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. "But I—"

  She didn’t wait. She just walked.

  Ezra turned back to the core, then to where Mr. Shoelace had been, then back to the core again, then back to Clover. Then, in true Ezra fashion, he muttered: "…At least let me finish my damn report first."

  Clover’s only response? The silent, exasperated closing of the chamber door.

  Ezra stepped through the front door of Nonna’s house, the familiar scent of home wrapping around him like a worn-out embrace. The warmth of the fireplace crackled softly from the living room, but it did little to shake the chill in his bones.

  Seth’s condition had worsened. Much worse.

  The house was quieter than usual, the absence of his father’s usual energy making the walls feel too still. Ezra set his bag down by the door, shrugging off his coat as he moved toward the bedroom. He didn’t have to ask where Seth was.

  Ciarra met him in the hallway before he could reach the door, her expression unreadable. "He’s awake," she murmured. "But, Ezra…" She hesitated, glancing toward the dimly lit room. "You need to be prepared."

  Ezra exhaled sharply. He wasn’t. But he nodded anyway.

  When he stepped inside, he was hit with the reality of it all. Seth lay propped up on the bed, his once broad frame now thinner, his skin paler. But his eyes—those sharp, tired eyes—still carried the same fire Ezra had always known.

  "Well, well," Seth rasped, a ghost of a grin tugging at his lips. "Look who finally decided to visit his old man."

  Ezra huffed a small laugh, pulling up a chair beside the bed. "Miss me that much?"

  Seth let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Nah. Just been enjoyin’ the peace and quiet."

  Ezra smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His father was trying to keep things light, but he could see the effort it took just to speak. It made his stomach twist.

  "You should be resting," Ezra murmured.

  Seth waved a hand weakly. "Pfft. Rest is for people who have time to waste. We got more important things to talk about."

  Ezra frowned. "Like what?"

  Seth leaned back against the pillows, his gaze turning toward the window. Outside, the sky was a dull gray, the last remnants of autumn barely clinging to the trees. "Next year," he said after a moment. "We should go camping. One last family trip. You, me, Adam… the whole damn lot of us."

  Ezra swallowed hard. "Dad…"

  Seth turned his head, meeting his eyes. "Don’t gimme that look," he muttered. "I just need some rest, that’s all. Come spring, I’ll be good as new."

  Ezra clenched his jaw. His father was lying. And they both knew it.

  Before he could argue, before he could say what was really on his mind, Ciarra’s voice cut through the doorway. "Ezra."

  He turned, finding her leaning against the frame, arms crossed. The look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. "A word," she said.

  Ezra glanced back at his father, but Seth had already closed his eyes, as if that conversation was over. Like it was settled. Like it wasn’t up for debate.

  With a heavy heart, Ezra followed Ciarra out of the room.

  Ciarra didn’t speak until they were in the kitchen, where the scent of fresh tea lingered in the air. She poured herself a cup, took a slow sip, and then finally turned to face him.

  "You know he’s not getting better."

  Ezra’s throat tightened. "I know."

  She exhaled, setting the cup down. "Then you also know he won’t make it to next spring."

  Ezra squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second before running a hand through his hair. "I don’t need you to say it out loud."

  Ciarra studied him for a moment, then sighed. "Look, I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. But I will say this—he doesn’t want you to spend these next few months watching him with that look in your eyes."

  Ezra clenched his fists. "What look?"

  Ciarra gestured vaguely at his face. "That one. The one that’s already mourning him while he’s still here."

  Ezra exhaled sharply, pressing his palms against the counter. "What the hell am I supposed to do, then?"

  Ciarra softened, stepping closer. "Agree to the trip."

  Ezra’s head snapped up. "What?"

  "You heard me," she said simply. "Agree to it. Let him have this. Even if it’s not real, even if we know it won’t happen… let him believe it will."

  Ezra’s fingers dug into the counter. "That’s cruel."

  Ciarra tilted her head. "Is it? Or is it giving him peace?"

  Ezra didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to.

  Ciarra sighed. "Look… you know as well as I do that Dad’s not gonna ask for help. He’s not gonna admit how bad it is. He’s never been that kind of man." She folded her arms. "But he’s also not dumb. He knows what’s coming. And he’s trying to make it easier for you, for Adam, for everyone."

  Ezra swallowed the lump in his throat. "By pretending?"

  "By letting you pretend," Ciarra corrected. "By making sure, when the time comes, you’ll have a good memory to hold onto instead of… whatever this is."

  Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Finally, Ezra exhaled through his nose. "You really think this is the right thing to do?"

  Ciarra’s expression softened. "I think it’s the kindest thing we can do."

  Ezra let out a slow breath, his shoulders slumping. He didn’t like it. He hated it. But deep down, he knew she was right.

  He pushed off the counter, rubbing his face tiredly. "Alright," he muttered. "We’ll go camping."

  Ciarra nodded, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. "Good."

  Ezra hesitated. Then, in a quieter voice, he asked, "How much time do you think he has?"

  Ciarra’s expression flickered. For the first time, she looked uncertain. "I don’t know," she admitted. "But I don’t think it’s much."

  Ezra’s chest ached.

  She reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "So let’s make what’s left count."

  Ezra swallowed hard, nodding.

  That night, when he went back to Seth’s room, he sat beside his father’s bed, took his hand, and smiled.

  "Alright, Dad," he said softly. "Let’s go camping."

  And Seth, half-asleep, let out a soft, contented chuckle. "That’s my boy."

  The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that only came in the dead of night, when even the wind outside seemed to hush itself. Ezra had been up late, pacing the halls, too restless to sleep, his mind cluttered with unfinished equations and the weight of things he couldn’t change.

  And then—he saw it.

  A sliver of warm light spilling from beneath his father’s bedroom door.

  Ezra hesitated. He shouldn’t disturb him. Seth needed his rest now more than ever. But something in his gut told him to check anyway.

  He stepped inside.

  Seth was awake, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring out the window at the snowfall. His blanket was draped loosely over his lap, shoulders hunched, his breathing slow.

  Ezra didn’t say anything. He just pulled up a chair, sinking into it with a quiet exhale.

  For a long time, they sat there, watching the world outside turn white.

  Then—Seth broke the silence. "The air smells different when it’s your last winter."

  Ezra’s breath caught. He turned his head, studying his father’s profile. Seth’s expression was unreadable, his gaze lost somewhere beyond the falling snow.

  Ezra swallowed hard. "Dad—"

  "Don’t," Seth muttered, shaking his head. "I’m not fishing for pity. Just stating a fact." He exhaled through his nose. "When you get to my age, you start feeling things in your bones. And I got a feeling about this one."

  Ezra clenched his jaw, staring down at his hands. "You’re not—"

  Seth cut him off with a chuckle. "Relax, boy. I ain’t dyin’ tonight."

  Ezra huffed. "Not funny."

  Seth smirked. "Little funny."

  A pause. Then—"The boy’s got your spirit."

  Ezra glanced up.

  Seth was still watching the snow, but his lips curled faintly at the corners. "And your stubbornness," he added. "Poor kid’s doomed."

  Ezra let out a quiet chuckle despite himself.

  Seth finally turned his head, studying his son with something unreadable in his gaze. Then—he simply reached out, placing a hand on Ezra’s shoulder.

  It was a quiet thing. But it carried everything.

  Ezra sat there, staring down at the wrinkled hand resting against his jacket, his throat suddenly tight. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know if words even existed for moments like this.

  So instead—he didn’t say anything.

  He just sat there, staring out at the snowfall, knowing this moment wouldn’t come again.

  The house smelled like home.

  The rich scent of fresh bread, slow-roasting meat, and sweet, spiced cider filled every corner, weaving through the halls like an unspoken promise—tonight was special. Tonight, nothing else mattered.

  Ezra stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching as Nonna commanded the stove with the precision of a war general. Pots clanged, steam curled from bubbling sauces, and flour dusted the countertops like freshly fallen snow.

  "Ezra!" Nonna didn’t even turn around as she pointed at him with a wooden spoon. "Make yourself useful! The bread needs slicing, and if I catch you sneaking a bite, I swear to God, I will break your fingers."

  Ezra smirked. "Merry Quarantinemas to you too, Nonna."

  "You think that lip is gonna save you?" She whacked his arm with the spoon on her way past. "Go, go, shoo!"

  He chuckled, grabbing the bread knife. As he worked, he could hear the chaos of the living room behind him—Seth and Adam laughing as they tried to untangle a string of lights, Julie humming softly as she set the table, Ciarra grumbling about how decorating was pointless when she could just use a drone to do it for them.

  It felt normal.

  Or, at least, they were all pretending it was.

  Ezra caught Nonna watching Seth from the corner of her eye, her movements just a fraction slower than usual. He didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t have to.

  Because tonight was about pretending.

  By the time the food was done, the house radiated warmth. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting golden light against the windows as snow drifted outside.

  The dining table was full—packed with roasted meats, fresh pasta, warm bread, rich sauces, desserts so decadent they could stop a man’s heart in his tracks. Nonna had gone all out.

  Ezra sat next to Adam, who was practically vibrating with excitement, his little hands hovering over his plate like he was waiting for a starting pistol.

  "Alright, alright," Seth said, chuckling. "Let’s eat before the kid combusts."

  And so they did.

  The meal was loud, messy, filled with laughter and bickering and moments that would never be repeated. Seth, despite his coughing fits, was as sharp as ever, cracking jokes about Ezra’s ‘delicate scientist hands’ and how he was probably too weak to cut his own steak. Julie rolled her eyes but smiled. Ciarra and Nonna got into a heated debate about who had made the best lasagna in family history.

  And Adam? Adam was happy. Eating too fast, talking too loud, laughing too much.

  Ezra soaked it all in.

  Because this? This was exactly how he wanted to remember them.

  After dinner, when the plates were cleared and everyone was too full to move, Seth wiped his hands on a napkin and stood. "Alright," he announced. "Before I pass out from all this damn food, I got something for the kid."

  Adam perked up immediately. "For me?"

  Seth chuckled, reaching into his coat pocket. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too excited."

  He pulled out a small, round object—a pocket watch. The silver casing was worn, the edges smoothed by time, but the way the firelight caught the engraving on the back made it look almost timeless.

  Adam took it carefully, his little fingers tracing the delicate metal. "What is it?"

  "It’s a family thing," Seth said, voice quieter now. "Been passed down for a while. And now?" He ruffled Adam’s hair. "It’s yours."

  Adam opened the watch. Inside, tucked beneath the delicate hands of time, was a tiny photo. A picture of all of them—one of the last Quarantinemases, everyone together, smiling, young, unburdened.

  Adam’s eyes widened. "Is this…?"

  "Yeah," Seth said. "So when you’re older, when you’re off doin’ whatever crazy shit I know you’re gonna do… you remember where you came from."

  Adam didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at it, like he was trying to memorize every detail.

  Then, without warning, he threw his arms around Seth.

  "Thank you, Grandpa!"

  Seth chuckled, patting the kid’s back. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all mushy on me now."

  Ezra swallowed past the tightness in his throat. He couldn’t meet Ciarra’s eyes. He knew she was thinking the same thing.

  Adam had no idea what this moment meant.

  But one day, he would.

  After gifts, the fireplace became the centerpiece of the night. Nonna sat in her old rocking chair, Adam curled up beside her, Ciarra lounging lazily with a glass of wine, Seth nursing his own drink, Ezra and Julie sharing the couch.

  And as the fire flickered, as the night deepened, Nonna decided it was time.

  "You know," she began, "when I was a little girl, my father used to tell me stories. Big stories. Crazy ones. But the one I remember most?" She leaned in slightly. "The story of the two travelers."

  Adam, immediately invested, sat up. "Ooooh! What happened?"

  Nonna smiled. "They weren’t just any travelers, mind you. They were lost souls, wandering through the universe, always searching for something. They didn’t know what it was at first. A home, maybe. A purpose. But the funny thing was?" She sipped her tea. "Everywhere they went, they left something behind. A little kindness. A little wisdom. They helped strangers. They saved people. And without realizing it… they became exactly what they were looking for."

  Adam blinked. "They did?"

  Nonna nodded. "Because the secret, my dear, is that sometimes, we’re already what we’re meant to be. We just have to see it."

  Silence settled over the room.

  Ezra stared at the fire, something in his chest tightening.

  Ciarra, for once, had no sarcastic remarks.

  And Seth? Seth just smiled.

  Adam tilted his head. "But… did they ever find their home?"

  Nonna smiled, stroking his hair. "Oh, sweet boy," she murmured. "They had it with them all along."

  Adam frowned like he was still thinking about it, but eventually, he snuggled closer, letting the story sink in.

  Ezra met Seth’s gaze from across the room. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

  Because tonight? Tonight was home.

  The food was eaten. The gifts were given. The stories were told.

  But Quarantinemas wasn’t over yet. Because after the quiet, after the warmth of nostalgia and the weight of unspoken truths, came the chaos.

  Game night.

  And oh, what a night it would be.

  It started innocently enough.

  A friendly, casual card game at the dinner table, something lighthearted to wrap up the evening. Nonna shuffled the deck with the dexterity of a woman who had spent decades mastering the fine art of wrecking people’s spirits.

  Adam sat on Seth’s lap, his little fingers clutching his own tiny hand of cards. Ezra, Julie, Ciarra, and Nonna made up the rest of the table.

  Bruiser, still on call from across the system, chuckled through the speakers. "So what’s the game tonight?"

  "Something easy," Ezra said. "Nice and relaxing."

  Nonna smirked. "Uno."

  Silence. Then—"Oh, hell no," Ezra muttered, already regretting his life choices.

  "You’re all dead," Ciarra declared, cracking her knuckles.

  Nonna dealt the cards, her movements so precise, so deliberate, it was downright intimidating. Like a mafia boss setting the stage for a slaughter.

  Adam, blissfully unaware, grinned. "I’m gonna win!"

  Seth chuckled. "That’s the spirit, kiddo."

  And so, it began.

  For the first few rounds, everything was civil.

  Then Nonna dropped a Draw Four on Ezra.

  "Nonna, what the fuck."

  "Language," she chided, completely unfazed.

  "YOU HAD OTHER OPTIONS!"

  "But this one was more fun."

  Ciarra cackled. Julie sipped her wine like she had already resigned herself to the inevitable. Adam gleefully slapped down a Skip card on Ezra the very next turn.

  "Daddy, you can’t go!"

  Ezra stared at his six-year-old, betrayed on a cosmic level. "Et tu, Adam?"

  Adam giggled, bouncing in his seat. "I’m winning!"

  Seth was wheezing from laughter. "Kid’s got killer instincts."

  Then Nonna struck again.

  Reverse. Draw Two. Reverse again. Draw Four.

  Ezra clutched his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. "You are an evil, evil woman."

  Nonna merely smiled. "I know."

  Ciarra, who had been stockpiling like a warlord preparing for battle, unleashed the most sadistic combo ever seen in a family gathering.

  Adam screamed in horror as he drew EIGHTEEN CARDS.

  Ezra, stunned beyond belief, whispered, "This game has changed him."

  Adam stared at his cards, his whole worldview shattered.

  Nonna patted his head. "Welcome to the real world, bambino."

  By some unholy miracle, Seth, of all people, was winning.

  "You guys really let an old man take the lead?" he teased, laying down another perfectly timed Reverse.

  Ciarra gritted her teeth. "I will not be disrespected like this."

  Nonna played a Wild Card, changing the color to blue.

  Adam, shaking with determination, slammed down his final card. "I WIN!"

  Silence.

  Then—pandemonium.

  Seth cheered, lifting Adam into the air. "That’s my grandson!"

  Ezra threw his cards onto the table. "Bullshit! I demand a recount!"

  Julie laughed so hard she nearly spilled her wine. "Adam, you absolute legend."

  Nonna smirked. "You’ve done well, child."

  Adam was vibrating with pure joy. "I’M THE UNO CHAMPION!"

  Bruiser’s voice crackled in. "Yo, tell the kid I’m betting on him in the next tournament."

  Ezra sighed, ruffling Adam’s hair. "Enjoy this victory, buddy. Because next year? You’re going down."

  Adam grinned. "I’ll be ready!"

  After game night, the family migrated to the living room. The fireplace crackled, casting long shadows across the walls.

  Seth sat in his armchair, Adam curled up on his lap, still gloating over his victory. Ciarra sprawled out on the couch, tail flicking lazily. Julie sat beside Nonna, sipping tea, while Ezra stood near the window, watching the snowfall.

  "You know," Seth mused, swirling his glass, "this is how it should always be."

  Ezra turned, raising a brow. "What, the part where your grandson obliterates you in Uno?"

  Seth smirked. "The part where we’re all together. Laughing. Enjoying the moment."

  Nonna hummed. "You always did like the simple things, figlio mio."

  Seth nodded, his gaze distant but warm. "Yeah. And I hope Adam learns to do the same."

  Ezra watched his father for a long moment. The weight in his chest felt heavier than ever.

  Because deep down, he knew.

  Seth wasn’t just talking about Adam. He was talking about him, too.

  As the night stretched on, the final tradition of Quarantinemas arrived. The toast.

  It was nearly midnight. The space elevator drop—the signal for the new year—was only minutes away. The family gathered on the balcony, wrapped in blankets, warm mugs in hand. Below them, the city lights twinkled like stars.

  Nonna raised her glass first. "To family. To memories. And to the year ahead."

  Julie followed. "To love, to laughter, and to surviving another year of absolute chaos."

  Ciarra smirked. "To winning more Uno games."

  Adam, bouncing with excitement, raised his juice box. "To Grandpa!"

  Seth chuckled. "Hell yeah, kid. To Grandpa."

  Then—all eyes turned to Ezra. He hesitated. Then, slowly, he lifted his glass. His throat was tight, his mind swimming with too many things. But finally, he said:

  "To the time we have left. And to the people who make it worth it."

  Silence. Then—clink.

  The space elevator began its descent, a column of light flooding the sky, brighter than any star. The countdown began, voices echoing across the city, across every rooftop, every home, every heart.

  Ten.

  Seth exhaled softly, watching the sky.

  Nine.

  Ciarra’s tail flicked as she stole a glance at Ezra.

  Eight.

  Julie wrapped an arm around Adam, who was practically buzzing with excitement.

  Seven.

  Nonna smiled, nodding slowly to herself.

  Six.

  Ezra swallowed.

  Five.

  Adam gasped. "It’s so bright!"

  Four.

  Seth chuckled. "Yeah, buddy. It is."

  Three.

  Ezra turned, watching his father.

  Two.

  Seth met his gaze.

  One.

  Seth smiled. "Happy New Year, kid."

  The city erupted with cheers. The elevator reached the ground.

  And Quarantinemas? Quarantinemas was over.

  him.