Spring had returned, bringing with it a cruel irony—the world outside was blooming with new life, yet Ezra felt like he was wilting under the weight of this final year. White-Coat University had been hell from the beginning, but now? Now it was something far worse.

  The higher he climbed, the harder the fall would be. And Ezra could feel it—the strain of it all, pressing against his ribs like an unseen force, suffocating him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. He had known it would be difficult.

  He had been warned. But no one had told him that the closer he got to the end, the further he felt from who he used to be. This was the year the students chose their careers—the moment they would decide where they belonged in the grand, absurd hierarchy of the White-Coats.

  Except Ezra? He didn’t get to choose. His path had already been carved for him. And today? Today, Mr. Key had come to remind him of that fact.

  The entire lecture hall hushed when the doors swung open. No one ever interrupted the Career Selection Ceremony. The students sat in rows of pristine white, watching as one by one, each of them stepped forward to announce their chosen path—science, research, politics, administration, industry—all under the watchful gaze of the White-Coat Elders.

  And then—Mr. Key walked in.

  The murmurs spread like wildfire, whispers of confusion and curiosity crackling through the hall. Ezra’s stomach tightened. He already knew who he was here for. Mr. Key didn’t even gnce at the other students—he walked straight toward Ezra, his polished shoes tapping against the white marble floors with quiet authority.

  The professor at the podium cleared his throat. "Mr. Key, we weren’t expecting—"

  "I need to borrow Mr. Key Jr. for a moment," Mr. Key said smoothly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

  The professor’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t object.

  Ezra stood. All eyes were on him now. He felt the weight of their stares, their silent specutions, but he ignored them and followed Mr. Key out of the hall. The door closed behind them. The murmurs inside rose to a deafening buzz before being cut off entirely.

  They walked in silence down the dimly lit corridor, the air feeling too thick, too still. Mr. Key led him into a private meeting room, a pce of sterile white walls and minimalist design, where a single metal table sat in the center.

  Ezra expected a lecture. Another push to work harder, to not fall behind. But instead—Mr. Key reached into his pocket and pulled out a small data pad. He set it on the table. Turned it on. And suddenly, the screen flickered to life—Revealing Seth.

  Ezra’s father smiled tiredly, seated somewhere that looked like a hospital room. But that wasn’t what caught Ezra’s breath in his throat. It was Julie. Lying in a hospital bed, her hair a mess, her cheeks flushed, her face glowing with exhaustion and joy.

  And in her arms—A tiny bundle. A newborn. Ezra’s world tilted. "Oh," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Oh.

  That’s why Mr. Key had brought him here. Ezra barely registered the gentle amusement in Mr. Key’s voice as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

  "So," Mr. Key murmured, "what are you going to name my grandson?"

  Ezra couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. His chest felt tight in a way he couldn’t expin, something too big, too overwhelming pressing against his ribs, threatening to break him entirely. He stared at the screen, his vision blurring at the edges.

  Julie was smiling, watching him through the camera, her arms wrapped protectively around their child. Their son. Ezra swallowed hard, his voice thick with emotion. "Adam," he said.

  Julie’s smile widened. "I knew you’d pick that."

  Seth let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not bad, kid. Solid name."

  Ezra let out a weak ugh, wiping at his eyes, trying to blink away the tears that threatened to fall. Adam. His son.

  Mr. Key watched the exchange silently, allowing him a few more minutes of catching up before finally shifting the conversation. There was business to discuss.

  "Ezra," Mr. Key said, closing the call, leaving only the still silence of the meeting room behind. "We need to talk."

  Ezra, still reeling from what he had just seen, slowly pulled himself back to the present.

  Mr. Key folded his hands over the table. "Haru has already graduated ahead of you." Ezra felt that weight again. The pressure. The impossible expectations. Mr. Key didn’t need to say it outright—he was behind. "I need you to double your efforts," Mr. Key continued. "I need you to prove that I didn’t pce my bet on the wrong man."

  Ezra exhaled slowly, rubbing his tired eyes. "I know."

  Mr. Key studied him. Then, after a long pause, he spoke again—softer this time. "Julie told me how much you’ve been struggling."

  Ezra stiffened. His fingers curled into tight fists against his knees. Of course she had.

  Mr. Key sighed, leaning back slightly. "Ezra, I didn’t take an interest in you just because my family needs an heir."

  Ezra looked up. Mr. Key’s gaze was steady. "My family has a reputation spanning fifteen generations. We built this industry from the ground up, and yes, that means generational wealth—but that also means carrying the weight of something much bigger than one person."

  Ezra swallowed, his throat dry.

  "And yet," Mr. Key continued, "I remember the day you saved my daughter. I remember how you brushed it off like it was nothing." Ezra didn’t know what to say. Mr. Key shook his head. "You are family now, Ezra. And I am here to help you through this mess." Ezra sat in stunned silence, absorbing the words he hadn’t realized he needed to hear. For so long, he had felt like he was drowning alone—like he was just one mistake away from colpsing under the weight of everything being thrown at him.

  But now? Now, he wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

  "So," Mr. Key murmured, tilting his head, watching Ezra carefully. "What’s been on your mind tely?"

  Ezra’s breath hitched. His mind fshed to the dream, the shadowed figure, the impossible city, the pulsing SOS signal, the angels, the demons, the horrible truth lurking beneath it all. He could tell him. He could finally share what he had seen.

  But should he?

  Ezra didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sat there—weighing the truth against the unknown, bancing on the edge of a choice that could change everything.

  Ezra stared at Mr. Key for a long moment, his mouth dry, his pulse a slow, heavy drumbeat in his ears. He had debated this moment, turning it over in his head a thousand times before stepping into this room.

  Tell him? Don’t tell him? How much?

  Against his better judgment, he decided to share. But not everything.

  Not the city of angels, not the star pulsing in Morse code, not the feeling that something bigger than all of them was lurking just beneath the surface of reality. Instead, he focused on one detail. The figure in bck. The one with the goat’s head, the one that had stood at the edge of the White-Coat ceremony watching him, the one that had followed him into his dreams.

  The moment he described it, Mr. Key hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "Mmmm… that sounds like Edgar," he said.

  Ezra blinked. "What?"

  "Edgar," Mr. Key repeated. "Good kid."

  Ezra’s brain short-circuited. "HE’S A KID!?!?"

  Mr. Key chuckled, shaking his head. "No, not really. That’s just a turn of phrase. Edgar does reconnaissance for the Silent Legion."

  Ezra’s stomach plummeted into freefall. "The what now?"

  Mr. Key exhaled, as if he had expected this moment to come eventually. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Alright, listen closely, because I’m only going to expin this once."

  Ezra braced himself.

  "The Silent Legion," Mr. Key said slowly, "are the ones pulling the strings for all of humanity."

  Ezra’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

  "The White-Coats?" Mr. Key continued. "They belong to the Silent Legion. Key Industries belongs to the Silent Legion. I may own the graviton industry, but only at their mercy."

  Ezra swallowed hard. "Great," he muttered, leaning back in his chair. "So the shadow government actually has a name."

  Mr. Key smirked. "We prefer to call them ‘the ones who keep the world from eating itself alive.’ But sure, go ahead and be dramatic about it."

  Ezra rubbed his temples, his mind spinning. This expined too much. And yet—It didn’t expin anything at all.

  Mr. Key studied him. "You still haven’t told me," he said, "why lil’ Edgar has been troubling you so much."

  Ezra’s pulse quickened. Because he couldn’t tell him. How could he? How could he expin that the vision he had seen—no, the pce he had been taken to—wasn’t just a dream? That he had seen a world beneath a world, a forgotten city where angels walked in perfect unity and ensved demons beneath a star crying for help?

  He couldn’t. So instead, he lied.

  "His, uh… features," Ezra said, forcing his voice into something casual, like this wasn’t the most terrifying conversation of his life. "The goat-like face. Just… unsettled me."

  Mr. Key studied him for a moment longer, then—to Ezra’s surprise—he smirked. "Ah," he murmured. "That bothers you?"

  Ezra frowned. "I mean—yes? It’s not exactly normal."

  "Neither is this," Mr. Key said simply. And then—He reached up to his face.

  Ezra watched in horror as Mr. Key pced two fingers against the corner of his eye—And pulled. His contact lens came off easily, and beneath it—Ezra’s breath caught. Mr. Key’s iris wasn’t round. It was an unnatural shape, jagged, almost star-like. But it wasn’t just the shape—

  The coloring was wrong.

  Not like a mutation, not like a scarred eye, but like something Ezra’s brain refused to process as human. A thing that shouldn’t be there. Ezra’s hands tightened into fists, but he didn’t flinch. He forced himself to hold Mr. Key’s gaze, to look at what was in front of him and not recoil.

  Mr. Key smiled slightly. "Good. You didn’t look away."

  Ezra’s voice was tight. "I didn’t need to."

  Mr. Key nodded. "You’re learning."

  Ezra swallowed. "What… the hell happened to you?"

  Mr. Key pced the contact back over his eye, sealing away whatever truth Ezra had just glimpsed. Then, he leaned forward. "Graviton radiation," he said. Ezra’s breath hitched. "You’re about to spend the rest of your time here studying graviton energy," Mr. Key continued. "And what you need to understand—before you go any deeper—is that this is not to be taken lightly."

  Ezra’s fingers drummed against the table, his heart hammering.

  "The energy itself, when properly harvested and stored, is harmless," Mr. Key expined. "But in its raw state? Uncontained? It is not something you py with."

  Ezra exhaled. "So what, generations before us were the test subjects?"

  "Not test subjects," Mr. Key corrected. "Sacrifices."

  Ezra’s blood ran cold.

  Mr. Key’s voice softened. "You won’t have to suffer the same fate. Your work will provide for your family, but you won’t be forced to make sacrifices like those of my family before me."

  Ezra clenched his jaw. And then, just as he was about to speak, Mr. Key’s expression darkened. He tapped his fingers against the table, once. "Not a word of this to Julie," he said. Ezra stiffened. "Not a word about this to anyone," Mr. Key continued.

  Ezra hesitated. "And if I do?"

  Mr. Key leaned back, his smirk returning—but this time, it wasn’t reassuring. "When in a harvested state," he said, "graviton energy is safe. But before that? Before we learned how to contain it?" He let the words linger. "Many generations had to be sacrificed before the final product was filtered enough for commercial use," Mr. Key said, his voice calm, patient, even amused. "A breach in privacy on something like this…"

  He tilted his head. "Would not only be drowned in a narrative written by the White-Coats—it would upset the Silent Legion." Ezra’s throat tightened. "And," Mr. Key added, "you do not—under any circumstances—want to upset the Silent Legion."

  A heavy silence settled between them. Then—Mr. Key smiled again, standing. "Now," he said, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve, "back to css with you. There’s work to do." Ezra stood, his movements automatic, his mind racing. Some questions had been answered. But as always—More had taken their pce.