Ezra’s interview with Momoka didn’t just make waves—it detonated. The world was officially obsessed. Scientists debated the implications of his work on live television. Religious figures weighed in on the morality of "pying with time." Governments? They wanted in.

  And Ezra?Ezra was fucking tired.

  The talk show had left him hollowed out. Momoka had peeled him open like a goddamn fruit, and now the world saw him—not just the scientist, not just the inventor, but the man. And what did the man have?

  A dream that was impossible.

  Thirty minutes. That was the wall. And no matter how many times he threw himself at it, no matter how many sleepless nights, calcutions, prototypes—he could not break through.

  Ezra arrived back at Nonna’s house under heavy snowfall. The pce was exactly the same—the smell of fresh bread, the warmth of the old firepce, the way the house felt lived in. Safe. Constant. But even here, he couldn’t escape the weight pressing down on him.

  He wasn’t alone in feeling it.

  Seth’s cough had worsened. The warmth of the house helped, but it was clear—he was getting weaker. Ezra kept an eye on him. He hated the way his father brushed it off, the way he acted like nothing was wrong. Nonna noticed too. They shared a gnce one evening over dinner. No words were spoken. But the understanding was there.

  Then there was Adam.

  Adam was six now. Talking, running, ughing. He was smart in his own way, though not in the way the world expected from the son of Ezra Key. He wasn’t a prodigy. Wasn’t building machines or solving equations. But he was relentless. If he fell, he got back up. If he didn’t understand something, he kept asking. Kept pushing. And when he wanted his dad’s attention?

  Oh, he demanded it.

  One night, after a particurly exhausting day of dodging international calls and pretending to not be the most famous scientist alive, Ezra sat outside in the backyard, lighting up one of Ciarra’s questionable cigarettes. The cold bit through his coat, but the silence? The silence was nice.

  Then came the familiar patter-patter-patter of tiny feet.

  "Daddy!" Adam barreled toward him, nearly facepnting in the snow.

  Ezra barely had time to react before his son was climbing onto his p, his chubby little hands pressing against Ezra’s face.

  "You’re all scruffy," Adam decred, poking his father’s five o’clock shadow.

  Ezra snorted. "Yeah, that happens when you forget to shave."

  Adam tilted his head, squinting. "Are you sad?"

  Ezra froze.

  Jesus. Kids. No tact, no filter. Just raw, unrelenting truth.

  He let out a slow breath. "A little."

  Adam frowned. "Did someone take your toy?"

  Ezra chuckled despite himself. "Something like that, bud."

  Adam scrunched his nose in thought. "Nonna says when I’m sad, I gotta keep going!" He puffed out his little chest. "Like when I fall down, I get back up! I don’t stay down!"

  Ezra stared at him, something tight catching in his chest.

  "You don’t stay down, huh?"

  Adam nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! You just gotta try really hard!"

  Ezra smiled, ruffling his son’s messy hair. "Yeah, kid. You do."

  They sat there in the cold, the little boy curled up against his father’s chest. And for the first time in weeks—maybe months—Ezra let himself feel something other than pressure.

  Winter wasn’t just for holidays and family, though. The world was knocking. The interview had turned Ezra from an innovator to a symbol. And symbols? They didn’t get to rest.

  Mr. Key had somewhat managed the business side of things, handling production and deflecting the more aggressive government inquiries. But there were limits.

  Ciarra had warned Ezra months ago: You’re getting too close. If you keep going down this road… you’d better be prepared for what’s on the other side.

  And now? Ezra was starting to see the edges of that truth.

  There were rumors. Whispers. Reports of strange occurrences following ECHO use. People ciming they felt something when time was reversed—like a piece of them had been lost. Others swore they heard voices from the other side of the moment, echoes that shouldn’t exist.

  At first, Ezra chalked it up to superstition. Side effects of people knowing too much. But then…

  Then he started hearing things too.

  At night. In the silence. A whisper. Just at the edge of hearing.

  "You’re almost there."

  Ezra didn’t know what was worse—the fact that it was happening, or the fact that a part of him wasn’t surprised.

  The fire crackled softly in the dimly lit living room. Outside, the wind howled against the windows, a te winter storm rolling through the mountains. Inside, the warmth of the house made the silence feel heavier. More real.

  Ezra sat across from Seth at the dinner table, nursing a gss of something strong. Neither of them had spoken for a while. They didn’t need to.

  Seth leaned back in his chair, fingers wrapped loosely around his own drink. His eyes, though tired, still held the same quiet wisdom Ezra had known his whole life. But there was something else there, too. Something heavier.

  "You’re thinking too hard again," Seth muttered, breaking the silence.

  Ezra huffed a small, humorless ugh. "Yeah. Bad habit."

  Seth smirked. "Ain’t that the truth." He studied his son for a moment, the way his shoulders carried too much weight, the way his fingers twitched against the table like they needed to be working. Solving. Fixing.

  Seth sighed. "Let me ask you something, kid."

  Ezra took a sip of his drink. "Shoot."

  Seth tilted his head. "You think you can hold onto everything forever?"

  Ezra frowned slightly. "What?"

  "You think you can keep everything from slipping through your fingers? Every person, every moment, every decision you wish you could change?" Seth’s voice was calm, but there was weight behind it. "’Cause that’s what it looks like you’re trying to do."

  Ezra exhaled sharply, staring down at his gss. "I don’t know how to let go."

  Seth nodded slowly. "Yeah," he muttered. "I figured."

  A long pause. The fire crackled. The wind howled.

  Then—Seth leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "There’s this saying," he murmured. "About pnting trees."

  Ezra raised a brow.

  Seth smirked. "Good men pnt trees knowing they’ll never sit in their shade. They pnt ‘em anyway. Because it ain’t about them. It’s about the people who come after."

  Ezra swallowed.

  Seth’s smirk faded slightly. His voice softened. "I ain’t gonna be around forever, kid."

  Ezra’s chest tightened. "Dad—"

  "Let me finish," Seth said gently. "I know you. You’re fighting like hell to fix something that maybe—just maybe—ain’t meant to be fixed." He tapped the table. "You think if you just push hard enough, break the right rules, rewrite the right equations, you can hold onto everything. But Ezra… that ain’t how life works."

  Ezra clenched his jaw. "And what, I’m just supposed to accept that?"

  Seth exhaled through his nose. "I’m saying maybe you should stop thinking about what you can keep, and start thinking about what you’re leaving behind."

  Ezra’s breath caught.

  Seth tilted his head. "I know you’re gonna keep going. I know you ain’t gonna stop. And hell, maybe one day, you do find what you’re looking for. But if you don’t?" His voice was gentle, firm. "Make sure you leave something worth having for the ones who come next."

  The words hit like a gut punch.

  Ezra stared at his father, a dozen unspoken thoughts swirling in his head. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find the right words.

  Seth let the silence sit. Then—he smiled. Soft. Tired.

  "I don’t need to sit under the shade, Ezra," he murmured. "I just need to know you’ll pnt the damn tree."

  Ezra swallowed the lump in his throat. He nodded.

  Seth nodded back. Then, after a long pause—

  "Now, are we gonna keep drinkin’ in silence, or you gonna tell me what that fancy device of yours actually does?"

  Ezra barked a ugh. "You wouldn’t believe me if I told you."

  Seth smirked. "Try me."

  And for the rest of the night, they just talked. No equations. No stress. Just a father and son, sharing the little time they had left.

  Ezra wasn’t the type to eavesdrop. Not normally, anyway.

  But as he walked past Ciarra’s room that night, something made him pause. The door was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of warm light spilling into the dimly lit hallway. He wasn’t sure what had made him stop—maybe it was the way the light flickered ever so slightly. Or maybe… maybe it was the sound.

  A choked sob.

  Ezra frowned. Ciarra? Crying?

  That wasn’t right.

  He hesitated, gncing down the hallway. He could keep walking. Pretend he didn’t hear it. Let her have her privacy.

  But another quiet, shaky sob slipped through the crack in the door, followed by a soft sniffle—and Ezra’s gut twisted.

  Without thinking, he took a careful step forward. Just enough to peek inside.

  Ciarra was sitting at the edge of her bed, hunched over, clutching her phone like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Her ears were drooped, tail curled tightly around her side. Her shoulders shook with every uneven breath.

  Ezra’s stomach sank.

  She was whispering—too softly for him to make out the full conversation. But then—

  "I… I’ll do my best…" Her voice cracked.

  Ezra swallowed hard.

  A long pause. A final, fragile "T-thank you…"

  Ezra wasn’t sure what was worse—the way her body trembled, or the way she clutched her phone tighter, like letting go would shatter her completely.

  And then—just before the call ended, barely above a whisper—

  "I love you."

  Ezra exhaled slowly, carefully stepping back. He shouldn’t be hearing this. This wasn’t his moment. It was hers.

  But dammit, he couldn’t just walk away.

  With a quiet knock, he pushed the door open a little further. "Ciarra?"

  She jolted, ears perking up, eyes wide and gssy from tears. Her phone slipped from her grasp, nding softly on the bed beside her.

  Ezra held up his hands. "Hey. Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare ya."

  Ciarra sniffled, hurriedly wiping at her face, ears fttening in embarrassment. "Y-you didn’t." She cleared her throat, sitting up straighter, trying to compose herself. "What do you want?"

  Ezra leaned against the doorframe, studying her. Even in the dim light, he could see the redness around her eyes, the way she was trying too hard to pretend everything was fine.

  He sighed. "I was gonna ask you about some things," he admitted. "But right now…?" He stepped inside, taking a seat beside her on the bed. "You look like you need a hug."

  Ciarra let out a small, watery ugh, shaking her head. "I’m fine."

  Ezra raised a brow. "Really? ‘Cause your face says otherwise."

  She huffed, but didn’t argue.

  Ezra opened his arms. "C’mon, Auntie. You’re always the one giving hugs. Maybe it’s time someone returned the favor."

  Ciarra hesitated.

  And then—slowly, almost reluctantly—she leaned in.

  Ezra wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. She buried her face into his shoulder, her body still trembling. He felt her tail curl slightly around his side, an instinctual sign of comfort.

  For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

  Then—softly—Ezra murmured, "You know… people keep telling me to change how I see things." He let out a breath. "I’ve spent years looking at problems one way. Like there’s only one solution. Like if I just push hard enough, I can fix anything."

  Ciarra didn’t say anything, but he felt her ears twitch slightly against his shoulder.

  Ezra tightened his grip just a little. "It’s hard. Changing the way you think. But maybe… maybe you should try too."

  Ciarra sniffled. "What do you mean?"

  Ezra pulled back slightly, just enough to look her in the eyes. "Whatever’s weighing you down… maybe you’re carrying it the wrong way." He tilted his head. "You ever think about what’d happen if you just… put it down?"

  Ciarra blinked at him.

  Then she ughed. A real ugh. A small, breathy, genuine ugh.

  Ezra smirked. "What?"

  She shook her head, wiping at her eyes again. "You really are so much like him sometimes."

  Ezra quirked a brow. "Him?"

  Ciarra hesitated—then just shook her head again. "Doesn’t matter."

  Ezra could tell it did matter. But for now? He let it go.

  Instead, he nudged her side lightly. "Feeling better?"

  Ciarra exhaled. "A little."

  Ezra grinned. "Good. ‘Cause I was really hoping you’d stop being sad so I could go back to annoying you about Haru."

  Ciarra snorted. "You are the worst."

  "Yup."

  But as Ezra stood up, stretching his arms over his head, he gnced back at her one st time.

  "Hey," he said, his voice softer now. "Whatever that call was about… whoever that was… they care about you."

  Ciarra’s ears twitched. Her fingers curled slightly against her sheets.

  Ezra smiled. "And so do I."

  Ciarra swallowed hard. Then—finally—she nodded. "I know."

  Ezra turned toward the door. "Good. Now get some sleep, you emotional train wreck."

  Ciarra threw a pillow at him.

  Ezra left ughing.