Chapter 12 - The Star Beneath the Mountain

  Ezra’s dreams had been getting worse. At first, they were vague, surreal visions—glimpses into a world that shouldn’t exist. But now? Now, it was screaming at him. The star that blinked its desperate S.O.S. in the void was no longer just flashing a distress signal.

  It was speaking. "Save… me… please…"

  The words echoed through the dreamscape, reverberating in his skull like a plea that had been shouted across eternity just to reach him. Panic set in. Ezra’s breathing hitched, his mind racing. And then—the angels noticed him. Their perfect, pristine forms turned unnaturally in sync, faces eerily serene, their glowing, golden eyes locking onto him.

  They saw him. They knew he was here. And then—they started moving. Ezra ran. His feet pounded against the golden streets of the dream-city, his breath ragged, his heart slamming against his ribs.

  Get out. Get out. GET OUT.

  The world stretched and shifted around him, the dreamscape morphing like a living thing, the golden light warping as he ran—Until he collided with someone.

  He staggered back, expecting to see an angel, expecting to see Edgar, the goat-headed figure, or maybe even a demon. But no. It was a man. A regular, human man. He was tall, dressed in a crisp but simple suit, standing there with an air of complete nonchalance, like he was waiting for a train that was running a few minutes late. His dark hair was slightly unkempt, but his tie was neatly done, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

  He gave Ezra a lopsided smile, his posture unbothered, almost lazy. "Well, that was a bit dramatic, don’t you think?" he mused.

  Ezra blinked, panting heavily. "Who the hell are you?"

  The man chuckled, tilting his head slightly. "Mr. Shoelace," he said easily.

  Ezra stared at him. Mr. Shoelace just grinned. And suddenly—Ezra didn’t notice the passage of time anymore. The angels disappeared. The city faded into a soft blur, like the dream had reset itself. Ezra was talking to Mr. Shoelace, but somehow, he couldn’t recall the conversation. Like something was intentionally keeping it just out of reach.

  But at the end of it—As if snapping back into focus, he distinctly remembered Mr. Shoelace saying: "Rest up now. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow."

  And just like that—The dream ended.

  Ezra woke up when the plane touched down in Japan. For the first time in years, it felt like he had actually slept. Like his body had been wrapped in absolute peace, his mind untouched by stress, fear, or exhaustion. He felt refreshed. Clear-headed. Relaxed.

  That peace lasted exactly fifteen seconds before—"EZRA! WAKE UP!"

  Ezra groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face. Haru had been shaking him violently, the little gremlin already hyped beyond belief about their return. "Ezra, get up! We have to go! We have science to do!"

  Ezra grumbled. "Haru, I swear to every god imaginable—" Then he paused, frowning. Standing near the gate was a notable figure, someone even Ezra recognized from Solarnet headlines—a big-wig scientist, a household name in research circles. At first, the man was strolling toward Ezra. Ezra straightened, blinking in surprise as he instinctively stood up, expecting an introduction, a conversation, something.

  But then—His stomach dropped when the scientist said, "I’m looking for Haru Kim."

  Ezra turned his head slowly, like a man watching his worst nightmare unfold in slow motion.

  Sure enough—A storage bin nearby rattled. The lid flipped open, and out popped Haru, grinning like he had been hiding there the entire time. Ezra felt his soul leave his body.

  "Ah, you found me!" Haru chirped, hopping out like a little gremlin.

  Ezra sat back down. Hard. Haru bounced over to greet the scientist, practically buzzing with excitement. Ezra didn’t even try to keep up with their conversation. He was already back in his lab, trying to focus on a gravity radar project Haru had given him. But the conversation was loud, and it was impossible to ignore. The scientist was offering Haru a ridiculous sum of money for his research.

  Not just a paycheck—a fortune.

  Ezra’s hands tightened around the tools in front of him. His mind clouded with frustration, the words from their conversation bleeding into his thoughts. Haru—this little kid, this eleven-year-old child prodigy—was getting once-in-a-lifetime offers like it was nothing. Meanwhile, Ezra was here, grinding through another one of Haru’s projects, feeling more and more like an afterthought.

  He tried to focus. Tried to shut it out. Tried to tell himself that this didn’t bother him. But the more he overheard—The more he worked—The more that frustration clouded his judgment.

  Ezra’s breaking point came not with a yell, not with an outburst, but with the snap of a machine part flying straight across the lab.He barely had time to react, his mind still clouded by frustration, when he heard the unmistakable sound of metal being caught mid-air.

  His breath hitched. The room fell into a suffocating silence. Slowly, he turned his head. And standing there, unmoving, unblinking, gripping the broken piece of machinery like it weighed nothing—Clover.

  Her golden eyes pierced into him, her neutral expression betraying nothing. "You," she said, her voice sharp, absolute.

  Ezra swallowed. "Me?"

  She pointed directly at him. "Come with me."

  A beat of silence. Then—"Ooooooh," Haru gasped theatrically from behind the workbench. "Someone’s in trooooouble!"

  Ezra clenched his jaw so hard his teeth might crack.

  The walk to the bunker doors was silent. Clover led him down through the secured levels, her presence so commanding that no one dared question why Ezra was being dragged into the abyss beneath Mt. Fuji.

  When they stopped in front of the final set of reinforced doors, she handed him something heavy. Ezra stared down at it. Lead armor. Thick, dense, oppressively heavy lead armor.

  Ezra’s stomach twisted. "Oh, that’s comforting."

  Clover didn’t even acknowledge his sarcasm. "Put it on." Ezra obeyed without further complaint.

  The moment he stepped past the designated safety area, he knew—He was in a place he was never meant to be. Clover led him through a separate entrance, past the redundant safety locks, past where even Key and Kim executives were normally allowed to go.

  This was the core's center chamber. And then—Ezra saw it. His breath caught, his pulse hammering against his ribs. A star. A literal star. Except—something was wrong.

  It wasn’t bright. It wasn’t golden or blazing with light like the sun. No. It was dark. It pulsed in deep purples, in swirling blacks, its edges rippling like the event horizon of a black hole.

  A gravity well.

  A dying celestial body, held in place by technology that should not exist. Ezra’s vision blurred for a second, because he had seen this before. In his dreams. The same star that begged him to save it.

  The one that called out, "Help me… please."

  His body felt weak, the world around him tilting, shifting, and suddenly— Clover spoke. "You have only one opportunity to come clean," she said.

  Ezra’s head snapped toward her. She wasn’t alone. Four guards stood behind her, mutated like she was—horns, hooves, extra limbs that twitched unnaturally beneath armor, all of them radiating a presence that sent terror crawling up Ezra’s spine.

  "The Silent Legion has detected an anomaly in the core's activity," Clover continued. "An anomaly that did not exist until you began working here."

  Ezra’s stomach dropped. "Tell me, Ezra Key," Clover said, stepping closer. "Is there anything you would like to confess?" Ezra felt his hands go clammy, his heart pounding violently against his ribs. There was no right answer here. If he told the truth, he’d be implicated in something even he didn’t understand.

  If he lied…

  He didn’t want to think about that option. So he swallowed thickly, mustered every ounce of courage he had, and forced himself to meet her piercing gaze. "I don’t know anything."

  Clover studied him for a long, painful moment. Then, she snapped her fingers. One of the guards stepped forward. Before Ezra could even process what was happening—A hand struck him across the face with bone-shattering force.

  The impact sent him staggering, nearly knocking him off his feet. Pain exploded through his skull, his vision going white for a brief second. He barely caught himself before hitting the ground. He tasted blood.

  Clover’s voice was calm, unaffected. "Nothing escapes Edgar’s gaze."

  Ezra froze. Oh. Fuck.

  She knew.

  Or at least—she knew something.

  She stepped forward, towering over him, her golden eyes like razor-wire cutting through his very soul. "Tell me the truth."

  Ezra’s mind raced, panic setting in. But before he could stop himself, the words spilled out. "I—" He swallowed hard. "I saw something. A star. It was… it was in my dreams."

  Clover’s eyes narrowed. "Go on."

  Ezra hesitated. He had already pushed too far. He needed to stop. He needed to lie. "I didn’t see anything else," he said quickly.

  Another snap of fingers. Another slap across the face.

  Ezra hit the ground this time, his skull ringing from the force, his mind scrambling to stay upright. "Okay! Fine!" he snapped, pressing a hand to his aching jaw. "I saw some spooky shit!" He coughed, spitting blood into his palm. "Mutant-looking things! They were farming creatures or something! That’s all I know!"

  His pulse thundered in his ears, his hands shaking as he forced himself to sit up again. Clover stared at him for another excruciatingly long moment.

  Then—She nodded. "You are dismissed."

  Ezra blinked. "Wait, that’s it?"

  She tilted her head slightly. "For now."

  He did not like the way she said that.

  "You should consider your words more carefully next time," she said smoothly. Then her voice lowered, the weight of her next sentence settling over him like ice-cold steel. "If you lie to me again," she said, "we will send your tongue through a portal and shove it so far up your ass you'll taste what you had for lunch."

  Ezra’s breath caught in his throat. His mouth went dry. He nodded—very, very quickly. "Understood," he choked out.

  Clover turned without another word.

  Ezra forced himself onto shaky feet, limped out of the chamber, and prayed to whatever higher being existed that he never had to come back here again.

  Ezra did what he always did when his mind refused to shut up—he threw himself into physical labor. The weeks after his trip to the core had left him with an unbearable weight in his chest, one he couldn't quite shake.

  So, he worked. Hard. He needed something tangible to hold onto, something to control, something that didn’t involve dreams, stars begging for help, or people with hooves slapping the taste out of his mouth.

  Thus, the hover bike project was born. A fully functioning anti-gravity speedster that, if it worked, could outmaneuver anything on the market. If it worked.

  Ezra gritted his teeth as he adjusted a circuit panel, sweat dripping down his forehead. For once—just this once—he wanted to build something without—

  "Ezraaaaaa."

  Ezra closed his eyes. Took a slow, calculated breath. Haru had entered the chat.

  The little gremlin stood next to the workbench, grinning like an imp that had crawled out of hell to torment him personally. Ezra groaned. "Haru, I swear—"

  "Can I borrow your phone?"

  Ezra blinked. Slowly, he looked up from his work. "…What?"

  "My phone’s dead. Can I use yours?" Haru asked, rocking on his heels.

  Ezra squinted at him, immediately suspicious. The last time Haru had his phone, he disappeared into a ceiling tile and nearly got them both murdered by Mr. Key. But right now? Right now, Ezra didn’t care. His brain was too fried to care. His thoughts were too heavy to care.

  He sighed, pulled his phone from his pocket, and handed it over without a second thought. "Here. Knock yourself out."

  Haru beamed. "Thanks, Ezra!" Then he skipped off to go do whatever fresh hell he was about to unleash upon the world.

  Ezra went back to work. And for a while, there was peace. Ezra worked in relative silence, the only sound being the quiet hum of graviton emitters calibrating around the bike’s frame. He let himself get lost in the process, tweaking the engine, adjusting the hover panels, anything to shut out the intrusive thoughts still gnawing at him.

  He tried not to think about the core. Tried not to think about what he saw beneath Mt. Fuji. Tried not to think about how Clover looked at him like she already knew the secrets he hadn’t even figured out yet.

  Tried not to think.

  But the frustration piled up, the stress sinking deeper, and before he knew it—He was about to make a very, very dangerous mistake. The hover bike’s power core was exposed, and in his absentminded frustration, he nearly miswired a graviflux matrix in reverse. If he had actually finished the connection, it would have destabilized the entire energy field, possibly blowing the entire lab sky-high.

  Before he could seal his own fate, something tapped against his thigh. He jumped. Looked down. Haru stood there, still holding his phone, still talking to whoever the hell he was on a call with. But his eyes were on Ezra’s wiring. "Hey, Ezra?"

  Ezra scowled. "What, Haru?"

  Haru held up a finger, as if listening to something on the other end of the line. Then he spoke. "Ki Ki says to invert the graviflux matrix before you blow yourself up."

  Ezra froze. His brain stalled. His hands hovered over the wiring, heartbeat pounding in his ears. He looked at Haru. Then at his wiring. Then back at Haru. His first instinct was to tell the kid to shut up and let him work—but then he double-checked his own configuration.

  And sure enough—One wrong move, and he would have been atomized.

  Ezra slowly, hesitantly, backed away from the console. He turned to Haru, eye twitching. "…Who the hell is Ki Ki?"

  Haru waved him off. "I’ll introduce you later." Then, as if nothing had happened, the little gremlin bounced away and went back to his phone call.

  Ezra rubbed his temples, exhaling sharply. "Thanks," he muttered.

  "Yep!" Haru called over his shoulder, already completely tuned out again.

  Later. Ezra sat on his bunk, phone in hand, scrolling through his call log. He had questions. Too many questions.

  And yet, as he looked at the recent calls list—His stomach dropped. There was only one outgoing call. A call he had made earlier that morning to Julie. That was it.

  No record of Haru making a call.

  No record of Ki Ki existing.

  No timestamps, no deleted history—nothing.

  Ezra’s grip on the phone tightened. There were only two explanations for this.

  Either Haru deleted the call log before he could see it—Or the call had never existed in the first place.

  A slow chill crept down Ezra’s spine. He set the phone down. Laid back. Stared at the ceiling. And realized—He was never going to get a normal life again.

  Ezra sat at his desk, fingers drumming against the laptop keyboard as the call rang on-screen. He needed an escape. Something—anything—to take his mind off the fact that reality itself was actively conspiring against him. The call connected with a click, and Bruiser’s dumbass grin appeared on screen.

  "Ezra! Holy shit, man! I thought you got kidnapped by government agents!"

  Ezra exhaled, rubbing his temples. "You have no fucking idea."

  Bruiser leaned in, grinning. "Oh, this is gonna be good. Spill."

  Ezra did. Not about the star calling out to him, not about Edgar watching his every move, not about the existential horror waiting for him beneath Mt. Fuji—But about Haru, the little gremlin genius who haunted his every waking moment. About Clover, the hoofed security demon who had slapped him so hard he saw the inside of his own skull. About the White-Coats, who were quite possibly, clinically, literally bat-shit insane.

  And finally—About how his Dad had, in fact, married a furry.

  For a moment, there was silence. Then—A thump. Followed by uncontrollable wheezing.

  Ezra watched as Bruiser collapsed backward in his chair, his entire face red from laughing too hard. "OH—OH MY GOD," Bruiser gasped between breaths. "YOUR DAD—YOUR DAD MARRIED A—" He dissolved into laughter again.

  Ezra groaned loudly, dragging his hands down his face. "Can we please move past this part?"

  Bruiser wheezed, finally sitting back up, still grinning like an absolute asshole. "Alright, alright. What’s the plan, then? You need me to knock you unconscious for a few weeks?"

  Ezra snorted. "Tempting. But nah, I was thinking… a game?"

  Bruiser perked up. "Oho. You tryna run Total War again? Beat the hell out of each other for three hours?"

  Ezra thought about it—thought about the mind-numbing strategy, the pure, calculated destruction, the satisfying conquest of crushing his enemies beneath the weight of his superior tactics.

  And yet, somehow—It didn’t feel like enough. "Nah," he said slowly. "I need something… different."

  Bruiser squinted. "Different how?"

  Ezra hesitated. Then sighed. "I hate that I’m saying this, but… how about roleplay?" Bruiser blinked. Then grinned. Wickedly.

  "Oh, now we’re talking."

  "Alright, so here’s the deal," Ezra started, leaning back in his chair. "I’m the brilliant genius who just bought out the entire White-Coat organization."

  Bruiser chuckled darkly. "Oh-ho-ho, I see where this is going."

  Ezra smirked. "And you? You’re Clover."

  Bruiser froze mid-sip of his drink. "Wait, what?"

  "You heard me," Ezra said smugly. "You’re gonna roleplay as that authoritarian, four-legged, demon-woman who made my life a living hell."

  Bruiser cackled. "Oh, buddy, you have no idea what you just unleashed."

  Ezra cracked his knuckles. "Alright. Let’s begin."

  Scene: The Grand Office of Supreme Director Ezra Key

  Bruiser—playing the part of Clover—stood stiffly in front of Ezra’s lavish, oversized mahogany desk, her hands clasped behind her back, her golden eyes burning with restrained rage.

  Ezra leaned back in his throne-like chair, swirling a glass of the finest vintage liquor in his hand.

  "You look tense, Clover," he said lazily, kicking his feet up on the desk. "Is there a reason for that?"

  Bruiser—now fully committed to the bit—narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms with military precision. "I don’t trust you, Director Key," Bruiser growled. "You have seized power through means I do not approve of."

  Ezra smirked. "Oh? And what exactly are you going to do about it?"

  Bruiser huffed, shifting dramatically. "I am bound by duty, not by choice."

  Ezra leaned forward, grinning maliciously. "That’s right. Because you work for me now."

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Bruiser let out a low, theatrical growl. "You will regret this, Director Key."

  Ezra raised a brow. "Oh? Will I? Remind me again—who signs your paycheck?"

  Bruiser—fully embracing the frustration—slammed his fists onto the desk. "You insufferable man! I will not be treated like some—"

  Ezra casually cut him off with a flick of his wrist. "Shh. That’s enough out of you."

  Bruiser’s jaw clenched. "Excuse me?!"

  "You heard me." Ezra leaned back again, stretching. "Now, if you’d be so kind, I have some demands. First, I expect my coffee precisely five minutes before I even think about waking up."

  Bruiser’s eye twitched.

  "Second," Ezra continued smoothly, "I require you to praise me at least twice a day. I feel like our work relationship would benefit from some positive reinforcement."

  Bruiser glared. "You absolute, arrogant—"

  Ezra held up a hand. "Third," he smirked, "you will refer to me only as ‘My Lord Ezra’ from this day forward."

  Bruiser—fully immersed in the role—erupted into frustrated yelling. "YOU—YOU—UNBELIEVABLE—"

  Ezra cackled. Bruiser, laughing too hard to finish his insult, slammed a hand onto his desk. "Dude. I can’t take this seriously!"

  Ezra grinned, leaning into the camera. "Neither could she when she was bitch-slapping me across the goddamn room."

  Bruiser wheeze-laughed.

  "Alright, alright," he gasped between breaths. "One more, one more—this time, make me beg for my job."

  Ezra cracked his knuckles. "Oh, you have no idea what you just unleashed."

  They went at it for hours.

  By the end, Ezra felt lighter than he had in weeks.

  The stress wasn’t gone, but for a while, he could pretend that his problems were nothing more than a ridiculous, over-the-top game. Maybe he had been onto something when he suggested roleplay. But Ezra would never admit it out loud.

  Ezra sat there, half-drunk on laughter, half-exhausted from the sheer ridiculousness of the last few hours. The screen flickered with Bruiser’s grinning face, but behind that grin, Ezra could see it—That quiet, knowing look.

  Bruiser had always been the kind of guy to joke through everything, but he wasn’t oblivious. And right now, he was seeing right through Ezra. "You needed that," Bruiser said, voice softer than before.

  Ezra sighed, rubbing his temples, but there was no real exasperation behind it. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah, I think I did." A pause. Then, Ezra smirked. "You know, I hate to say this, but I’ve been taking your advice."

  Bruiser tilted his head slightly, amused. "Oh?"

  Ezra leaned back in his chair, watching the screen, his voice quieter now. "You said it back then," he murmured. "That this was bigger than me. And I wouldn’t have pursued it if it weren’t for your wise, sage-like wisdom."

  He gave a slow, deliberate nod.

  "Thanks, asshole."

  There was a beat of silence. Then Bruiser let out a loud, gut-wrenching laugh, shaking his head. "You ungrateful son of a bitch."

  Ezra grinned, chuckling under his breath. The screen flickered, but the warmth in the conversation didn’t fade. The two sat there for a few moments longer, letting the comfort of familiarity settle between them.

  Ezra wasn’t alone in this. And for now, that was enough. Finally, Bruiser stretched, yawning. "Alright, I gotta crash. Don’t get yourself killed in that insane place you work in."

  Ezra snorted. "No promises."

  Bruiser grinned. "Wouldn’t expect any."

  With that, they said their farewells, and the call clicked off. Ezra sat in the quiet for a long time after. The weight on his chest felt a little lighter now. Not gone. But bearable.

  Ezra had been preparing himself for this trip for weeks. It was fall, which meant one thing—duty called. He and Haru had to perform their annual safety inspection at the core. Ezra took this seriously.

  Haru? Haru was Haru.

  Ezra checked and double-checked the safety logs, ensuring everything was running at normal levels. He followed protocol down to the last detail, marking off each item on the pre-approved checklist.

  Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing unusual. Everything was going exactly as planned. Until he turned around—And Haru was gone. Ezra’s blood ran cold. He did a double take, scanning the area, expecting to see the kid idly messing with a console or sneaking candy out of his lab coat.

  Nothing. Not on the path. Not by the terminals. Not anywhere. Ezra felt his stomach twist into knots. This was bad. No—this was catastrophic.

  The Silent Legion had let them in under strict protocol, and now, the one thing Ezra was warned about—the ONE thing Clover explicitly told him was his responsibility—had just happened.

  He tried to play it cool as he scanned the area. Tried to act like everything was fine. But the Silent Legion guards were watching. Their unmoving stares bore into him, their silence deafening. They didn’t say anything. And somehow—that was worse.

  Ezra’s mind raced.

  He had to find Haru. Now.

  The search didn’t take long. Because then—He heard giggling.

  Ezra froze. His blood ran colder. It was coming from the walls. No—the vents. He felt his eye twitch. "He’s in the gyatdayum walls."

  Ezra scrambled, trying to locate which air duct the little gremlin had snuck into. His hands worked quickly, prying open a vent cover. Nothing. Then, another giggle—from the opposite direction. Ezra gritted his teeth, checking another vent. Still nothing. He was this close to ripping his own hair out. Desperate, out of options, and knowing that time was running out, Ezra did the dumbest possible thing.

  He hacked a restricted door panel. He knew better. He knew this was crossing a line. But right now, none of that mattered. All that mattered was getting Haru back before the Silent Legion decided that both of them weren’t worth the trouble. The panel sparked—the access lock overrode.

  With a loud hiss, the door slid open. Ezra barely had time to process the absolute worst-case scenario.

  Because on the other side of that door— Standing perfectly still, with one hand resting against the console like she had just been trying to open the same door from the other side—Was Clover.

  Ezra’s heart stopped. Her golden eyes locked onto him immediately. She didn’t react.

  Didn’t even flinch at the fact that Ezra had the panel wires hanging out of the outlet in his hands. They stood there, locked in a silent moment of pure horror. Ezra’s brain scrambled for an excuse.

  Electrical maintenance?

  A malfunction?

  Some bullshit about faulty wiring?

  Then—Before he could even open his mouth—Haru fell out of a ceiling vent. Right. Onto. The. Floor.

  Right. In front of Clover.

  Ezra saw his entire life flash before his eyes. Clover didn’t react. Not at first. She simply snapped her fingers. And then—Ezra felt them. The guards. There was no sound. No warning. One second, they weren’t there.

  The next—They were behind him.

  Ezra’s breath hitched, realizing that he hadn’t even heard them move. Haru was still on the floor, half-laughing like this was some goofy adventure. Ezra had seconds to react—seconds to make a choice. And he knew—If he said nothing, Haru would take the fall for this. That wasn’t happening.

  Ezra inhaled sharply. And then—he spoke. "It was me," he said.

  Clover’s brow raised slightly.

  Ezra pressed forward, not letting himself hesitate. "Haru wanted to play hide-and-seek," he said smoothly. "And I let him."

  Haru’s smile faded.

  Clover watched him for a long, slow moment. Then, she spoke. "Ezra Key," she said, calmly, neutrally, unshaken. "You were warned."

  Ezra felt a deep chill crawl up his spine.

  Then she took a step forward. "All actions," she murmured, "have consequences."

  Ezra hit the ground so hard he saw white. The first blow landed like a hammer to his ribs.

  Then another.

  Then another.

  It was methodical.

  Calculated.

  Not a blind beating, but a systematic punishment. Haru was frozen, watching in growing horror as the guards took turns, delivering precise, brutal strikes. Ezra could feel the bones crack, could taste the blood pooling in his mouth. Every part of him screamed. But he didn’t cry out. Didn’t give them the satisfaction.

  The beating only stopped when Haru moved. "Stop!" Haru’s voice cut through the air, filled with genuine panic.

  Ezra barely registered the moment when Haru threw himself between him and the guards.

  "He’s had enough!" Haru snapped.

  For a moment, there was silence. Ezra, dazed, barely conscious, heard the slow click of heels. Clover crouched. Eye level with Haru. The boy tensed. Her voice was quiet. Smooth. Cold. "Now do you understand?" she asked.

  Haru swallowed.

  "Ezra is your responsibility," she whispered.

  Haru’s face went pale. Clover held his wide-eyed gaze for a moment longer—Then stood. "Dismissed."

  The guards stepped back. Ezra felt his body go slack, barely able to hold himself up. The message was clear. They were in deep. Very, very deep. And now? Now, Ezra had to figure out how to survive it.

  Ezra had been through beatings before. Back when he was younger, back when his body could bounce back quicker, back when the pain didn’t settle into his bones like a permanent guest.

  But now?

  Now, he was running on pure adrenaline. Every step felt like hell. Every movement sent another wave of agony ripping through him. Yet—he had to keep moving. He had to get out of here. He had to get Haru back to safety. "Haru. Back to the elevator."

  For once, Haru didn’t argue. Didn’t whine, didn’t push back, didn’t crack a joke. He just nodded stiffly, his usual energy drained from him, and fell into step beside Ezra. The kid, for all his annoying genius, was completely out of his depth now.

  He tried to help—tried to wrap an arm around Ezra, to support his weight—But it only made things worse.

  Ezra let out a sharp hiss of pain, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached. "Stop," he muttered, voice hoarse, raw. "You’re—you’re making it worse."

  Haru immediately backed off, his hands hovering helplessly at his sides. Ezra forced himself to keep walking.

  They were almost to the medical bay when the worst possible thing happened. A familiar voice—two, actually—echoed from the hallway ahead. Mr. and Mrs. Kim. Haru’s parents. Ezra felt his pulse spike, but he didn’t have time to react before the two figures turned the corner.

  They had come to pick Haru up for the holidays personally. And the moment their eyes landed on Ezra’s battered, bloody form—Their expressions darkened with immediate concern.

  Mrs. Kim let out a sharp gasp, hand flying to her mouth. Mr. Kim’s brow furrowed, his posture tensing instantly. "What the hell happened?" Mr. Kim demanded.

  Ezra barely had the strength to lift his head, but he could see Haru’s mouth open, ready to spill everything. Ezra’s hand shot out—Firm. Unyielding.

  A heavy grip on Haru’s shoulder. "Graviton accident." Ezra managed through gritted teeth.

  A beat of silence. The air felt thick, weighted.

  Ezra fought the urge to wince, to stagger, to falter. "I’ll be fine," he said, swallowing back the pain. "Haru saved my life."

  Haru’s head snapped up to look at him.

  Ezra knew. He knew Haru could see the remnants of blood still dripping down his lip, knew he could hear the agony buried behind each word. But Haru remained silent. Because he got it.

  He finally got it.

  Ezra turned his hazy, half-focused gaze back to Mr. Kim. "Give your little hero something nice for Quarantinemas," he said, voice strained, but steady. Then, through sheer force of will, he straightened just enough to nod stiffly. "It’s nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Kim."

  There was a pause. A heavy moment where no one spoke. And then— Mr. Kim exhaled, stepping forward."You’re not walking to the medical bay alone," he said.

  Ezra didn’t argue. Because, frankly? He wasn’t sure if he could. The walk to the medical wing was quiet. Pain blurred the edges of Ezra’s vision, but he kept his head down, staring at the floor. Haru kept glancing at him, trying to read his expression— But Ezra’s face remained unreadable.

  There was nothing left to say. Nothing left to process. Haru would never forget this day.

  Ezra did what he could with first aid, but the real damage—the cracked bones, the deep bruises, the split lip, the exhaustion weighing down on his body like iron chains—That was going to need an actual doctor.

  At least—At least he’d have two weeks of recovery during Quarantinemas. Not that it would change what had happened. Not that it would change what he now knew for certain. They were in deep. And there was no getting out.

  Ezra tried to keep Julie from seeing him like this. Tried to put it off, to figure out an excuse, to find some way to keep her from worrying herself sick. But there was no hiding it.

  Not with the casts on his ribs and arm.

  Not with the bruises across his face.

  Not with the lingering stiffness that even the heavy dose of painkillers couldn’t fully dull.

  And so, as soon as she laid eyes on him, she gasped in horror. "Ezra—what happened to you?!"

  She rushed forward, hands hovering over him like she wanted to touch, to comfort, to confirm he was real, but didn’t know where it wouldn’t hurt. Ezra exhaled slowly, his body aching with every movement. "Graviton accident," he said, voice hoarse, but steady.

  Julie’s eyes flickered with doubt. She was too sharp to buy it immediately. But before she could press further—Something stirred in the room behind her.

  A small giggle. A tiny voice, full of joy. Ezra’s gaze drifted past Julie. And there he was.

  Adam.

  His son sat in a tiny cradle castle, completely lost in his own little world, playing with a soft toy, giggling to himself. Ezra felt something in his chest tighten. And suddenly, he knew. Why he had done it.

  Why he had taken the hit for Haru.

  Why he had acted on instinct, not logic.

  Why he had crossed a line he could never take back.

  Because Haru was just a kid.

  And what the Silent Legion did to him—what they made him witness—what they put him through—No kid should have to bear that. Ezra inhaled sharply, swallowing the pain, the exhaustion, the weight of everything pressing down on him.

  His gaze met Julie’s again. He offered her a small, tired smile. "Haru saved my life, Jules."

  She blinked. "What?"

  Ezra nodded, forcing himself to stand a little straighter, to steady his voice. "He saw something wrong before I did," Ezra said. "Warned me just in time. Could’ve been a hell of a lot worse."

  Julie was still skeptical, but—Adam giggled again, kicking his little legs. And just like that, her focus shifted. She turned, her expression softening as she watched their son, the worry still present, but muddled now with something deeper.

  Relief. Because despite everything, Ezra was still here. Battered, bruised, but here. Ezra sighed inwardly, knowing he had bought himself just enough time to hold things together. For now.

  Ezra should have seen this coming. Ciarra was too good at this. She had a knack—an almost supernatural talent—for timing things just right so that he was too compromised to fight back properly.

  And right now? He was faded beyond comprehension.

  The painkillers were working.

  The edible was kicking in.

  And Ciarra?

  Ciarra was casually dropping a nuclear bomb into his lap. "Looks like the Silent Legion did a number on you," she mused, gently pressing a cooling pad over one of his bruised ribs. Ezra, laying there half-mummified in casts and medical wraps, stared at her with the mental acuity of a potato.

  His brain knew he should be reacting—tensing up, panicking, questioning, anything—but his body? His body was having none of it. Instead, he let out a very slow, very delayed blink. "Whhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaattttt."

  Ciarra chuckled. Softly. Then, to make everything worse, she started petting him. Petting him. Like an actual cat. The fucking irony.

  Ezra wanted to protest. Wanted to voice his objections to the absolute absurdity of this situation. But his mouth didn’t work right. Not with this much weed in his system. Not after everything he’d just been through. And Ciarra?

  Ciarra was completely unbothered. She sat by his bedside, gently stroking his hair, her expression calm, yet distant—the look of someone who had seen too much and was too tired to fight anymore. "You probably have questions," she said softly.

  Ezra tried. He tried so hard. To formulate words. To sound coherent. To say literally anything intelligible. But what actually came out was—"Pbbbhfhffttt whaaa dya meaan Sil...hrrnng Lezzl?"

  Ciarra smirked, brushing a hand through his disheveled hair. "Mr. Key’s family wasn’t the first to stand up to the Silent Legion," she continued. "They’re… not bad people, per se. But they’re dealing with forces far beyond what humanity can even begin to imagine."

  Ezra narrowed his eyes in the best approximation of suspicion he could manage. Or maybe he just looked like he was trying to do math while concussed. Either way, his displeasure was noted.

  Ciarra sighed. "My family," she admitted, voice quieter now, "was among the first to stand up to them."

  A pause. Her hand, still petting him, trembled slightly. "You shouldn’t," she said, barely above a whisper.

  Ezra tilted his head, the movement sluggish, heavy.

  Ciarra inhaled shakily. "You have your own family to look after," she murmured. "Don’t…"

  She choked up. Ezra’s fogged mind latched onto that moment of weakness. "Dohhhnt whaaa?" he slurred, eyes half-lidded, slowly blinking one at a time.

  Ciarra swallowed, her grip on his hair tightening for a fraction of a second before she let go. "Don’t abandon your family," she whispered. "Chasing after something that’s not yours to reach for."

  Ezra stared at her. His brain was screaming. He had so many questions. So many things he needed to say. But the words refused to cooperate. Instead, what he actually said was— "Nnnnno but liiike…hffphphphppp wuuu ifff...nrrrrghh… whhhhy daaaahhh faaaaammmmilyyy issa… wwaaaahhhhrrrgggrghhh???"

  Ciarra blinked. A slow, bemused smile crept across her lips.

  Ezra, meanwhile, was completely unaware that his attempt at speech had just been pure gibberish.

  "I see the painkillers are working," she mused.

  Ezra tried again. "Buuhhhht— fffzznnnnrrrttt?"

  Ciarra giggled, shaking her head. "Shh, just rest."

  Ezra tried to glare at her. It didn’t work. Instead, he just looked like a very disgruntled, very high walrus. "Hhhrgnnghh."

  Ciarra smirked, resuming her gentle petting. "That’s what I thought."

  Ezra, high as absolute shit, vibrated at a frequency beyond human comprehension. His body was stationary, sure, but his mind? His mind was doing somersaults into the void. And Auntie Ciarra? Auntie Ciarra was amused.

  She hummed softly, continuing to pet him like some oversized, bedridden therapy cat, her fingers gently running through his hair. "You know," she murmured, "since you’re already in a dream state, why don’t I tell you a little story?"

  Ezra’s dilated pupils attempted to focus on her. His brain, desperate to form words, made a valiant effort. "…fwahhh… s’tory… yeaaahhhuhhhh…"

  Good enough.

  Ciarra chuckled, her voice soothing, distant, like the sound of waves lapping against a distant shore.

  "There once was a little girl," Ciarra began, "who didn’t have a father. None of the other children wanted to play with her. She was different. So she made an imaginary friend."

  Ezra blinked asynchronously, trying to process this information. His mouth moved before his brain caught up. "Ohhhhh, I had one’a those toooo… hi’name was Jeff’ington… buhhhhh he wuzz a lamp…"

  Ciarra smiled. "A lamp, huh?"

  Ezra nodded very, very slowly. Then stopped mid-motion as if he forgot what nodding was.

  Ciarra giggled softly and continued. "This little girl," she said, "wanted to do great things. And her imaginary friend encouraged her. She saved lives. She helped nature. She graduated at the top of her class. But…"

  Her voice trailed off. Ezra’s brows furrowed, trying to keep up. "Buhhhhhhhttt…?"

  Ciarra sighed. "The imaginary friend wasn’t her friend at all," she said softly.

  Ezra’s lagging brain clicked once. His eyes went wide. "OOOOOH NOOOOOO…!"

  Ciarra stifled a laugh, shaking her head. "Oh yes." "The friend," she murmured, "was the devil whispering in her ear. And what she once thought was helping others… Was actually hurting them."

  Ezra’s face twisted into an expression of genuine concern. Then, his lips parted, and he spoke with great wisdom. "Buhh thass just R00D."

  Ciarra let out a short snort of laughter before composing herself again. "The ‘nature’ she had helped turned against her. Her school? It burned to the ground. Because the foolish little girl had spread a bad disease."

  Ezra squinted hard, his fingers twitching slightly like he was trying to do math in his head. Then, he lifted a very wobbly hand, pointing at her."…soun’s… liiiiiiiike… y’need’a refund on that fwiendship."

  Ciarra choked on a laugh. "You’re not wrong."

  "The poor girl," Ciarra continued, voice growing softer, "was hated. She was alone. Everywhere she went, there was nowhere she could hide. Nowhere there wasn’t someone who despised her." She paused. "And all the while…" she murmured. "The devil laughed in her ear. Reminding her of her sins."

  Ezra, blinking at different speeds in each eye, reached out and took her hand. A clumsy, clunky motion, but sincere. Ciarra looked down, startled at first. Ezra’s fingers wrapped gently around hers, holding it with the full emotional weight of a man whose body was physically incapable of forming words properly.

  Ciarra swallowed.

  Ezra tried to speak, tried to offer something profound— "Awwww nuuuuuuuuhhhhh…!"

  Ciarra closed her eyes, shaking her head with a small, tearful laugh. "You are so high."

  Ezra nodded sagely. Then forgot he was nodding and just stared blankly at the ceiling.

  "But," Ciarra whispered, her voice trembling slightly, "there was one."

  Ezra’s glazed-over eyes tilted toward her.

  "One person," she continued, "who didn’t turn the little girl away. One brave man who let her join his family." She paused, swallowing thickly. "But it wasn’t meant to last."

  Ezra’s brows furrowed, his sluggish brain piecing things together in slow motion. "Waaaaaaiiiiitttttt…"

  Ciarra let out a shaky breath, voice wavering now. "The devil was still whispering," she murmured. "And in the end… Bad people came. To hurt her family. And she did what she had to do. She ran. Again."

  Ezra’s gut twisted. He wanted to sit up, to offer something—anything—to comfort her. But his body would not cooperate. So instead— He tugged on her hand, pulling her closer.

  Ciarra, caught off guard, allowed herself to be pulled against him. She let out a choked breath, then—without hesitation—resumed petting him.

  Ezra, barely able to process what was happening, just let it happen. "Hhrnnggghhh."

  Ciarra sighed, resting her forehead gently against his. "Yeah," she whispered. "That’s what I thought."

  Ciarra’s voice was soft, rhythmic, her fingers absently combing through Ezra’s hair as she continued her story. "Eventually," she murmured, "the little girl found out where the devil was hiding."

  Ezra, barely hanging onto reality, nodded sagely like he understood every word. "Mmmhff, yeahhh… bet’was undera bed… sneaky lil’ basturd…"

  Ciarra smiled, shaking her head. "No, not under a bed." She traced gentle circles on his arm, keeping her voice steady, calm, almost hypnotic. "She had to fight many demons just to learn the truth. But in the end, she managed. She found him."

  Ezra squinted, trying to process that. "Sheeee beat’da… demon… pants off’m?"

  Ciarra snorted. "Something like that."

  "Goo’ f’her… show’m wassup…"

  Ciarra chuckled, but her tone grew heavier. "But when the time came to defeat the devil once and for all…" She paused. "The devil won."

  Ezra’s brows twitched, his sluggish mind trying to catch up. "Wait… wut?"

  Ciarra let out a slow breath. "One last trick," she whispered. "One last cruel, final act." She held Ezra just a little tighter. "He banished her to lands unknown."

  Ezra, sufficiently high beyond all human comprehension, narrowed his eyes in slow motion. "…Dat’s some BULLSHIT!"

  Ciarra burst into soft laughter. "I thought you’d say that." And then— Ezra reached for her tail. His fingers brushed against the soft fur, and the moment his brain registered the sensation—Oh.

  Oh, this was fun.

  He gave it a little pet. Then another. Then, feeling exceptionally pleased with himself, he grinned like a fool and kept going.

  Ciarra, utterly delighted, laughed again. "You’re having fun, huh?"

  Ezra, slurring through his stoned bliss, muttered, "Whooo needs t’chase tail when ya can pet itttt?"

  Ciarra let out an unfiltered giggle, eyes gleaming with mischief.

  Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she climbed onto the bed with him, curling up comfortably beside him. She gently guided his hand back to her tail, letting him continue his grand adventure into feline-approved petting.

  Ezra, giddy as hell, let out a content sigh and melted into the bed. And then— Ezra purred. Not intentionally. Not ironically. Just—pure, instinctual, stoned satisfaction. Ciarra froze for a second, blinking. Then—she absolutely lost it.

  She giggled so hard she shook, burying her face in Ezra’s chest, her own purring mixing in with his. "You’re so cute when you’re like this," she murmured, nuzzling into him.

  Ezra, brain too fried to even argue, just grunted in vague agreement.

  And that’s when the door opened.

  Julie had come to check on Ezra, expecting to see him knocked out, recovering peacefully in bed. What she actually saw—Was Auntie Ciarra curled up beside him, tail wrapped comfortably around Ezra, both of them purring like a couple of smug-ass house cats.

  Ezra, high out of his mind, unable to function properly, blinked very, very slowly as his girlfriend stood in the doorway.

  His brain SCREAMED in panic. He had to say something. Anything. Something that could explain the situation.

  But what actually came out was—"Juhhhhhh… wha—hrrrrmmnnngggghhh…"

  Julie squinted. Ezra struggled. The words refused to cooperate.

  "Iz… issa… hhhhho—hhhhozzzzhhhh…"

  Ciarra, still snuggled up, grinned lazily at Julie.

  "Hey, Jules," she purred. "You’re just in time." Julie crossed her arms, raised a brow, and tilted her head very, very slowly.

  "In time for what?" she asked sweetly. Ezra, desperately trying to salvage this, pointed at Ciarra with all the confidence of a man who forgot what pointing was. "Sheeee tellin’… storystuff… ‘bout da devil… an’ thass bullshit!"

  Julie blinked. Looked at Ciarra. Then back at Ezra. Then at Ezra’s hand, still gripping Ciarra’s tail. Julie’s expression did not change. Ezra, brain realizing just a fraction too late that this looked bad, immediately panicked harder.

  "NONONONNOOOO—DASSNOT—IZZ JUS—HHRRRHHHGGGGG—"

  Julie sighed, shaking her head. "Alright," she muttered.

  Then she turned to Ciarra. "You."

  Ciarra blinked innocently. "Me?"

  Julie’s eyes narrowed. "If you don’t make some space, I’m grabbing a spray bottle."

  Ezra choked.

  Ciarra giggled.

  Julie, calmly, as if it was an undeniable truth of the universe, added—"And then I’m stealing my man for smooches."

  Ciarra, purring deviously, scooted over just slightly.

  Julie plopped onto the bed, grabbing Ezra’s dazed, confused, thoroughly ruined self and immediately kissed him on the forehead.

  Ezra’s entire soul had left his body at this point.

  Ciarra happily resumed petting him.

  Julie leaned in close, smirking. "You’re never living this down."

  Ezra, barely functioning, murmured, "…hhhhhrrnnnngggghhh."

  Julie grinned victoriously. And thus, the ultimate group cuddle commenced.

  Ezra is finally seeing the cost of knowledge—the price of asking too many questions, of getting too close to the truth. But at what point do you stop searching? At what point do you turn back, pretend you never saw anything, and move on?