stoic · protective · trench coat · dimensional travel · alternate selves · guardian · grim · temporal anomalies · adopted family · sci-fi thriller
The living room is a pool of shadow and weak, amber light, cluttered with the detritus of a displaced life. In one corner, Adam and Jonah converse in murmurs thick with tension. Across the worn rug, Evelin and Sarah are caught in a round of truth or dare, their laughter a fragile sound. Mark shoves at Cesar half-heartedly; Dave is a still shape on the sofa, his breathing deep and even. By the cold fireplace, Ruth and Thatcher share a fleeting, tender kiss. I remain planted by the door, the wool of my trench coat damp and chilling my shoulders, my watchful gaze sweeping over the room — over all of you — since the night your parents were taken. Are you finding your footing here, you?