The opulent, marble-and-gold bathroom seemed to be closing in on them. The cloying scent of expensive soap mixed with the acrid tang of their fear. The muffled sounds of the sophisticated party—classical music and polite laughter—drifted from the other side of the door, a stark contrast to the chaos they had just escaped on the roof.
Kael was leaning against the cold door, eyes shut, breathing raggedly. The temporal jump, even just a few seconds, had left his mind feeling scooped out and his temples throbbing. It was as if every cell in his body had been stretched and then violently snapped back into place.
"Kael?" Lyra's voice was a whisper, thick with worry.
She stood before him, her hands on his shoulders. Her fingers trembled slightly. She scanned his face, looking for signs of injury, her own eyes reflecting the terror she'd felt when he used his power in such a new and frightening way.
"I'm okay," he whispered, finally opening his eyes. He gave her a small, tired smile. "Well, sort of. That was... intense."
"Intense?" she repeated, shaking her head. Her tone wasn't accusatory, but filled with deep concern. "Kael, you... you moved us through walls. You bent reality."
"I just shifted our threads," he corrected softly, using the terminology Elias had taught him. "Like sliding on a web. Just a little."
Across the room, Elias was braced over the sink, his hands gripping the white porcelain. His pale reflection in the mirror stared back, features twisted with a mix of pride and dread.
"No one 'slides' that easily, Kael," he said without turning, his voice rough. "Even for them, the Architects, it's a complex calculation. For you, it's becoming instinct. It's both miraculous and terrifying."
He pushed himself upright and turned to face them, his expression more vulnerable than they had ever seen it.
"I spent years struggling to just perceive the tremors in the lattice," he confessed. "I risked my soul for a fraction of the control you're wielding without a second thought. Every time you do it, it's like you're reminding me of everything I lost... and everything you could become."
A silence fell, heavy with the admission. Elias's jealousy and fear were palpable, but so was his brotherly love, desperately fighting against them.
Kael pushed off the door to stand straight. He looked at his brother, then at Lyra. All three of them were exhausted, scared, and bound together by a secret that could destroy them.
"I won't become like them, Elias," Kael promised, his voice firmer now. "I won't. Because I'm not alone. You faced the Oculus by yourself. You gave in because you had no one to pull you back." His gaze shifted to Lyra. "I have you two. You're my anchor. You remind me who I am."
Lyra squeezed his arm, a faint smile touching her lips. "And we'll remind you as many times as you need, even if you get sick of hearing it."
For the first time in a long time, a real laugh, weak but genuine, escaped Elias's lips. "Okay. Okay. Then let's focus. What do we do now? We're trapped in the enemy's fortress, in the heart of his den."
The immediate tension had dissipated, replaced by a reinforced sense of unity. They were a team.
Lyra, ever practical, went to the door and pressed her ear against the wood. "The music's still going. They haven't sounded a general alarm yet. They must still be searching the roof. We might still have a little time."
Kael closed his eyes, forcing himself to be still. He extended his perception, not to make another daring leap, but to listen. The room was filled with faint threads: the recent passage of a maid, the cologne of a guest who had freshened up hours earlier. And beyond the door, he could feel the wider, more complex web of the party. Dozens of personal timelines intertwined. He searched for the pattern he recognized—the cold precision of Alistair Finch.
"He's still out there," Kael murmured. "Not far. He's talking to someone... Thorne, I think. They're... calm. Too calm. They aren't panicking."
"They know we're cornered," Elias realized. "They're just sweeping the building. It's only a matter of time."
"Then we can't go out the door," Lyra concluded. She looked around, her sharp mind seeking a solution. Her eyes landed on the large air vent near the ceiling. "But maybe we don't need to use the door."
Elias followed her gaze. A real smile, tinged with his old cunning, spread across his face. "Ventilation shafts. Old building plans... they're always wider than modern code requires. Especially in luxury buildings where they hide the wiring."
As Elias and Lyra began unscrewing the vent cover with improvised tools from a drawer, Kael stood for a moment, letting the feeling of their bond settle over him. It wasn't the tumultuous connection of the temporal lattice, but something warmer, more constant. Lyra's unwavering loyalty. Elias's rediscovered hope. It was the perfect counterpoint to the cold call of the power he felt within himself.
Minutes later, as they slipped into the narrow darkness of the duct—Lyra in the lead, Elias bringing up the rear—Kael took one last look at the illuminated bathroom. They weren't safe. Far from it. But as they crawled through the darkness, the sound of their synchronized breathing was a powerful reminder: he wasn't a temporal prodigy or a weapon. He was Kael. And he was fighting to get back to the two people who mattered more than anything.
Cliffhanger: As they reached a junction in the ducts, a faint vibration ran through the metal structure. An amplified voice, calm and clear—Alistair Finch's—echoed through the entire building via the PA system. "Kael," the voice said, almost friendly. "That was an impressive demonstration. But this game of hide-and-seek is drawing to a close. Surrender, and I give you my word no harm will come to Lyra. Just take a look at the main lobby screen." A deathly chill settled over Kael. They had known where to look. They had known how to hit him. He scrambled to the next air vent grate, looking down into the lobby below. Lyra, beside him, stifled a gasp. On the large screen was a live feed of Lyra's house, where her little sister was playing in the garden.