The plane touched down at Eastline Airport without turbulence.
Wynn Arden stepped out with the same measured composure he carried everywhere. Travel had never unsettled him. Cities changed, schedules shifted—none of it mattered.
Yet the moment he entered the terminal, something tightened in his chest.
The noise was sharper than he remembered. Conversations overlapped, announcements echoed, footsteps rushed past him. As he adjusted his coat, a familiar breeze brushed his skin.
He stopped.
Not startled.
Recognizing.
Wynn dismissed the sensation with a slow breath. Discomfort was not data.
"Dr. Arden," his driver greeted, bowing slightly. "Welcome back to Eastline."
Wynn nodded. "Let's go."
Streets That Remembered Him
The car moved through the city in steady silence.
Eastline had grown taller. Louder. Cafés spilled music onto sidewalks, students clustered near bookstores, and traffic flowed with impatient energy.
It should have felt unfamiliar.
Instead, it pressed against something already awake inside him.
Wynn watched the streets pass, jaw set.
He had not returned here by accident.
The Hospital Assignment
Eastline Branch Hospital stood at the edge of the district—smaller than the Arden flagship, worn by time rather than neglect.
The staff gathered quickly, relief evident in their posture.
"Dr. Arden, welcome. We weren't informed of your exact arrival."
"I don't require ceremony," Wynn replied. "Show me the reports."
Inside, the issues surfaced immediately.
Outdated systems.
Delayed protocols.
Departments functioning on habit rather than structure.
Wynn removed his coat, rolled back his sleeves, and took control with quiet authority.
"Prepare a full review," he said. "We begin today."
Hours passed in focused correction. He moved with precision, restoring order piece by piece.
Still, a subtle restlessness followed him—persistent, unexplainable.
As though his presence here served more than one purpose.
The Banyan Tree
Twilight had fallen when Wynn finally stepped outside.
Across the road, students streamed away from the university, laughter drifting through the air.
His gaze lifted toward the campus skyline.
His driver hesitated. "Sir… would you like to visit the old grounds? The banyan tree is still standing."
Wynn froze.
That tree.
He had first seen it at seven years old.
Even then, standing beneath its vast canopy, he had felt a strange unease—like something precious had slipped through his fingers before he ever knew its name.
As he grew older, the feeling deepened.
He returned to that tree often, drawn back without understanding why. Beneath its branches, the restlessness inside him would quiet. A sense of purpose—vague but steady—would take hold, as if he were meant to protect something the world could not see.
By eighteen, the visions began.
Fragments at first.
Someone collapsing into his arms.
A warmth fading too quickly.
A weight of guilt pressing down on his chest.
The images never formed a complete memory, but each visit left him shaken, sleepless, restless for days.
Eventually, he stopped going.
Avoidance was survival.
Yet now, years later, the thought of the tree did not repel him.
It called.
"Not tonight," Wynn said quietly. "But soon."
As he turned away, a warm breeze passed through the street, brushing his coat.
Wynn halted, hand lifting instinctively to his chest as his heartbeat faltered.
Across the city, Zen Hart laughed mid-sentence.
In another part of Eastline, Liya paused, fingers tightening around her glass.
Wynn noticed none of it.
Only that the distance he had maintained for years had finally closed.
And that returning to Eastline was not the beginning of something new—
but the continuation of something unfinished.
Wynn stood beneath the banyan tree for a long time and felt it clearly —
He had failed someone here once.
And fate had not brought him back to forgive him.