Page 273 of Scarlet Wars
The cerulean portal hummed softly at his side, light rippling across the stone like something alive, waiting to be fed. His jaw worked once, twice. I could practically see the calculationsgrinding behind his eyes, risk versus control, revelation versus leverage.
Then, slowly, he exhaled.
“Very well,” he said at last; all stripped of its earlier certainty. “We’ll jump together, and when we get back, I’ll release your men to join us for the rest of our conversation.”
I held his gaze for another beat, staring at the man who had shaped my life before I ever took my first breath.
Then, I stepped toward the portal. The air around it shimmered, cool and electric against my skin. As I crossed the threshold, reality folded in on itself; light bending, sound collapsing, time stretching thin.
And then, we jumped.
I foundmyself in a sterile room, the walls an unforgiving shade of white. Empty, except for a large window spanning the far wall.
I stepped toward it, heart hammering painfully against my ribs.
Where I saw them.
My parents.
Younger, but unmistakably them. Alive. Whole.
My breath hitched, and tears welled instantly, blurring my vision. A sob clawed up my throat as I rushed toward the door, nearly tearing it off its hinges in my desperation to reach them.
But the door wouldn’t budge.
“We’re in my past. You can only watch it like a movie.” Gordon’s voice was soft, almost gentle, as he squeezed my arm in understanding.
I pressed my palms flat against the cold glass, my chest rising and falling in shallow gasps as I stared at the two people I’dmissed so much it felt like the loss had stolen all the air from my lungs.
Before I could spiral—before I could break over how close they were—the door behind me opened.
It was him, the same man standing beside me now, only in a blue shirt instead of black.
Past Gordon walked to the other side of the room, near the wall. The same age, same face, except this one’s expression was blank. Detached. His arms were crossed over his chest as he stared through the glass at my parents.
My mom lay on the hospital bed, her dark hair damp with sweat and clinging to her face. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. My dad stood beside her, his hand wrapped tightly around hers, his other hand brushing tenderly over her hair.
He bent down, resting his chin against the top of her head as he whispered something into her ear. His thumb traced the back of her hand, grounding her as her body tensed beneath him.
My heart hammered painfully in my chest. “This is my birth?”
Gordon nodded once, his focus never leaving the window.
“You were there?” I glanced past him, at the man on the opposite side of the room.
“I watched every second of you coming into this world.”
Inside the delivery room, my mom cried out. Her face twisted in pain, as my dad’s hold on her tightened.
Past Gordon didn’t move. He seemed cold, but beneath that icy exterior, there was something fragile, a crack in the armor. His mouth pressed into a thin line. And yet…his hand curled slightly, his knuckles whitening before he forced them to relax. Like part of him was fighting not to cross that distance. Fighting himself.
I almost started to feel sorry for him.Almost.
My mom’s cry split the air, raw enough to make my chest tighten. Then the sound of a baby’s thin wail followed, weak but steady.
Mywail.
Tears streaked down my mom’s cheeks as the nurse placed the newborn—me—into her arms. My dad leaned down, pressing a trembling kiss to my mom’s temple as he cradled her shaking hand. His other hand brushed over the baby's head—myhead—like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
