DR. KWAME POV
While the boys were busy squabbling over the trunk space, I stayed back in the kitchen for a moment. My hands, which had been as steady as a surgeon's while I was dismantling Lyra's nervous system, were finally trembling. I leaned against the counter, staring at the empty plates.
I had lied to Adam. The pancake wasn't just "fuel." It was a recipe I had memorized thirty-six years ago—the only thing I had left of a life before I became a ghost in a lab.
I reached into the inner pocket of my coat and pulled out a small, worn photograph. It was a woman with eyes like Adam's and a smile that had the same mischievous tilt as Eve's. She was laughing, her hand resting on the shoulder of a much younger, much less tired version of me.
"I'm trying," I whispered to the empty room. "But they're getting so strong. I don't know if I'm raising them or just sharpening them."
"Dad! Adam is using the 'Divine Glow' to see in the dark corners of the trunk and it's hurting my eyes!" Eve's voice drifted in from the driveway, followed by a muffled thud and a string of creative curses.
I sighed, tucked the photo back over my heart, and wiped the counter one last time. I couldn't be the man in that photo anymore, but I could still be the man who made sure they had enough syrup.
I walked out to the driveway. The two of them were standing by the car—Adam was holding a heavy suitcase with one finger, looking bored, while Eve was trying to balance a stack of shoeboxes on his head using a localized gravity field.
"Get in the car," I said, my voice stern but lacking the "God-tier" edge from the night before. "And Eve? If those boxes fall and scratch the paint, you're walking to the next state."
"You wouldn't do that to your favorite son," Eve chirped, hopping into the backseat.
"I have two sons, Eve. By the law of averages, one of you is bound to be the favorite. Don't test the math today."
Adam climbed into the driver's seat, his movements still precise, but he hesitated before starting the engine. He looked at me through the rearview mirror—that logical, searching gaze.
"Father," Adam said. "The syrup was... adequate. Thank you."
It was the closest thing to a 'love you' I was ever going to get from a boy submerged in Divine Impulse. I nodded, looking out the window as we pulled away from the ruined beach house.
"Don't get used to it," I muttered, but I reached over and adjusted the climate control so it was exactly the temperature Eve liked.