The door to Linda's bedroom was locked.
I stood in the hallway, the phantom rush of wind from ARIA's flight still whispering against my skin, my mind reeling from the impossibility she'd just laid bare.
My hand hovered over the doorknob—hesitating in a way I hadn't hesitated in months. Power coursed through me, abilities that bent reality to my will, but here? In front of this simple wooden door? I felt small. Human.
Like the boy she'd raised, not the god I'd become.
"She's been crying for hours," ARIA's voice echoed softly in my mind, her gentle intrusion laced with concern. "She stopped about twenty minutes ago. I think she's exhausted herself."
"Is she asleep?"
"No. Just... quiet. Staring at the ceiling."
I closed my eyes, drawing a deep, steadying breath. The air in the hallway felt thick, heavy with unspoken weight. Then I knocked—soft, tentative, knuckles rapping against wood that suddenly seemed too fragile.
"Mom?"
Silence stretched, taut and aching.
