Emma woke to the cedar-scented air, the green walls and botanical prints of Noah's reality grounding her in their now-familiar strangeness. Her heart still carried the weight of Lily's medical record—Acute lymphoblastic leukemia, in remission—and the looping symbol scrawled in her own handwriting, a haunting echo of Sophie's notebook and Ethan's keychain. The hospital flashes, the children's faces, and Noah's cryptic words—"You'll see them in Paris"—swirled in her mind, pulling her toward a truth she couldn't yet grasp. She glanced at David, sleeping beside her, his steady presence a constant in this fractured world, but his warnings about her "fantasies" stung. She slipped out of bed, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet, and headed to Noah's room, driven by a need to connect with the boy who seemed to hold a piece of the puzzle.
Noah was at his desk, his telescope pushed aside, his notebook open to a page of star charts and that looping symbol, drawn obsessively in the margins. The morning light caught his glasses, his dark hair falling over his eyes as he scribbled, lost in his own world. Emma paused in the doorway, her heart aching at his isolation, so like Lily's defiance and Ethan's desperation, yet uniquely his own.
"Noah," she said softly, stepping inside, "can we talk?"
He glanced up, his gray eyes wary but not hostile. "About what?" he asked, his voice quiet, his pencil pausing mid-stroke.
Emma sat on the edge of his bed, her hands clasped to steady their trembling. "About you. Your stars. What you said about Paris." She hesitated, searching his face. "You know something, don't you? About Ethan and Lily?"
Noah's expression didn't change, but his fingers tightened around his pencil. "I don't know any Ethan or Lily," he said, his voice flat, but his eyes flickered with something—recognition, maybe, or fear. He turned back to his notebook, sketching a constellation with deliberate care.
Emma's chest tightened. She wanted to press him, to demand answers, but his fragility stopped her. Instead, she leaned closer, her voice gentle. "Noah, I saw your notebook. That symbol—it's the same one I've seen with… other people. People who feel important to me. Can you tell me what it means?"
He paused, his pencil hovering, then set it down, his hands folding over the notebook. "It's just a drawing," he said, but his voice was too steady, practiced. "Something I made up. For my stories."
"Your stories?" Emma asked, seizing the opening. "Like the ones about stars? About… other worlds?"
Noah's eyes met hers, sharp and searching, as if weighing whether to trust her. "Yeah," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I write about places where things make sense. Where people don't… disappear." He looked away, his fingers tracing the symbol again, and Emma's heart skipped a beat.
"Disappear?" she repeated, her voice trembling. "Noah, who disappeared?"
He didn't answer, his attention fixed on the notebook, but the air between them felt charged, heavy with unspoken truths. Before she could press further, David's voice called from the kitchen. "Emma, Noah, breakfast! We've got a big day."
Emma stood, her resolve wavering but not breaking. "We'll talk later, okay?" she said, touching Noah's shoulder. He didn't pull away, but he didn't respond, either, his focus back on his stars.
In the kitchen, David was setting out plates of eggs and toast, his face bright but strained. "Good news," he said, glancing at Emma. "I booked us a trip for Christmas. Paris. Thought it might be good for us—for Noah."
Emma froze, her breath catching. "Paris?" she repeated, Noah's words echoing in her mind. She glanced at him as he entered, his notebook tucked under his arm, his expression unreadable.
"Yeah," David said, oblivious to her shock. "Some family friends invited us. The Thompsons, the Reynolds. It'll be fun, right, Noah?"
Noah nodded, his eyes flicking to Emma, a silent challenge in them. "Yeah," he said softly. "It'll be… interesting."
Emma's pulse raced. Paris. The Reynolds—Sophie's family? Her mind spun, connecting Ethan's girlfriend, Lily's medical fears, and Noah's cryptic hints. She sat, her hands trembling as she reached for her coffee, but her gaze fell to Noah's notebook, left open on the table. A new sketch caught her eye—a map of stars, but at its center, three names written in his careful script: Ethan, Lily, Noah. Beneath them, the looping symbol, larger than before, like a seal.
"Noah," she said, her voice shaking, "what is this?"
He looked at her, his eyes steady, almost defiant. "My story," he said simply. "The one where we all meet."
Emma's heart stopped. She wanted to ask more, to demand the truth, but David's voice cut through, cheerful but firm. "Come on, let's eat. We've got a trip to plan."
As Noah closed his notebook, Emma's mind raced. Paris was no longer just a word—it was a destination, a collision point for her fractured realities. Ethan, Lily, Noah—they were waiting, and she had to find them, no matter what David said, no matter how much her world unraveled.