Emma woke to the cedar-scented air, the green walls and botanical prints of Noah's reality grounding her in their familiar strangeness. Lily's trembling confession—"Ethan said you'd find us"—and the sketch of the hospital bracelet with the looping symbol still burned in her mind, weaving together with Sophie's frail hope, Ethan's vision of Lily and Noah, and the promise of Paris. The weight of Lily's words—Ethan, a boy from her hospital days, giving her a bracelet from a doctor who saved him—felt like a key, but the lock remained elusive. Emma slipped out of bed, the plush carpet soft under her feet, David's steady breathing a constant in her fractured world. Noah's guarded sketches, his cryptic claim that Ethan and Lily were his lost friends, pulled her toward him, desperate to uncover what he knew.
Noah's room was lit by the soft glow of his desk lamp, his telescope trained on the dawn sky. He sat hunched over his notebook, sketching the looping symbol with a feverish intensity, stars and constellations spiraling around it. His glasses reflected the light, his small frame tense, as if guarding a secret too heavy to carry. Emma paused in the doorway, her heart aching at his isolation, so like Lily's fear, Ethan's desperation, yet uniquely his own.
"Noah," she said, her voice soft, kneeling beside him, "can we talk about your drawings? About Ethan and Lily?"
He froze, his pencil pausing mid-stroke, his gray eyes flicking to her, wary but searching. "I told you," he said, his voice quiet, "they're just in my stories." But his fingers tightened around the pencil, and Emma saw the lie in the tremble of his hand.
She pulled the bracelet from her pocket, its looping symbol glinting in the lamplight. "This isn't just a story," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Lily had one like this, said it came from Ethan, from a hospital when they were kids. Sophie has one, too. You draw it, Noah. You said they were your friends, that I'd find them in Paris. What do you know?"
Noah's breath hitched, his eyes locking on the bracelet, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. "Where did you get that?" he whispered, his voice trembling, reaching for it but stopping short.
Emma held it steady, her heart racing. "From Lily," she said. "She said Ethan gave it to her, from a doctor—maybe me. Noah, were you with them? In the hospital?"
Noah's face paled, his hands dropping to his notebook, clutching it like a lifeline. "I… I don't remember," he said, his voice barely audible, but his eyes glistened, and Emma saw the weight of a memory he couldn't—or wouldn't—face.
David's voice interrupted, calling from the kitchen. "Emma, Noah, breakfast!" His tone was warm but edged with worry, a familiar refrain across realities.
Emma touched Noah's shoulder, her voice soft. "We'll talk later, okay? I'm not giving up." He didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the bracelet, but he didn't pull away. In the kitchen, David was setting out plates, his face bright but strained, the coffee pot steaming.
"You're up early," David said, glancing at her. "Noah okay? He's been quieter than usual."
Emma sat, her hands trembling as she reached for her mug. "He's drawing that symbol again," she said, her voice low, urgent. "The one I've seen with Ethan and Lily. David, he knows them. He called them his friends, said they were lost. I showed him the bracelet, and he recognized it."
David's face fell, his hands pausing on the counter. "Emma, please," he said, his voice breaking. "You're doing it again. There's no Ethan or Lily. Noah's just… imaginative. You're feeding into it, and it's not healthy—for him or you."
Emma's frustration flared, her hand clutching the bracelet in her pocket. "It's not imagination," she said, her voice trembling. "Lily told me about Ethan, a boy in the hospital with her. Sophie's fighting cancer, wearing the same bracelet. Noah's drawing their names, talking about Paris. They're real, David, and I'm not stopping until I understand."
David ran a hand through his hair, his voice rising. "Emma, you need help," he said, his eyes glistening. "You're scaring Noah. You're scaring me. Paris is just a trip, a chance to get away. Don't turn it into something it's not."
Emma stood, her chair scraping against the floor. "It's not just a trip," she said, her voice fierce, pulling the bracelet out. "This was Lily's. Ethan gave it to her. Noah knows it. They're connected, and Paris is where I'll find them."
David stared at the bracelet, his expression wavering, but he shook his head. "It's a coincidence," he said, his voice hollow. "Emma, I'm calling a doctor today."
She didn't answer, turning back to Noah's room, but he was gone, his notebook left open on the desk. A new sketch caught her eye—a hospital ward, three beds, three children with vague faces, each wearing a bracelet with the looping symbol. Below it, in Noah's careful script: "They said you'd save us. Paris is where we wait."
Emma's breath caught, her heart pounding. She clutched the note, her mind spinning. Noah's words, Lily's memory, Ethan's vision—they were converging, and Paris was no longer a distant promise. It was a destination, a collision of her realities, where the truth about her children—her past—would finally come to light. She had to go, no matter how much David doubted, no matter how fragile her world became.