Noah Langford -November 2120
Finn's voice comes through the call, steady and matter-of-fact. "Everything went fine. We're heading back with the counterfeits."
I lean back in my chair as I listen. "Good. Stay cautious on the return route."
The call ends shortly after that.
Silence settles back into the lab almost immediately. I let myself exhale properly and press my fingers to my eyes for a moment, not because I am tired in any meaningful way, but to clear my focus.
The counterfeits are secured. That removes one problem.
Ideally, GeneX would have been dealt with first, but once they located the site, waiting stopped being an option. It was a reaction rather than a plan, but it was still the correct one.
Now that's done, that only leaves GeneX, the facility, my father, 002, and Kai.
Kai... Its been three weeks and he's still unconsious.
All his readings are stable. No physical decline, but no sign of recovery either. There's no clear explanation that fits what we're seeing. It doesn't make sense in any straightforward way, and that's what makes it difficult to ignore.
I stop myself there. Thinking in circles won't help him. He's stable and that's the only fact I can rely on right now.
He'll wake up. I know he will.
I check the clock and realise more time had passed than I thought.
The coffee Thomas left earlier was still on the desk now gone cold. I drink it quickly, not really tasting it, then pushed my chair back and stand.
The lab has become a place I just work through. Everything is organised enough to function, and I stay in it because there's always something to do. I only sleep when I have to. Edmund, Finn, and Ethan already made their feelings about that clear after they found me asleep at my desk and said they'd stop me coming in if it happened again.
They were serious, even if the idea itself wasn't realistic.
There wasn't anything urgent until Finn got back, so I stretch once and leave the lab.
Outside, the cold hit immediately. I pull my hands closer to my body as I cross the field, breathing into them now and then just to take the edge off. It doesn't help much, but it was something to do while I walk.
I push open the door to the medical ward and everything was as it usually was.
Ethan is sitting beside Kai's bed, reading aloud and holding his hand.
I walk into the room quietly and take the chair on the other side of the bed, careful not to interrupt Ethan.
He doesn't pause. He just keeps reading, voice steady, soft against the constant beeping of the heart monitor.
"Stars are not just lights in the sky, but old promises still finding their way back to us. They shine long after their moment has passed, as if love itself refuses to stop travelling."
He turns the page slowly. The sound is small, but in the silence it feels precise, intentional.
I let my eyes close for a moment. The monitor keeps its rhythm, indifferent, mechanical, but Ethan's voice sits over it in a way that makes the room feel less sharp around the edges.
He continues reading.
"Even when a star is gone, its light still arrives. And in that way, nothing truly beautiful ever disappears."
He closes the book gently, like he is setting something down that matters more than paper.
I open my eyes and look at him. "You seem to be a fan of stars."
Ethan leans forward slightly and places the book on the counter beside him. His movements stay careful, as if the room might break if he disturbs it too much.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "I used to go stargazing a lot with my family when I was younger."
His gaze drifts briefly to Kai's hand before returning to the space between us.
"Me and Kai did it as well," he adds, voice softening.
There is a pause. Not empty, just full of things neither of us interrupts.
I glance at Kai. The monitor keeps counting out his condition in steady, unchanged beats.
"Kai always tries to name constellations," Ethan continues. "Even when he isn't sure. Especially when he isn't sure."
A small breath leaves him, almost a laugh but not quite.
"He is wrong most of the time."
His hand tightens slightly around Kai's and the room falls quiet again, but it doesn't feel empty. Just suspended.
Ethan leans over and gently brushes Kai's hair out of his face, his fingers lingering there a moment longer than necessary, like he is checking that Kai is still real.
I watch him. "His hair is getting long" I say quietly.
Ethan doesn't stop. He keeps smoothing it back with an easy, repetitive motion. "Yeah," he murmurs.
A pause settles between us, filled only by the monitor's steady beeping.
"Once he wakes up, I'm sure he's going to complain about it straight away" I add.
That earns a small shift in Ethan's expression, something almost like a smile. "Yeah," he agrees again, softer this time. "He used to always hate it when it got too long."
The words sit there for a second.
I find myself smiling faintly, but it fades before it fully forms.
Ethan lets out a quiet laugh under his breath, still watching Kai. "You two really do look more alike when it gets like this."
I glance at Kai properly for the first time in a while. The resemblance is sharper now in the stillness, less softened by movement or expression.
Ethan's hand stays in Kai's hair, slower now, almost absent-minded. The humour doesn't quite leave his face, but it doesn't fully stay either.
"I guess so" I say. "That's most likely why he kept it a bit shorter"
Ethan looks up at me for a moment, then eases back into his chair again, still holding Kai's hand like it is something he has forgotten he can let go of.
"You know," he says quietly, eyes still on Kai, "I always wanted a brother. Someone to play with, laugh with. It must be nice… having a twin who's even closer."
I glance down at my hands for a second, not because they require attention, but because the alternative is looking at Kai for too long.
"Kai and I lived very different lives," I say. "But we were always close. Regardless of circumstances, he rarely maintained anger towards me for extended periods."
Ethan hums faintly, listening without interrupting.
"There are only two proper arguments I can recall between us," I continue. "One was when I pushed him too far that time in attempted to force disclosure regarding his suicide attempt."
The words land differently in a room like this. Clinical space, soft beeping, too much stillness to absorb something like that cleanly.
I pause and look at Kai.
That conversation is still intact in my memory. Too intact.
I see him standing there, exhausted in a way he tried to disguise. The way his posture shifted the moment I pressed too hard. The moment his patience stopped being sustainable.
He told me to leave and when his shadow moved.
It did not strike with intent to harm. It expanded fast, sharp at the edges, a controlled warning. A line drawn in something I could not physically touch.
I remember not stepping back quickly enough.
I remember thinking I could still continue the conversation.
I remember being wrong.
And then I remember silence after I finally left, because there was nothing left he wanted to say as he walked away.
Now he is here, and I cannot even return to that moment, because there is no version of him that answers.
Ethan's voice interrupts the thread before it tightens further. "And the other time?"
I lean back slightly in the chair and let my gaze drift up to the ceiling tiles. They are uniform and easier to look at than at Kai.
"It is not a particularly pleasant memory," I say.
Ethan shifts in his seat, the smallest change in posture, like he is recalibrating how much he is allowed to ask. "Oh. Sorry, I didn't mean to push."
"It is fine," I respond, bringing my attention back down. "It is simply context-dependent."
A brief pause.
"It is also how I learnt something about Kai that I was not originally meant to know" I say quietly.
The atmosphere in the room changes immediately, not loudly, just a subtle shift in attention.
Ethan leans forward a little, interest replacing caution almost instantly.
"Now I am interested" he says.
I exhale slowly, more out of habit than necessity, and shift my gaze back to Kai before speaking.
"It was not intentional discovery," I say.
Ethan stays quiet, waiting for me to continue.