Ethan Knox - November 2120
I listen to every word Noah says like it matters more than anything else.
Because it does.
I don't interrupt or look away. I hold onto each detail, each pause, each shift in his tone, like if I let something slip past me, I'll lose something important. Something about Kai.
And the more he speaks, the heavier everything feels.
There's this ache sitting just beneath my ribs, steady and sharp, and no matter how tightly I hold onto Kai's hand, it doesn't go away. If anything, it deepens and spreads.
My thumb brushes gently over his knuckles, like I can anchor him here. Like I can remind him he's not alone.
But he doesn't move.
Kai must have been terrified.
Not just of what his dad did to him… but of Noah finding out. Of having the truth laid bare in a way he couldn't control.
I can almost feel it, the fear he must've carried. The quiet panic of wondering if the person who knows you best might look at you differently after.
Might not want to be around you anymore.
My chest tightens.
Because if there's one thing I know about Kai, it's that he feels things deeply, even when he doesn't show it. And the thought of him carrying that alone-
I swallow hard, tightening my grip on his hand just slightly.
Noah keeps talking. About their childhood. About who Kai used to be, the small things, the moments that shaped him.
And something in me aches in a different way.
It makes me miss him more.
Not just the version lying here, quiet and unreachable… but him. Fully. The way he smiles without realising it. The way he listens, the way he cares so quietly it almost goes unnoticed unless you're looking for it.
The room falls silent when Noah finishes.
Not an empty silence, but it's a heavy one. The kind that settles into your bones and stays there. The machines keep beeping, steady and rhythmic, and Kai's breathing follows its own quiet pattern beside it.
I focus on that.
On the sound of him still being here.
"I wish he would wake up soon" I say, my voice softer than I mean it to be.
Noah nods. "Me too."
We sit there for a moment longer, neither of us moving. Like leaving might break something fragile we can't see.
Then Noah's phone vibrates. The sound cuts through everything. He checks it and his expression shifting just slightly before he stands.
"The others are almost back."
I hesitate.
My eyes drift back to Kai, taking him in again, like I'm memorising him. Like I need to carry this version of him with me just in case.
I lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Letting it linger.
"Come back to me" I whisper under my breath, more instinct than thought.
Then I straighten.
I don't want to leave him. Every part of me resists it. But there's something else sitting in my chest too. Something restless... Something that won't settle until I know... Until I see the others return.
Ever since the facility mission, my mind hasn't been quiet. It keeps reaching ahead, pulling at possibilities I don't want to see. Outcomes I can't fully stop.
And the only thing that quiets it… even a little… is proof.
I need to see them alive.
I follow Noah out of the school, a step behind him. Watching him feels strange sometimes. Familiar, but not in a way I can fully place. He carries himself like someone who belongs wherever he stands.
There's a gravity to him like Edmund. People notice, even if they don't mean to. He moves through Trinity like it's always been his. Like he was always meant to be here.
Outside, the cold bites instantly. I zip my coat up to my chin and shove my hands into my pockets, trying to hold onto whatever warmth I can.
We wait. The quiet stretches, then headlights cut through the trees and a truck rolls toward us, tyres crunching softly before it comes to a stop.
My focus sharpens immediately as the doors open. Finn and Gerald climb out the front. I count without thinking. Gerald moves to the back, opening it, Daniel and Monica jump out of it. Everyone's here and the tension in my chest loosens, just slightly.
Finn heads straight for Noah.
"How did it go?" Noah asks.
Finn doesn't answer right away. He reaches out first, zipping Noah's coat up like it's automatic, like it's something he's done a hundred times before.
"We had a little hiccup," he says, calm, steady. "But we handled it. No further issues."
"Good." Noah exhales, and I catch it, the way the tension leaves him.
One less future to worry about for him.
I wish it worked the same for me but my mind doesn't settle that easily. Instead I move toward the back of the truck, as if drawn to it. The doors are open and as I look Inside I see cases stacked together and packed tightly.
There are so many of them, each one feels like a problem waiting to happen.
"If these got out, things would've been bad" Monica says, leaning against the door.
"Yeah," I murmur. "You did good getting them all."
Daniel steps up beside me, close enough that I can feel the shared weight of it without him saying anything. We just stand there, looking. Thinking, the same thought, the same question.
"Why would Ray do this?" I ask quietly.
Daniel exhales, running a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed on the cases.
"He didn't start out this way," he says. "He just ended up fighting for the wrong side."
The words linger between us, heavy and unmoving, as Ray's name settles into the space like something that no longer quite belongs to the person we knew.
We had known him for years, trained beside him, trusted him without question. He had been more than just a teammate. He had been ours, someone woven into the same life we all shared.
I swallow against the weight of it and glance at Daniel. "It must've been hard on you… stopping him."
Daniel doesn't answer straight away. His gaze stays fixed on the crates, distant, like part of him is still standing in that moment. When he finally exhales, it's slow, measured.
"Well…" he begins, his voice quieter than usual, "I'm just glad Kai was the one who put an end to it." His jaw tightens slightly before he adds, "I don't think I could've done it."
There's no hesitation in his words, no attempt to hide behind something stronger. Just honesty, plain and unguarded, which somehow makes it sit heavier.
He turns then and pats my back, firm but reassuring. "Come on. What's done is done." His tone softens as he steps away, heading back toward the school.
I follow him, though the thought lingers that it doesn't feel done, not really.
The cold air sharpens as we approach the entrance, and I notice movement ahead. Edmund and Thomas are already there, standing near the doors as if they've been waiting.
Edmund steps forward slightly, his posture composed, his presence steady as ever. His gaze moves across the group, taking each of them in.
"You did well tonight," he says, his voice calm but firm. "With these out of the public's hands, we've prevented more lives from being ruined by what's inside those vials."
It should feel like a victory. Like something worth acknowledging, even celebrating. But no one reacts that way. The weight of what it took to get here lingers too heavily, pressing down on the moment until it feels muted.
Monica shifts beside the truck, her arms crossed tightly "What are we supposed to do with them now?" she asks.
It's a simple question, but it carries an edge of unease that doesn't go unnoticed. For a moment, no one answers. Instead, almost instinctively, everyone's attention turns to Noah, as if the decision has already been placed in his hands.
Noah stands still, his expression thoughtful as he considers it. There's a quiet intensity to the way he thinks, like he's already running through every possible outcome before choosing the one that leaves the least risk behind.
After a few seconds, he speaks.
"Drive the truck off the cliff" he says, his tone even.
The suggestion lands with more weight than expected, not because it's shocking, but because of how final it feels.
"The ocean will take care of them."
Silence follows, not filled with protest, but with understanding. The logic is clear. The ocean leaves no trace, no opportunity for anything to resurface or fall into the wrong hands again.
I glance back toward the truck, toward the rows of sealed cases sitting in the dim light, each one holding something capable of causing damage far beyond what we've already seen.
A part of me feels uneasy at the thought, but another part knows he's right.
When I look back at Noah, there's no doubt in his expression. He's already settled on the decision, already accepted what needs to be done, and somehow that certainty makes it easier for the rest of us to accept it too.
And with that, we all make our way to the cliff top.
The air changes as soon as we arrive. It's harsher here, stripped bare by the wind, carrying a cold that cuts straight through fabric and settles into skin. Below us, the ocean crashes against the rock face with restless force, waves striking the edges below like they're trying to wear the land down bit by bit.
No one speaks much as we gather at the edge.
Finn moves first. He opens the back of the truck and climbs in without hesitation, the glow of the interior light briefly lighting him up. One by one, he checks something at the controls, his movements calm and practiced, like he's done hard things enough times for them to stop feeling dramatic.
When he finishes, he steps back down and shuts the door.
The engine shifts and the truck begins to roll forward.
Slowly at first, then with growing inevitability as gravity takes over. No one stops it. No one moves to interfere. We all just stand there, watching as it edges closer to the drop, the sound of tyres against the ground fading into the roar of the sea below.
Then it tips.
For a moment it hangs there, suspended between ground and air, before it falls.
The crates vanish with it, swallowed by the drop as the truck tumbles out of sight. The impact comes a second later, distant but final, followed by the ocean surging up to meet it like it was waiting all along.
Silence returns.
Even the wind feels quieter now, like it's caught its breath.
I lift my gaze without meaning to, drawn upward instead of down. The sky is clear tonight, vast and deep, scattered with stars that look almost impossibly steady compared to everything beneath them.
Something tight sits in my chest as I look at them. This should feel like closure. Like victory. But all I can think about is Kai.
I wish he were here.
Not just here, standing beside me, but awake. Able to see this moment the way we do. To know this part of our mission is finally over. To breathe in the same cold air and look at the same sky.
Because even surrounded by everyone, even with the job done and the danger gone, it doesn't feel complete without him.
And somehow, under all that wide, quiet sky, that thought hurts more than anything else.