Five worked with the windows open, sending Ben another email about possible locations to hit in the coming days, along with updates on Patch beyond the FBI reports. As soon as he sent it, his screen lit up with an incoming video call.
"Hey, Ben." Five was surprised to see Ben's exhausted face on the screen.
"Hi, Five!" Jennifer poked her head into the frame before quickly vanishing.
"Hey," Ben nodded, visibly drained. "Got your email. Did you meet Dr. Gold?"
Five waved as a silver-haired man with glasses slid into view. "Briefly, yes. Nice to meet you, Doctor."
"We traced the lab equipment's source," Dr. Gold chimed in. "Check your email."
Five opened the message, scrolling through crime scene photos, close-ups of the stolen machine, website screenshots, and a detailed equipment description. "IA testing?" he muttered, skimming the files. "Where's the source?"
Ben explained, "We searched NYPD databases—hospitals, government facilities, private labs—nothing. Then we thought it might be a university with high funding and a strong STEM program. That's when this came up."
Ben shared his screen, displaying NYU's biomechanical engineering program.
"In 2021, they reported a stolen Siemens machine. The case went cold—typical NYPD—but they had a suspect: a grad student who quit his program the day after the theft. He vanished, hasn't been seen since. Here's his profile from their old website." A portrait of a young graduate student appeared, alongside an article titled, Bonding Humans with Chemistry: How IA Testing Could Change Human Genetics in the Next 50 Years.
Ben scrolled past the page, but Five stopped him. "Wait... I've seen him before."
Ben scrolled back. "Where?"
"I think I saw him yesterday. At Union Square during the attack." Five quickly pulled up footage from the scene, scanning until he spotted a familiar face with longer hair. He screenshotted it and sent it to Ben.
"He wasn't arrested, so he's still out there," Dr. Gold said, looking at the face, his voice steady but tense. "If he studied biomechanical engineering, he might have his own lab by now."
Five nodded. "Sounds like it. We'll follow the lead." Five rubbed his eyes, weary, "Thanks for the lead. Will keep you updated." He saw them nod and click off the call.
He printed out the screenshot, the theft report, and a list of nearby locations, setting them aside to show the family. Pushing himself off his chair, he headed to the kitchen for a drink—anything to shut off his racing thoughts. Grabbing a crystal glass, he reached for the cupboard.
"Kiddos are looking for you," Lila said, bouncing down the stairs and leaning over the kitchen island with a grin. "They want you to read a bedtime story."
He chuckled. "Your daughter presented an argument I couldn't refute. She's definitely yours." He placed the crystal glass back and opted for water instead, chugging the entire mug with a relieved sigh.
"That's actually really cute," Lila teased, stepping closer. "Kinda hot, too." She bit her lip, eyes gleaming with mischief.
Five laughed. "Hold that thought. Let's see if they still like me after story time. Could be a disaster."
"Still..." Lila pulled him into a kiss, fierce and hungry. Five laughed into her lips, setting the mug down to kiss her properly.
"Uncle FIVE! IT'S TIME!" Grace's voice rang out from her room, making them both laugh.
"Duty calls," he grinned, backing away. As he turned, Lila gave his ass a playful slap. He grimaced jokingly before skipping up the stairs, disappearing to face his worst nightmare.
—
"What do you mean, it's gone?" Eudora slammed her hand on the cold, metallic interrogation table. The room had no windows, just a dim, eerie light that made time feel nonexistent. It was intentional part of the psychological game. Deprive suspects of control, of time, and they'd crack.
Across from her sat the eighth man she'd interrogated today. Only 24 hours left before she had to release them to their lawyers. The pressure weighed on her shoulders, and she wondered if it showed. She stood facing her reflection in the mirror, noting the stress etched into her brow. She placed a hand on her hip and turned back to him.
"All I've heard today is 'I don't know' and 'It's not here anymore.'" She turned back to the skinny man in front of her. He was eighth in line for a reason. She'd made him watch his friends return, shaken and empty-handed, hoping he'd crack. He was a sheep, a loyal foot soldier with curious ears.
Eudora leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. "You're telling me…" she opened the file to find his name, "Milton, that the entire collection of 'The Cleanse' is just gone? All that evidence, disappeared from your vault?"
Milton's brow twitched, and Eudora felt the tug—he was close to breaking. She leaned forward, turning the file around. "Milton, you're not a great liar. Look at your record: juvie for gang activity, B , assault, in and out of psych wards. Then, boom—nothing. You got sucked into The Cleanse a year ago. Visited a facility, got convinced, and now here you are." She flipped to the next page, showing him a mugshot and the location of his last known meeting place.
"I know you're smart. Your type doesn't join cults…" another lie, "unless they really buy into it." She slid a photo of the raided facility across the table. "But when we investigated, there was not a thing in there, zip, nada. So, tell me, Milton, how do hundreds of objects, supposedly from other timelines, just vanish?"
Milton kept his head down. Eudora's patience was wearing thin.
"Milton, I believe you. You wouldn't join some facade without checking it out first. But all I've got is a bunch of witnesses pointing at an empty barn." She shoved his mugshot closer.
"I saw it. I'm not lying," Milton whispered, rattling his cuffed hands. "It was real. Genuine. I saw movies with different actors, comic books… about the Umbrella Academy. They had powers. You should be arresting them, not me. I'm just trying to restore the true timeline."
"Good. Okay. So. Where is it?" Eudora spread her hands and raised an eyebrow.
"I don't know!" Milton's voice cracked. "It was there. I read the comics every morning. Then the day after the energy surge, it was just GONE. IT MUST HAVE BEEN THEM!"
"You're telling me these comic book characters are real?" Eudora raised an eyebrow but held back her disbelief. Right now, she had to play along.
"Yes! Seven of them. No names, just numbers. Born on the same day, October 1st, 1989, all over the world. A scientist adopted them, trained them. They're like vigilantes, but their powers split the timelines. We're in a false reality, just side effects of their existence."
Milton was sweating, shaking. Eudora narrowed her eyes. These keywords she would have normally ignored, suddenly felt incredibly real.
"What are their powers?" she asked, pushing him further.
"They caused the energy surge. Don't you see? Their powers are… alien." He struggled for the words. "Super strength, telekinesis, metal manipulation, raising the dead. There's even one who can travel through time."
Eudora's pulse quickened at the mention of metal manipulation but kept her face neutral. The people behind the glass couldn't know what that detail meant to her.
"…Milton. Thank you for your time." She snapped the file shut, stood up, and walked toward the door. Milton's desperate cries echoed behind her.
"Jesus. What a nut job." Director Lancaster shook his head. He meant well, but Eudora barely processed what he said, with millions of thought crashing into her all at once.
"I know, right?" She forced a smile, feigning agreement. "I'll get to the next guy in ten minutes."
"Take care, Agent Patch." He nodded and headed back to his office.
As soon as he was out of sight, Eudora slipped into the emergency stairwell and bolted up the stairs. Her mind raced, flooded with thoughts of the alien material she'd held in her hand last night, and the eyes she'd seen beneath that mask. Reaching the rooftop, she caught her breath and let out a small scream into the empty sky. Shoving her hands through her hair, she tried to make sense of it all. No one in the building would believe her, not even with evidence. But with everything she knew, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was in way over her head.
Her hands trembled as she pulled out the burner phone from her pocket, struggling to find the contact folder. Even though he'd threatened to block her, she called him anyway.
"Eudora. Miss me already?" His voice was smug, as always. "I'm blocking you after this call."
"Tonight," she said breathlessly, "we need to talk. Tonight."
"I'm busy." His tone was curt.
"I DON'T CARE." She yelled, her frustration boiling over. "YOU FIND ME AND EXPLAIN THIS NOW, NUMBER TWO." she mocked out his name.
"Even if it could kill you?" His voice lowered, almost a whisper.
"You don't know that" she muttered, staring out over the city.
"What if I do?"
"I have 15 suspects downstairs, all rambling nonsense. I have a murder board with no victims, suspects with no real evidence, and NOW I have to write reports on fairy tales." Eudora screamed into the open air, pacing the rooftop. "This case is DRIVING ME INSANE!" She yanked the phone away from her face and screamed into it. "You know, on a normal day, this would mean nothing, but now I have to believe it. BECAUSE OF YOU!" She suddenly gasped and put her hand on her mouth. "Oh my god, I'm losing it, aren't I?" She rested the phone on her forehead, breathing heavily. "Yep. Time to check into a psych ward."
"Eudora~" The voice on the phone sang, and she groaned, "Eudo~ra."
"What?!" She snapped.
"How's 8 PM?"
"What?" She blinked in confusion.
"8 PM. Behind your apartment. West alley." He snapped his phone shut.
She stared at the screen, seeing "Number Two" flash before it went dark. She wanted to chuck the phone off the ledge but instead muttered, "Just six hours. Hold it together for six hours."
When Diego received Patch's manic call, he knew there was no stopping her from getting what she wanted. They had only met twelve hours ago, but in that short time, her mind had unraveled under the weight of unanswered questions. That was typical of Patch—once something lodged itself in her head, she wouldn't rest until she found the truth. And somehow, in that brief window, she'd already managed to piece together fragments of the bigger picture. Diego had hoped to keep her in the dark, to let her focus on the blank, uniform side of the puzzle while he faced the brutal, chaotic image on the other side. He didn't want her to see the true colors of this mess—the violence, the danger, the trauma that came with knowing too much. So, he showed her his abilities, thinking it would scare her enough to back off, to keep her from flipping the puzzle over and revealing the nightmare beneath.
But instead of fear, Patch met him with defiance. She didn't flinch, didn't waver. Her boldness caught him off guard, making him realize he had underestimated her completely. She wasn't intimidated by the truth—she craved it. While Diego had wanted to protect her from the horrors of the situation, Patch seemed determined to dive straight into the madness, no matter the cost. In trying to frighten her, it was Diego who ended up shaken. Her relentless pursuit for answers, her refusal to back down or ask for permission, left him feeling unsettled. Patch wasn't just another curious bystander—she was a force. And that terrified him more than any danger he could face on his own.
After dinner, Diego quietly planned his next move. He intended to sneak out again later, but first, he made sure Grace and Claire had everything they needed for the next day—supplies, clothes, and their morning routine in order.
"I'll take you to school tomorrow, okay?" Diego said, sitting on the edge of their bed, looking at both girls.
"Okay! Are we riding the train again?" Grace asked eagerly, already snuggling under her blanket.
"Yep," Diego nodded, tucking her in.
"Can I swipe us in again?" Grace's eyes lit up with excitement.
Diego tilted his head in confusion. "When have you ever done that?"
"With Uncle Five! When we went to register at school," Grace replied, absentmindedly playing with her sheets.
Diego raised an eyebrow but chuckled. "Right. Sure, you can swipe us all in tomorrow."
He kissed her on the forehead and turned to Claire. "Who is reading your bedtime story tonight?"
"We asked Uncle Five earlier," Claire said, holding up the book with a satisfied grin.
"Wait... Five? Reading a bedtime story?" Diego couldn't hide his disbelief, his face twisting into a grimace. Five, of all people, reading to kids—it was almost too absurd to picture.
"We're really excited!" Grace squealed, bouncing a little under the covers.
Diego raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Well... good luck with that." He waved goodnight and headed for the door, but paused when he heard Grace's excited voice carry down the hall. Glancing back, he saw Five climbing the stairs.
"No way. Are you seriously doing it?" Diego gasped dramatically, half-mocking, half-amused. He couldn't fathom Five actually sitting down to read a story. Five shot him an icy glare and flipped him the bird.
"Hey, wait up." Diego caught up to him before he could escape into the girls' room. "Any updates or leads from Ben?" he asked, lowering his voice.
Five sighed, his expression darkening as he rubbed his temples. "Yeah. I just talked to Ben. The lab equipment in the cabin? Turns out it was stolen in 2021 by a grad student. Can't remember his name, but he's our next lead on tracking down more bullets." Five's brows furrowed, the weight of the situation clearly getting to him. "What about you? Any progress with Patch?"
"Not much. Just feeding her general leads, keeping her away from anything to do with the bullets." Diego shrugged nonchalantly, deciding to leave out the part where he'd revealed his powers to Patch. "I've got her distracted with a mole in her building."
"Good. Keep her off the trail." Five leaned in closer, his voice dropping, but Diego continued.
"Listen, I talked to one of the leaders from the Union Square attack. He mentioned gathering people on an online forum—TrueTimelineNetwork. Someone sent him files with a manifesto and instructions for the whole thing. Said the attack was meant to be a distraction."
"A distraction? For what?" Five asked, his brows knitting together in confusion.
Diego shrugged. "No idea. But it's something big. We'll need to dig deeper."
With a curt nod, Five turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway toward the girls' room.
Diego stood there for a moment, lost in thought. The idea of the attack being a distraction gnawed at him. What were they really hiding? Shaking it off for now, he closed the door to his room and locked it quietly. Moving quickly, he changed into his usual clothes and secured his mask in place. Grabbing a few extra files, he climbed out the window, disappearing into the night to meet Patch once again.
—
Five cleared his throat and knocked softly on the open door. Grace squealed with excitement and patted the edge of the bed, waving him over. Five smiled—genuinely, this time—and took the book from Claire, who handed it to him with a look of anticipation.
"Are you sure you want me to do this?" He raised an eyebrow as he saw the cover, remembering that he began reading it at 13. He would pay to experience it for the first time.
"Yes! Yes! Hurry, Chapter 2!" Grace giggled, flipping the book open and nudging him to start.
Five settled back against the footboard and began reading, doing his best to infuse the story with emotion, even if it felt strange. He tried to sound animated during the dialogue and kept a steady tone for the rest, adding subtle emphasis in important sections.
"... for probably I might carry about me several weapons, which must needs be dangerous things, if they answered the bulk of so prodigious a pers-" Five read on, about halfway through the chapter, when Grace interrupted, her voice suddenly soft.
"Uncle Five?" She asked, glancing up at him, her wide eyes serious. Claire, too, turned to her, puzzled.
"Yeah?" Five responded, lowering the book. His voice had relaxed, his mind absorbed in a story he hadn't touched in decades.
"Why did those people attack the school?" Grace whispered, almost afraid of the question.
Five froze for a second, blinking. The weight of it hit him, and for a moment, he wished Lila were here to help him. "Because," he began, searching for the right words, "sometimes people get confused about what's right and what's true."
Grace furrowed her brow. "How do you know which is which?"
"When people think they're right, they'll do anything to defend it. Like the attack. But the truth... the truth is something people eventually accept, even if it takes time." He tried to be as straightforward as possible. Grace had already seen so much of the world's violence—lying to her wouldn't protect her.
"If they come again... to attack us... will you save us?" Her small hands twisted nervously in the sheets.
"Always," Five said softly, taken aback by the vulnerability in her question. "I'll always be there."
There was a long pause. Then Grace asked again, "Uncle Five, do you think I could train to be like you? Maybe... be your partner?"
"Maybe," Five muttered, trying to avoid the subject. "When you're older."
Grace pouted, clearly dissatisfied with his answer.
"Kid, listen," Five leaned closer, locking eyes with her. "You focus on being a kid for now. Let me worry about the rest, alright?"
"I'm not a kid anymore. Can I get powers?" Claire piped up suddenly, sitting straighter.
Five blinked at her, then chuckled. "Uh, yeah... you're still a kid, Claire. Why are you both so obsessed with this?"
"Because!" Claire shot up, excitement radiating off her. "It was the coolest thing ever! You were like the Crystal Gems, helping people. We teleported! That's... that's a pretty insane Tuesday!"
Five couldn't help but laugh. "I see. Well, like the Crystal Gems, not every mission is Steven-friendly. I'll let you know if there's one that's... safe. How about that?"
"Ugh, fine." Claire flopped back onto the bed, clearly disappointed. Grace giggled, still hopeful for her chance.
Five stood up and marked the page, closing the book. "Alright, let's call it a night."
"What? You didn't even finish the chapter," Grace grumbled.
"Yeah, but you used up all your questions and favors for tonight. Try again tomorrow." He teased as he got up from the bed.
"How many questions do we get per day?" Grace protested, wide-eyed. "Nobody told me there was a limit!"
Five laughed out loud at her expression. He crouched beside her bed, close enough to tease. "How many do you want, huh? Pick wisely." He playfully looked at her through his eyebrows.
Grace's face scrunched in concentration as she tried to think of the biggest number she knew. "Uh... 100?"
"100? You want me to answer 100 questions a day?" He ran a hand through his hair, in disbelief. "I'll give you 10. That's more than fair."
Grace grinned and shook his hand, clearly delighted. Five glanced over at Claire. "That work for you too? Ten questions a day?" Claire nodded with a grin, satisfied with the deal. Five leaned over to shake her hand as well.
He circled the room and turned off the lamp. "Goodnight, girls."
"'Night, Uncle Five," Claire mumbled. "Goodnight," Grace whispered.
As Five quietly shut the door behind him, he spotted Lila sitting against the wall, just out of sight. Her eyes sparkled with amusement.
"You were there the whole time?" Five whispered, sitting down next to her. "I could've really used your help back there."
Lila let out a quiet laugh. "I know. You should've heard the panic in your voice."
"I hope I didn't scare them," Five said, squeezing her hand as she slipped it into his.
"They're already scared. I think you made them feel safe." Lila leaned her head against the wall, studying him with soft eyes. She gave his hand a grateful squeeze.
Five chuckled and pulled her closer. "Did you hear them asking about powers?"
"I did. You handled it well. Who says you're not good with kids?" She teased, nudging him.
"Trust me, these kids are just good to me. I'm not really doing anything." Five sighed, resting his head on hers, letting the quiet of the moment calm him.
Lila's voice softened. "You'd make a great dad, you know." She kissed the corner of his mouth. "You're already spoiling those two in there."
Five shook his head slightly. "I've never thought about it. Never stayed in one place too long to think about that. I'm just trying not to ruin them. So, they can still see the good in the world. So, they know it's not all ugly." He stared at the bookshelf, tracing the spines of worn novels with his eyes. "You make the world bearable, Lila."
She looked at him with a tenderness that made his breath catch. He stared back, "What?"
"You're just..." Lila couldn't find the words for how she felt about him in that moment. Instead, she leaned in and kissed him, pulling him close, hoping he could feel the depth of her love. She hoped he understood.
—
"You look stressed, Eudora. What's wrong?" Diego asked, watching as her head snapped up at him. He gracefully jumped down from the fire escape, landing softly.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me, right?" she hissed, arms crossed, eyes blazing with annoyance and fury. The same familiar twitch in her eyebrow appeared, the one Diego always found amusing. He couldn't help but laugh.
"Stop laughing," she snapped, slapping his arm in frustration. "Do you even know the kind of fucking day I've had?"
"Enlighten me." Diego smirked, barely managing to stifle his laughter.
"Fifteen, Number Two! Fifteen motherfucking suspects. All talking about aliens, umbrellas, and fucking timelines. All. Damn. Day." Her words came out in a rapid, angry whisper, each one laced with disbelief.
Diego shrugged, faking indifference. "They're just crazy. Maybe you did hallucinate that night."
Patch's eyes narrowed dangerously. "If I hallucinated, I wouldn't be seeing you here right now or be able to do this." She shoved him hard, annoyance clear in her movements.
"Okay, okay, Eudora." He chuckled, staggering back with his hands raised in mock surrender. "I'll stop teasing you."
"And stop. Calling me that," she said through gritted teeth, her frustration rising.
"It's your name!" Diego laughed again. "What do you want me to call you?"
"Patch. Agent. Literally anything else. Hell, I'll even answer to Larry," she groaned, rolling her eyes in exasperation.
Diego grinned, eyes softening for a moment. "I like Eudora. It's... pretty," he said quietly, with a slight shrug.
The change in his tone caught her off guard. She blinked, trying to keep her composure, but Diego saw the flicker in her expression. It was the same look she gave him when they were dating—a mixture of surprise and something she couldn't quite hide. She always reacted like this when she heard her full name, and Diego liked that he could still get to her, even after everything.
But Patch wasn't one to linger on moments like that. Abruptly, she changed the subject. "Let's just talk inside. I want answers tonight. Even if I'm covering for you, I need to know what I'm covering," she huffed, as though she couldn't believe she had to spell it out for him. She started heading for the front door of her apartment, moving quickly.
Diego whistled to get her attention. "Let's choose a better entrance. Fewer eyes, fewer cameras." He motioned toward the service door and gave the knob a rattle, checking if it was locked. Sure enough, it was.
"I don't have keys for—" she began, but Diego had already twisted the metal with his fingers. There was a soft click as he fashioned it into a makeshift key, perfectly shaped with matching grooves and ridges. It was the same metal she'd seen float inches from her face to threaten a suspect, now molded to suit his needs. He twisted it back into a knife with an effortless motion, smirking as he held the door open for her.
Patch rolled her eyes but stepped through.
As they waited for the elevator, she remembered at the security camera mounted on the elevator. Diego, already ahead of her, twirled his knife between his fingers, eyes calculating. The moment the elevator doors opened with a soft ding, he flicked his wrist, sending the knife soaring through the air. It liquefied mid-flight, taking a sharp turn before slithering up the walls and covering the camera lens in a thin metallic film.
Patch stared, her frustration momentarily replaced by amazement. The elevator doors slid shut, and she pressed the button for the twelfth floor. She was quiet, visibly holding back her questions, but her expression betrayed her. It was like watching a dam about to burst.
When the elevator doors opened again, the metallic film peeled away from the camera and returned to Diego, reshaping itself into a knife before he smoothly tucked it back into his holster. He watched as Patch hurried down the hallway, her anger still palpable. She fumbled with her keys, rattling them against the lock in her haste to get them inside. Once the door was open, she checked the hallway quickly before pulling him in and locking the door behind them.
Her need for answers was almost tangible now, but Diego just leaned against the wall, watching her with that same amused grin he always wore when he knew he had the upper hand. The tension in the air was thick, and it was clear she wasn't going to let him off the hook easily this time.
She grabbed his arm roughly and dragged him toward her bedroom with a determined urgency.
"Whoa, at least buy me dinner first," Diego quipped, pretending to protest. She groaned loudly, fed up with the teasing, and pulled him along with more force. He stumbled slightly but didn't resist as she sat him on the edge of her bed, glad she made it this morning.
Without missing a beat, she turned and strode to her closet, yanking open both doors and flicking a switch inside. She didn't bother turning on the bedroom lights, and a single exposed bulb in the closet cast a warm, almost eerie glow over them.
Diego let out a low whistle of surprise. The closet door, which appeared normal at first glance, was a chaotic display of faces, post-its, and articles. In the center of the right door was a piece of white printer paper with a red question mark scrawled over and over in various shapes, as though she'd been deep in thought while writing it. Above it, she'd scribbled victim(s?). Diego scanned the faces, many of which he recognized. His eyes landed on the leader they'd questioned the night before, and he nodded to himself.
She was watching him closely, hoping he'd make sense of the jumbled map she'd created. Without saying a word, she grabbed a sticky note from the shelf, wrote a large "2" on it, and slapped it over the question mark.
"That's you," she said, almost in a mocking tone. "Victim is a questionable term, but whatever. Do you see all these people?" Her tone shifted to one you'd use when explaining something to a child. "Check marks mean arrested, X's mean dead. Now, which ones did you kill and why?"
Diego's face remained impassive. "I'm not answering that," he said flatly, his expression unreadable. He knew she was getting frustrated, and she didn't bother hiding it.
"Fine," she sighed. "Let's try yes or no questions."
Diego raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Alright."
She scratched at her eyebrow, clearly thinking. "Are you the reason why these people are attacking now?"
"Yes, but you're partly to blame too. You did taunt them on live television," Diego added with a nonchalant nod as he continued scanning her notes.
Her hands slapped together, exasperated. "You're infuriating." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "Okay, next one. Are there more than one of you with abilities?"
"Yes."
She waited for more, but Diego gave her nothing. "That's it?" she asked, exasperated again.
Diego shrugged, and she sighed before moving on. "Are the Umbrella Academy comics based on the truth?"
"Yes. Well, some parts are dramatized, but for the most part… yeah. But that's a different timeline, so it barely matters."
She blinked, taken aback. "So, the alien, the powers, the siblings, everything?"
"Mhm," Diego answered, as if he wasn't dropping a bombshell on her worldview. His casual tone rattled her, making her realize just how deep she was in. She'd invited an alien vigilante—armed to the teeth—into her home for answers. For a moment, she wondered if she was losing her grip on reality.
Diego noticed her pale. "Eudora. Don't tell me I'm scaring you now," he teased.
"Should I be?" she asked cautiously, feeling a shiver of doubt.
Diego's reply was too fast. "No. Never."
She wanted to believe him. Somehow, against all logic, she did. Her mind raced with questions, but she forced herself to focus. She turned back to the closet door, staring at the red question mark. "Aren't you hurting more than you're saving?"
"No. I've already saved the world twice. That's a few billion, right?" Diego said it with such casual confidence that she had to stop and look at him, incredulous.
"Wait—like, in this timeline? In this world?" She couldn't believe she was even entertaining this conversation.
"Yeah, like three days ago," he answered, not even flinching.
Her eyes drifted to the sticky note she had placed on the question mark. "Are these people—these fuckers—trying to end the world?"
"Yes," he said, and suddenly his presence felt much closer. The heat radiating off him was palpable, making her skin prickle with an odd combination of tension and awareness.
"Are the bullets you're tracking the trigger for the end?" Her voice was barely above a whisper now.
"Yes."
She swallowed hard, her breath catching as she processed the reality of it. This was real. He was real. The weight of it all bore down on her. Her next question came out before she could stop herself. "Did I die? In the other timeline, before the end?"
Diego's jaw tightened. He hated how quickly she was putting the pieces together. "Yes."
"How?" She turned to face him, realizing how close they were standing. There was a morbid curiosity in her voice—an urge to understand what their relationship had been in the other timeline, how far it had gone.
Diego smirked, shaking his head. "That's not a yes or no question. Don't get greedy now." He reached into his vest and pulled out a small stack of files, handing them to her. "A better gift for you this time."
She took the files and began rifling through them, flipping past unfamiliar faces and names. As she studied the pages, Diego flicked a finger at one of the photos. "Where did the examiner lead you?" he asked, nodding to the man in the picture, with no links above him.
"Still tailing him. We gave him a week off for 'health reasons.' So far, he's gone to the same bodega in Harlem, Park and 125th, seven times. Something's going on there," she muttered, her eyes still focused on the file.
"Alright, I'll handle it," Diego said, already planning his next move.
"No, no, no." Patch stood up, suddenly blocking his path. "My guys are on it. Don't do this. Let me handle it." She stared up at him, desperation creeping into her voice. She knew he wouldn't listen, but she had to try.
"You've got enough on your plate," he said, nodding toward the files. "I'm not going to interfere. Just look around."
"Why do I even bother?" she muttered, slumping back onto the bed. Her hands absentmindedly flipped through the pages again, her thoughts elsewhere.
Diego moved toward the door, pausing. "Any more questions?" he asked, already halfway out.
"Yes," she said, her voice hesitant. "You once said you couldn't lose me. Were we… together? Before?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer, but like a moth drawn to a flame, the question slipped from her lips.
Diego hesitated. "No. Just work partners." He saw her eyes flicker, and for a split second, he couldn't tell if she was relieved or disappointed. He wasn't going to let his emotions complicate things. Not again. "See you later, Eudora," he said, slipping out the door.
The click of the door echoed through the room. She sighed, still able to smell him lingering in the air. Everything he had confirmed today shattered her understanding of the world and rebuilt it into something new. Something stranger. But there was exhilaration too—a rush from knowing the world was so much bigger than she had imagined. Despite his insistence that he wasn't the important part of this, she knew deep down that at the center of it all, it was of Form
