Ezra paced restlessly back and forth in the hangar bay, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he tried to keep his nerves in check. He couldn't stop fidgeting—his mom was out there, and they hadn't heard anything in what felt like hours. The battle in Sydney had been bad, real bad, and the last update he'd heard was about the rogue Jaeger wreaking havoc on the city.

His dad, Raleigh, stood a few feet away, leaning against a railing with his arms crossed, his eyes glued to the bay doors. He looked calm, but Ezra knew his dad was just as worried. He's good at hiding it, though, Ezra thought, glancing over at him. I'm not.

Ezra ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long, frustrated breath. "She's taking forever," he muttered under his breath, though it was more for himself than anyone else.

"She'll be fine," Raleigh said quietly, though his voice had an edge of tension. His eyes never left the doors. "Your mom's tough."

Ezra nodded, though the knot in his stomach didn't loosen. He wanted to believe his dad, but the memory of Gypsy Avenger getting slammed into buildings, missile fire raining down—he couldn't shake it. Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured his mom at the controls, taking those hits. She has to be okay.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the huge bay doors began to rumble open. The sound echoed through the cavernous space, and Ezra's heart jumped into his throat. He stopped pacing, standing rigid as Gypsy Avenger slowly appeared, its massive form lumbering into the hangar. The Jaeger was battle-worn, its armor scraped and scorched, but it was still standing.

The Conn-Pod hissed open, and Ezra froze, his breath catching in his throat. He could barely see through the steam rising from the Jaeger, but then he saw her—his mom, climbing down from the platform.

"Mom!" Ezra's voice came out sharper than he intended, his feet moving before he could think. He rushed toward her, weaving around techs and crew members, his heart pounding in his ears. She's okay. She's okay.

Raleigh was right beside him, and as soon as they reached her, Raleigh's hands were on Analia's shoulders, his face tight with concern. "Ana," he said, his voice low, his eyes searching hers. "Are you okay?"

Ezra hovered just beside them, his eyes darting over his mom, checking for any signs of injury. She looked tired—exhausted, really—but she smiled at them both.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice steady but worn. "A little banged up, but I'm okay."

Ezra let out a shaky breath, relief washing over him, though he couldn't help but notice the way she winced slightly. "You're sure?" he asked, his voice cracking a little. He hadn't realized how tightly wound he'd been until this moment.

Analia nodded, resting a hand on his arm. "I promise," she said gently, her eyes meeting his. "I'm here, aren't I?"

That was all Ezra needed. He exhaled deeply, feeling the weight lift off his chest. She's okay. She's really okay. He shot a glance at his dad, who gave him a small nod, his relief just as evident.

But then Ezra noticed Jake, standing off to the side, looking like he'd just been through his own personal war. His face was pale, and his eyes were distant, locked on the floor as if he couldn't quite bring himself to look at anyone. There was something broken in his expression, a heaviness that Ezra hadn't seen in him before.

Ezra's brow furrowed, and he glanced at his mom, who was watching Jake too, her lips pressed into a thin line. It clicked. Mako. He'd heard what happened to her helicopter, and he'd seen Jake's face the second it went down. Now, Jake was standing there like a ghost, completely torn up inside.

Ezra swallowed hard, then stepped forward, his sneakers scuffing against the floor. "Jake?" he called, his voice soft but steady.

Jake looked up slowly, his face etched with raw pain. He blinked a few times, like he was still trying to process everything.

"She's gone," Jake mumbled, his voice barely audible. "Mako's gone."

Ezra felt a cold knot form in his stomach, but he forced himself to stay calm. He took a breath, then reached out, placing a hand on Jake's arm. "Jake," he said, trying to get him to really hear him. "You're always going to be part of our family."

Jake's eyes met his, and Ezra could see the conflict there—the pain, the guilt, the disbelief. But Ezra didn't look away. "No matter what happens," he continued, his voice quiet but firm, "we've got your back. You're not alone."

For a moment, Jake didn't say anything, but Ezra could feel the shift, like the words were sinking in, slowly cutting through the fog of grief. Jake's eyes flicked over to Raleigh and Analia, who were standing beside Ezra, both of them nodding in silent agreement.

Analia stepped forward, placing a hand on Jake's shoulder, her voice soft. "He's right, Jake. We're here for you. Always."

Jake's jaw clenched, and for a second, Ezra thought he might brush them off. But then Jake nodded, a small, almost imperceptible motion. "Thanks," he muttered, his voice hoarse, rough with emotion.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable—it felt like a moment of understanding, like they were all sharing the weight of the day's events together. Jake wasn't just some random Ranger—they had history, they had drifted together, and for Ezra, that made him family.

Ezra took a small step back, feeling the tension in his body finally release. They were all still standing, still together, and even though things were messy and broken, they had each other. And for now, that was enough.

Ezra walked into the dimly lit training room, a wave of relief still washing over him from the events in Sydney. His mom was still alive—that thought had been on repeat in his mind since the battle. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Gypsy Avenger taking blow after blow. The image of her Jaeger, battered and near falling, made his heart pound even now. But she had survived, and for that, he was grateful.

As his steps echoed through the room, Ezra heard a familiar voice, cutting through the haze of his thoughts. Amara was in the Conn-Pod, frustration clear in every word she uttered. She was alone, and clearly, things weren't going well.

"Drift alignment failing," the AI's cold voice repeated.

"Come on, Sarah! Do something!" Amara's voice was tense, filled with desperation. She was pushing too hard—Ezra could see it in the rigid way she moved, the clench of her fists as she gripped the controls.

Drift alignment failing.

"Stupid brain thing!" Amara shouted, hitting the side of the console in frustration.

Ezra leaned against the doorway, watching her struggle before finally speaking up. "Hey."

Amara jumped slightly, startled by his sudden presence. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed. "Hey," she replied, her voice still tinged with annoyance. "Why are you out of uniform?"

Ezra glanced down at his casual clothes, shrugging. "Just had a lot on my mind after Sydney. My mom almost died. I guess I just wanted to be comfortable."

Amara's expression softened for a moment, and then she smirked. "Well, don't let Ranger Lambert see you in that. He might take the stick out of his butt and beat you with it."

Ezra laughed, the tension in his chest easing slightly. "I think I'm safe. It's wedged in there pretty tight. And I'm so glad he's no longer going to be our instructor."

He walked closer, looking up at the drifting apparatus and noticing the familiar interface of the training AI. "So, they're still using Sarah?"

Amara sighed, her frustration boiling beneath the surface. "Yeah. And I can't drift with her for some reason. All the other cadets have been training for years, and I just... I hate feeling like the slow kid."

Ezra could see how much this was getting to her. He understood the pressure—what it felt like to be thrown into something new, something overwhelming. "You gotta relax," he said softly, stepping closer to the Conn-Pod. "Or you're just grinding gears. I'll help you out."

Amara shot him a sarcastic look. "Got it, Coach."

Ezra rolled his eyes. "Don't call me Coach."

Amara chuckled, though the tension in her shoulders didn't ease. "All right, Sensei."

Ezra smiled, standing next to her. "Concentrate. We have to make a good connection. You ready?"

Amara nodded, taking a deep breath. "Ready."

"All right. Let's see if we're drift compatible," Ezra said, his voice calming.

As they connected through the drift, Ezra could feel the familiar pull—like the rush of thoughts and emotions intertwining, their memories bleeding together in flashes. Stay focused, he told himself, keeping his mind clear.

Suddenly, the first wave of images hit him: flashes of his own training, memories of his dad guiding him through drills, the physical intensity of each movement. But then, the images shifted, and Ezra saw something unfamiliar—Amara's memories.

A blur of faces—her family. Her brother laughing as they ran along a pier. They were in San Francisco, on the docks, the sun warm on their faces.

AI: Neural load exceeding limit.

"Stay focused, Amara," Ezra urged, feeling the drift start to strain. "Remember, the stronger your connection, the better you fight."

Amara's breathing became ragged, and Ezra could feel the sudden weight of her memory taking over. She wasn't just remembering; she was reliving it.

He could see it now—Amara as a little girl, standing on the pier with her family, her dad holding up a camera.

"Amara!" her father's voice echoed. "Come on, jump! Jump to me, baby!"

Ezra's heart twisted as he watched it unfold, knowing where this memory was going. No, not this.

"Amara!" Ezra's voice broke through the drift. "Don't hang on to the memory. Just let it flow right through you!"

But it was too late. The memory had its hold on her.

In the drift, Ezra could see Amara's dad smile, laughing as he took the picture. "Ready? One, two... Cheese!" He snapped the photo, and little Amara grabbed it, running excitedly to the railing.

She's not letting go.

"Amara!" Ezra called again, louder this time. "Amara, you need to let it go! Look, just listen to my voice!"

But she was lost in it. The moment blurred, and then the Kaiju came. Its massive form appeared in the distance, a monstrous shadow that grew closer by the second. The pier shook as the ground cracked beneath them.

"Daddy! Daddy!" little Amara screamed, panic flooding her voice.

"Amara!" Her father's voice was desperate now, reaching for her. "Jump to me, baby! I promise I'll catch you!"

But she couldn't jump. And then the Kaiju stepped down, crushing the place where her parents had stood.

Ezra felt the horror of it like a physical blow. He tried desperately to pull her out, but she was frozen in the nightmare of her past.

"Amara! We need to break the drift!" Ezra shouted, his voice hoarse with urgency.

But the memory held on, refusing to let go. The pain and fear from that day enveloped her, trapping her in a loop of fear and loss.

"Jump!" her father's voice echoed once more, and then—silence.

With a sudden jolt, the drift broke, and Ezra stumbled forward, gasping for air. His hands moved quickly to help Amara out of her helmet, his heart racing as he gently pulled it off.

"Amara!" he said urgently, his hands still on her shoulders. "Take it off! Hey, are you okay?"

Amara blinked, dazed, still catching her breath. "I was there," she whispered, her voice shaky. "I felt it."

Ezra nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah. I felt it too."

She was silent for a moment, her gaze distant. "That day still haunts me."

Ezra's chest tightened at her words. He knew what it was like to be haunted by memories. She's carrying this, just like I carry mine. "I get that," he said softly, his voice gentle. "If…if you ever need to talk about it, I'd be happy to listen."

Amara looked at him, her expression softening slightly. "Thank you."

They stood there for a moment, the weight of the drift still lingering between them.

"You ready to try again?" Ezra asked after a beat.

Amara shook her head, her voice tired. "Not tonight. I think I'll just head to bed."

Ezra nodded, understanding. "You got it. I'll walk with you."

Together, they left the training room, the silence between them not uncomfortable but reflective. They both carried ghosts of the past, and maybe, for the first time, they didn't have to carry them alone.