It was just before sunset in Seattle, the sky washed in gold—but something inside Ethan dimmed instantly.
“Ollie, stop!” he called, his voice sharper than he intended.
But the boy didn’t stop.
He dropped to his knees in front of a thin, barefoot child sitting near a lamppost—dusty, silent, watching the world pass like he didn’t belong in it.
Ethan’s pulse quickened. Oliver wasn’t reckless. Friendly, yes—but careful. Always careful.
That’s why the next words hit like a shockwave.
Oliver turned, eyes bright and certain.
“Dad… that’s my brother.”
Ethan felt the ground tilt beneath him.
The other boy—maybe nine years old—looked up slowly. Dark hair, hollow cheeks, worn clothes. But his eyes… sharp, steady, far older than they should have been.
And painfully familiar.
“Don’t say things like that,” Ethan muttered, trying to regain control. “Come here, Ollie.”
But Oliver didn’t move. Instead, he reached out and took the boy’s hand.
“I know him,” he insisted softly. “I see him in my dreams.”
The older boy stiffened slightly, gaze dropping.
Ethan stepped closer, unease tightening in his chest.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“…Noah. Noah Reed.”
The last name hit him instantly.
Reed.
Clara Reed.