Ezra stared at the rocking chair, its slow sway now completely still.
The attic was silent again—too silent. Even the wind outside seemed to have vanished, like the world itself was holding its breath.
He clutched the photograph tighter, the edges crumpling in his fingers.
The image burned in his mind.
Blake Muller was unmistakable in the picture—younger, unscarred, standing proudly with one arm over a woman whose eyes resembled Ezra's. But it was the child standing between them—expression unreadable, gaze empty—that chilled him most.
The boy had the same jawline as Ezra. The same birthmark just below the left ear.
But it wasn't Ezra.
The date on the back of the photo, scribbled in faint blue ink, read: 2006.
I was born in 2008.
Ezra's pulse quickened.
"Who… are you?" he whispered to the photo.
A sudden creak behind him.
He whirled around.
The attic floorboards seemed to stretch out longer than before. The shadows in the corners writhed slightly, like smoke curling through the gaps between old furniture.
Then—
Tick. Tick. Tick.
His chest.
That damn sound again. Not just a clock. Not just a feeling.
It was counting.
Something in him screamed to get out of the attic. But something else—deeper, older—held him frozen in place.
His eyes flicked to the rocking chair.
This time, something was sitting there.
It wasn't clear at first—more a silhouette than a person. A small figure, legs too long, head tilted at an unnatural angle. No face. Just a shifting blur, like static on an old television.
"Ezra…"
The voice didn't come from the thing.
It came from inside his mind.
"You opened the door."
Ezra stumbled back, breath catching. "What are you?"
"You saw me before. In the freeze."
His heartbeat thundered. "The time-space field…"
"You moved time, Ezra Muller. But some things move with it."
He backed up toward the hatch. "I didn't mean to."
"It doesn't matter."
A pressure built in his skull. Images flooded his brain—flashes of ruined cities, clocks melting into bone, hands reaching through broken glass. A name. A name he couldn't hold onto, no matter how hard he tried.
He shouted, "Get out of my head!"
The figure vanished.
Just gone.
No sound. No gust of wind. Nothing.
Ezra scrambled down the attic stairs, breathing ragged, and slammed the hatch shut behind him. His back hit the hallway wall, and he slid down until he was sitting on the floor, drenched in cold sweat.
He checked the photo again.
The child's face looked… slightly different now. The eyes darker. Sharper.
No, he thought. I'm just imagining it.
But deep inside, he knew he wasn't.
—
The next morning, Ezra sat at the breakfast table, barely touching his cereal.
His mother, Diane Muller, flipped eggs in the kitchen while humming softly.
His father, Blake, was reading the newspaper, grunting occasionally at headlines.
Ivy sat beside him, scribbling rainbows in a coloring book.
Everything was normal.
Except it wasn't.
Ezra's hands trembled under the table. The photo was tucked into his jacket pocket like a curse pressed against his skin. He hadn't slept. Couldn't sleep.
"Ez?" Ivy nudged him. "You okay?"
He nodded, forcing a weak smile. "Yeah, just tired."
"You look weird," she said innocently. "Like you saw a ghost."
He flinched.
Blake lowered the paper. "Ghost?"
Ezra swallowed hard. "It's just a joke."
"Mm."
Blake went back to reading, but Ezra could feel his gaze still on him.
Watching. Measuring.
Ezra stood up quickly. "I'm gonna head out early."
"You didn't eat," his mom said, frowning.
"I'm not hungry."
He was already slipping out the door to call Aria
—
By the time he reached the park bench near the library——Aria and Jace were there
"Dude," Jace said, "you look like crap."
"Thanks for the support," Ezra muttered, sitting down.
Aria leaned closer. "What happened?"
Ezra looked around. The street was quiet. Just distant traffic and a crow perched on a lamppost, cawing lazily.
He pulled out the photo and laid it on the bench between them.
They leaned in.
"Who's the kid?" Jace asked.
Ezra shook his head. "I don't know. That's my dad. And maybe my mom. But the boy—look at the date."
Aria frowned. "He kinda looks like you and isn't that your date of birth?"
"No it's not me and it gets worse," Ezra said. "The attic. It's like something lives there. I saw… something."
He told them everything—about the knocking, the photo, the shadow in the rocking chair, the voice in his head. Their faces went pale with every word.
Jace finally said, "Ezra, you didn't just unlock powers. You unlocked a door to something else."
Aria nodded. "Maybe the reason your power exists at all is because that thing wants it to."
Ezra looked at them both. "We need to find out who the boy in the photo was."
Aria pulled out her phone. "Let me see if I can reverse search it then."
Jace said, "Or we go to city records. Birth certificates. Hospital archives."
Ezra exhaled.
For the first time in hours, he didn't feel alone.
But above them, the crow still sat on the lamppost.
Watching.
Unblinking.