The sun was already sliding low when Rohan finally returned home. The door creaked as he stepped inside, boots leaving faint tracks of dust across the floor. The little house was quiet except for the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock and the faint hum of the radio he'd left on that morning.
He spotted Lucian immediately—curled up on the old couch, knees drawn to his chest, his gaze distant. The boy looked smaller like that, swallowed up by one of Rohan's loose sweaters, his hair falling messily over his eyes.
For a moment, Rohan just stood there, unsure what to say. He'd seen that look before—on Lance, once or twice after one of his father's "talks."
"Hey," he said finally, voice gentler than usual. "Are you planning to stay like that forever?"
No answer.
He took a few steps closer, rubbing the back of his neck. "You look like a kicked puppy. Did the wall say something mean to you or—"
Lucian buried his face deeper into his knees.
Rohan blinked. Then something clicked. His expression shifted. "Wait. If Lance is your uncle…" He paused, brow furrowed. "Then his father is—"
"—my grandfather," Lucian finished for him, his voice muffled.
Rohan blinked again, mouth slightly open. "...Oh."
Silence.
Then Lucian peeked out from behind his arms, eyes red but dry, and scoffed, "Took you long enough to realize."
Rohan sighed, dropping into the armchair opposite him. "Not my fault my parents gave me fewer brain cells than average."
Lucian snorted before he could stop himself. It was short, but real.
Rohan caught the sound and smirked. "See? There's the future's sense of humor I've been waiting for."
"You're insufferable."
"Yet you're smiling… You know, you're really pretty when you aren't grimacing like a bug just crawled up your ass."
Lucian rolled his eyes and looked away, but his shoulders eased a little.
Rohan let the quiet settle again before speaking, softer this time. "I'm guessing your grandfather's not like that in your time?"
Lucian's lips pressed together. He hesitated, then shook his head. "No. He's… gentle. Kind. He used to tell me stories when I was little. He'd walk me to school sometimes, make tea for me when I stayed up late studying."
As he spoke, his tone faltered. "He never even raised his voice, let alone his hand. I don't understand how he could…" His words trailed off.
Rohan watched him for a moment, then leaned back, arms behind his head. "Maybe guilt changes people. Sometimes, when someone realizes too late what they've done, they spend the rest of their life trying to make up for it."
Lucian stared down at his hands, fingers twisting together. He didn't know if that made him feel better or worse.
They sat in silence for a while, the air thick with thoughts neither wanted to say aloud. Outside, a breeze rattled the window.
Finally, Rohan sighed and straightened. "Alright, enough of this gloom. If we're really doing this whole 'fix the past' thing, we should start from the beginning."
Lucian blinked. "The beginning?"
"Yeah," Rohan said. "You said Ellis died one night. You know what they were doing before that?"
Lucian lifted his head, brow furrowing as he tried to recall what his mother had told him. "It was August. Uncle had a huge argument with Grandpa. No one ever said what it was about, but… it was bad enough that Uncle decided to run away. He took Ellis with him."
He swallowed, eyes distant. "When they found them… Ellis was already dead. Uncle was alive, but…"
"But what?" Rohan prompted gently.
"No one knew how Ellis died. They said it wasn't murder, but they never explained anything." Lucian's voice grew small. "It's like everyone just agreed to forget."
Rohan frowned. "That's strange."
"I thought so too." Lucian leaned forward, resting his chin on his knees. "And there's something else. Some people said they weren't alone that night. There was a third person with them. But when they found Uncle and Ellis, that person was dead too."
Rohan's brows drew together. "A third person?"
"No one knows who it was. Some said it wasn't even a person—just an animal. A rumor that got twisted over the years."
The words hung heavy between them.
After a while, Rohan exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Whatever the truth is, we can't chase ghosts. Let's focus on what we can control. If that argument never happens—if Lance never runs away with Ellis—then maybe Ellis won't die."
Lucian nodded, but unease stirred in his chest. The story felt wrong, incomplete, like a puzzle with missing pieces. And something about the "third person" whispered at the back of his mind, too close to a memory he didn't have.
Before he could think more about it, the faint rumble of a car engine broke the silence.
Rohan stood, glancing toward the window. "That'll be his father. Heading out again, I guess." His tone darkened. "Probably satisfied after beating the life out of his son this morning."
Lucian winced, lowering his gaze.
Rohan noticed. He shifted uncomfortably, then reached over and flicked the back of Lucian's head lightly. "Hey. Don't look like that."
Lucian blinked up at him, startled.
Rohan grinned crookedly. "You've been moping all day. Not good for your health. Tell you what—tomorrow, I'll show you around town. Maybe we'll find something useful. Or at least a decent meal that isn't my cooking."
Lucian gave him a look that was half a glare, half genuine amusement. "That might actually save my life."
"Exactly." Rohan leaned back, stretching his arms. "Call it a survival mission."
The corner of Lucian's mouth lifted despite the heaviness inside him. "You're unbelievable."
Rohan grinned wider. "You'll thank me later."
The room softened into a quiet that wasn't quite so heavy anymore. Outside, the sunset painted the windows in deep gold, dust motes drifting lazily in the light.
Lucian didn't respond, just leaned back into the couch, letting the sounds of the old house fill the space around them—the faint tick of the clock, the hum of the evening wind, the steady, grounding presence of the man beside him.
For the first time since arriving in this time, he didn't feel completely lost.
But somewhere, beneath that fragile calm, a question lingered—one that refused to fade.
If he truly was here to change the past, what would happen to the future he came from?