“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Magic. Magic. This is insane.”
“It’s insane,” Dahlia said, her voice cutting through the tension, “but it’s also true.” Her tone was calm yet firm, the quiet conviction of someone who had finally figured out a truth they’d been avoiding. She looked directly at Jericho, her brow furrowed. “You can’t sit here and pretend like nothing’s changed. Not after the storm.”
Dahlia stared at the photographs, her breath catching as she flipped through them. Each image spanned decades, yet the faces were hauntingly familiar—people who looked like Irene, Airam, Jericho, and Phoebe, captured in different eras, wearing clothing from times long past. Her hands trembled slightly as she set the photos down, the weight of realization sinking in.
Jericho was pacing furiously, his boots thudding against the wooden floor in a restless rhythm. “Okay, let’s not jump to conclusions. Are you sure these aren’t just… I don’t know, some distant relatives or something?” His voice was tight, strained, as if he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
Pandora leaned casually against the table, her gaze cool and unbothered. “Relatives? Seriously?” she said, her tone laced with dry amusement. “It’s one thing to resemble your ancestors, but looking identical to someone across generations? And those ancestors apparently having ancestors who looked just like them? Yeah, no.”
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Dahlia barely heard their exchange. Her mind buzzed, her heart pounding as fragments of memory and intuition clicked together like pieces of a long-unsolved puzzle. The storm. The strange changes. The unexplainable feelings. It all made sense now—too much sense.
Jericho stopped pacing and spun around, fixing Airam with a skeptical glare. “So, what’s the big explanation here? Magic? Is that what this is?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.
Airam met his gaze, her expression soft but resigned. She didn’t have to say anything; the sigh she let out was answer enough.
Jericho scoffed, his hands running through his hair in frustration.
“What are you talking about?” Jericho snapped, his tone defensive.
“I’m talking about you, Jericho,” Dahlia shot back, her irritation finally bubbling to the surface. “You’ve changed. Don’t act like we haven’t noticed.” She gestured to the photos. “And Irene? Whatever happened to her during that storm, it’s not normal. You saw it yourself—today was proof. Are you just going to ignore all of that?”
Jericho’s jaw tightened as he stared at her, his expression a mix of anger and denial. Without another word, he turned sharply and started walking away.
“Jericho, wait!” Airam called after him, but he didn’t stop. His footsteps echoed down the corridor until he disappeared from sight.
Dahlia slumped into a chair, exhaling shakily as the silence settled over them. She looked at Airam, who stared at the doorway Jericho had vanished through, worry etched on her face. Pandora, still leaning against the table, let out a quiet hum.
“Well,” Pandora said with a faint smirk, “that went well.”