My Infinite System.

The air in the Citadel’s preparation room was still. Marc stood in the center, his eyes closed. Reia had given him the date, the time, the exact spatial coordinates of the Citadel’s sickbay from two years ago. But he didn’t need them, not really. For him, time wasn’t a map to follow; it was a river, and he was a stone that could choose where to sink.

”Remember,” Lucian’s voice was tight from the doorway. ”You’re a ghost. You see, you learn, you come back. Nothing more.”

Marc didn’t open his eyes. ”I know what it costs to change things.”

He took a slow breath, and then he simply... stepped sideways.

There was no portal, no flash of light. The world around him didn’t dissolve so much as it rewound. The solid floor of the Citadel became a fleeting sensation of falling through layers of memory, of light and sound streaking past in reverse. He felt the ghost of a thousand yesterday’s brushing against him. Then, it stopped.

He was standing in the same room, but it was different. The air smelled of antiseptic and something else—the faint, metallic scent of blood. The lighting was dimmer, emergency protocols casting a soft, red glow. And there, in the med-bay, was Lucy.

She was pale, her hair stark against the white pillow. Wires and monitors were connected to her, their steady beeps the only sound. She looked fragile, a stark contrast to the fierce woman he Lucian told him about and remembered.

He held his breath, making himself a statue. A ghost.

Then, the air shivered.

A rift tore open on the far wall, dark and silent. A man stepped through. He was tall, with a composed grace that felt ancient. His eyes, a sharp and familiar gray, went directly to Lucy.

A slow, proud smile spread across his face. He moved to her bedside, his steps making no sound on the sterile floor.

”You’ve grown into a fine young woman,” he murmured. His voice was warm, but it carried an undertone that made the hair on Marc’s arms stand up. It was the warmth of a predator admiring its prey.

The man reached out, his fingers gently brushing Lucy’s cheek. ”The face of your mother... almost exactly.”

Marc watched, every muscle in his body locked in place. He saw the tenderness in the man’s touch, but also the possession. This wasn’t a rescue. It was a claiming.

The man’s gaze lifted, turning toward the sealed doors. His smile sharpened, becoming something cunning and cold.

”So... the first child still breathes.”

Marc’s blood ran cold. First child. He was talking about him.

”And little Lucian...” the man continued, a note of grim approval in his voice. ”He’s no longer so little. A man now. A strong one.”

The pieces clicked into place with a horrifying finality. The gray eyes, the line of his own jaw reflected in this man’s face, the way he spoke of them as his children.

This was Alistair. Their father.

The man who had abandoned them. The man whose memory Lucy had chased, only to end up here. And he wasn’t a victim. He was the architect.

Alistair looked back down at Lucy, his expression softening into a mockery of paternal care. ”Come, child. There’s much for us to do.” He slid his arms under her unconscious form, lifting her with effortless strength. ”Adventure...” he whispered, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush, ”...and revenge.”

He turned and carried her back toward the swirling rift.

Marc stood frozen, his hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were white. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to lunge forward, to tear his sister from this man’s arms. He could do it. It would be so easy. He could stop this. He could change everything.

He saw the faint rise and fall of Lucy’s chest. He saw the determined, cruel set of Alistair’s shoulders. He heard Lucian’s voice in his head. ”A ghost.”

He remembered the street from his own past, the small version of Lucian running out of the house. The cost of changing things. The cost of erasing the people they had become.

With a force of will that felt like holding back a star, Marc remained still. A silent, agonized witness.

Alistair stepped into the portal, Lucy held securely in his arms. The rift sealed behind them, leaving the sickbay silent and empty. The monitors flatlined, their single, continuous tone screaming into the void.

For a long moment, Marc didn’t move. He stood in the dim red light, breathing in the silence, letting the truth carve itself into him. Their father wasn’t missing. He wasn’t a victim. He was the enemy. And he had Lucy.

The world began to blur around the edges, the past pushing him out now that the moment was over. The sensation of falling returned, the streaks of light rushing forward this time.

He opened his eyes.

He was back in the preparation room. Lucian was still in the doorway, his face etched with a desperate hope. Reia, Silas, and Evelyn were gathered behind him, their eyes wide.

”Well?” Lucian asked, his voice strained. ”What did you see?”

Marc looked at his brother, at the family he had chosen not to erase. He saw the ghost of the little boy from the past in the man’s worried eyes.

”He has her,” Marc said, his own voice rough with the effort of what he’d just endured. ”It was Alistair.”

The hope on Lucian’s face shattered, replaced by a confusion so deep it looked like physical pain. ”What? No... that’s not... he wouldn’t...”

”He did,” Marc said, the words final and heavy. ”He walked in like he owned the place. He called her ’child.’ He talked about us. He knew we were alive.” He met Lucian’s stunned gaze. ”He said they were going on an adventure. And he said they were going to get revenge.”

The room was utterly silent, the revelation too vast to process immediately. Their missing sister had been found. But the man who took her was the one they had spent their lives wondering about. The search was over.