The silence after Sera and Damian's unified "No" still lingered in the air, thick and stifling.
Tim stood rigid, fists clenched, breath shallow. He didn't move for a long moment—didn't speak. And then, like something inside him snapped loose, he took a single step forward.
"No."
Damian raised a brow. "Excuse me?"
"I said no. You don't get to tell me to sit this out," Tim said, his voice low but tight with emotion. "You don't understand—this isn't just about bringing down Cetus for me. This is about Eva. My sister. She's out there, maybe in their custody, maybe on that goddamn auction block, and if you think I'm going to sit in a warehouse while you play heroes—"
"Tim—" Sera began gently.
"No." He kept going, eyes now shining, voice cracking slightly. "When I was ten, they took her from me. I couldn't do a damn thing. I watched her disappear into the system like she never existed. And I have spent the last seventeen years—seventeen years—trying to find her. Cetus is the only lead I've got, and now there's a damn auction in Paris where they're selling people like her?"
He swallowed hard, stepping closer to Damian, unflinching despite the size difference.
"You're right. I'm not trained. I'm not a spy. I'm a lawyer, and all I've got are my wits, my will, and the raw hope that I can stop history from repeating itself. You don't want to take me? Fine. I'll find my way to Paris."
Damian's fists clenched, but Sera's hand was already on his arm.
She stepped forward, her voice soft but firm with meaning. "Tim..."
He looked at her, breathing hard.
Her eyes shimmered—not glowing, not psychic now, just human, deep, empathetic. She reached out and touched his hand.
Tim gasped.
It wasn't like before, when she'd calmed Valen. This was different. A surge of something ran through him—not energy, not heat, but a weight, the gravity of sorrow and longing. Her power didn't calm him—it showed him she felt it too.
Her voice came, almost a whisper. "I believe you. And I believe she's alive."
Behind them, Damian exhaled sharply, pacing.
"This is a mistake," he growled. "We've spent lifetimes staying hidden, staying alive—not for ourselves, but to keep fighting. And now you want us to drag a mortal into this? He's fragile. One wrong move, and he's dead. And we'll have to live with that. Again."
Sera didn't flinch. "Then we don't let him die." Tim's voice was quiet. "I'll stay out of your way. I'll do exactly what you say, when you say it. I just... I have to be there."
Damian stared at him for a long, seething second.
And then, with a sharp exhale, he turned away. "Fine. But one wrong move, Delaney... and you're on your own."
Tim nodded. "I can live with that."
He wasn't sure it was true.
.
.
.
The familiar scent of burnt coffee and printer toner welcomed Tim as he stepped into Khan & Thomas Attorneys at Law, but this time, it felt... foreign. Like he was walking through someone else's memory.
Before he could get far, Danno's voice cut through the morning hum.
"Delaney, tell me you're finally here to rescue me from this living hell."
Tim turned, forcing a smirk. "Sorry, Danno. I'm just here to watch you suffer."
Danno stood at the edge of the bullpen, sleeves rolled up, tie half-loosened, looking every bit the charming rogue he aspired to be. "Maya's been on a warpath. Harris bailed on the Milestone case review, and I've been drowning in affidavits since seven this morning. If I die in this office, I want you to tell the world I went down swinging."
Tim raised an eyebrow. "You won't be dying, Danno. Not until you clean your desk, at least."
From behind them, Maya appeared, immaculate as ever, holding a steaming mug. "He's being dramatic again. Ignore him."
Tim gave her a half-smile. "Good to see some things never change."
Maya narrowed her eyes. "You're deflecting. What's up?"
Tim glanced around. The office hummed like usual, but in his gut, something felt off—like the tune had changed, and only he could hear it.
"I need to talk to Khan. Is she in?"
Maya nodded. "She's in early today. Good luck, though. She's not in the best mood."
Danno perked up. "Are you in trouble, Delaney?"
Tim didn't answer. He started walking.
Anita Khan's office sat at the far end of the floor, behind a frosted glass door etched with her name. She was a force of nature—sharp, methodical, and known for being unforgiving when it came to protocol.
Tim knocked.
"Come in."
He stepped inside.
Khan sat behind her massive oak desk, reviewing documents with laser precision. She didn't look up immediately.
"You better have a damn good reason for interrupting this circus," she said.
Tim cleared his throat. "I need time off."
That made her look up. Dark eyes locked onto him. "Time off?"
"Two weeks. Maybe more."
Silence.
Khan leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. "Do I look like someone who can spare her top litigator during a tidal wave of filings?"
Tim didn't flinch. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
Khan stood, walking slowly around her desk. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor. "We're neck-deep in Cetus litigation. Milestone's heating up. Your name is all over half of our active cases. And you stroll in here, asking for time off?"
Tim held her gaze. "This isn't about work."
Khan's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I know. It's about whatever you've been burying behind those courtroom theatrics and polished suits. I'm not blind, Delaney. You've been... distracted lately."
He hesitated, then stepped forward. His voice was quiet but clear.
"This isn't about law. This is about life. Something I should have done a long time ago. And if I don't do it now... I'll regret it for the rest of my life."
Khan stared at him for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, she walked to the window, staring out over the city.
"I didn't build this firm to be a halfway house for lost causes, Tim."
He said nothing.
She turned back, face softer now—but not soft. "But I did hire people who know when to fight for what matters. So take your time."
Tim blinked.
"But understand this—when you come back, this firm won't wait around for you to decide which world you belong in."
Tim nodded. "Understood."
Khan walked back to her desk. "Dismissed."
As Tim stepped out of the office, Maya and Danno were waiting.
"Well?" Danno asked.
"She let me go."
Maya studied him. "Are you okay?"
Tim shrugged. "Not really. But I will be."
Danno held out a hand. "Come back in one piece, yeah?"
Tim shook it. "I'll try."
He turned to Maya. She hesitated, then pulled him into a brief hug.
"You've got good instincts, Tim. Trust them."
He smiled. "I'll see you both soon."
As he walked away, he didn't look back.
Tim stood in his apartment, suitcase open on the bed, clothes strewn about like a hurricane had passed through. His usual sense of control, of order, had abandoned him tonight.
He tossed a pair of shirts into the case, then stopped, running a hand through his hair.
What do you pack when your life is about to change?
He stared at the wall, at the framed black-and-white photo of a little girl with curly hair and bright eyes, clutching a teddy bear in one hand, her other arm around a ten-year-old boy who was trying to look tough for the camera. Eva and he. Before everything fell apart.
The silence of the apartment settled heavily. The ticking of his old Hamilton watch on the nightstand was the only sound.
Tim picked it up, fastening it to his wrist. The metal was cool against his skin, grounding.
He looked back at the suitcase. He packed his best suit, a charcoal grey with navy trim, the one he wore when he wanted to look the part of a winner. He packed two casual shirts, a couple of ties, and his leather brogues, polished to a gleam. On instinct, he threw in his Swiss Army knife—a gift from Harris on his first big case.
On the dresser sat a book—"The Art of War." A gag gift from Danno. Tim chuckled and tossed it into the suitcase.
He paused at the door, keys in hand. A part of him wanted to turn back, sit down, and pretend tomorrow was just another day.
But it wasn't.
He walked out without looking back.
The airport was a hive of motion—families shuffling kids through security, businessmen barking into phones, and couples clinging to each other at departure gates.
Tim cut through the noise, wheeling his suitcase, scanning for Sera and Damian.
He found them near the economy check-in counter, looking painfully ordinary. Sera in a tan coat, scarf wrapped elegantly around her neck, her calm demeanor radiating like a quiet flame. Damian, in a dark jacket and jeans, stood like a statue, watching everything, alert and stone-faced.
"You know," Tim said, approaching them, "for a pair of international fugitives, you two blend in surprisingly well."
Damian grunted. "You're late."
"I had to make sure I packed the right tie. Paris demands class."
Sera smiled. "You'll be fine. Just stay close."
Tim glanced at their tickets. "Economy? Really? I'm not judging, but I'm judging."
Damian's eyes narrowed. "We don't have the luxury of your first-class nonsense."
"I do," Tim said, flashing his ticket. "Comfort matters when you're trying to save the world."
Sera sighed, amused. "Try not to draw attention."
At security, they split up—Sera and Damian disappearing into the crowd, Tim moving toward the priority lane. As he waited, he took out Eva's photo, glancing down at her smile.
What if she's already gone? What if he's too late?
He closed his eyes, shoving the thought away. Focus, Delaney. You're a lawyer. Lawyers don't panic.
Onboard the plane, first class was exactly as he imagined—plush seats, mood lighting, and champagne before takeoff. But Tim barely noticed.
He sat by the window, staring at the runway lights.
Across the tarmac, somewhere in economy, Sera and Damian were probably blending in like pros. Probably complaining about me, Tim thought. Well, Damian is, at least.
He smirked faintly, but it faded quickly.
Paris. Gala. Underground auction. Someone's buying people. Maybe Eva.
The thought sat like a stone in his stomach.
A flight attendant passed, offering a drink. He declined.
The engines roared to life. The plane began to move.
Tim clenched the photo in his hand.
He wasn't ready.
But he was going anyway.
As the plane lifted into the sky, the city of his past fell away beneath him, disappearing into the clouds.
There was no going back.