Five Years Later
The morning Liam found his eleven-year-old son levitating three feet above his bed while simultaneously healing a bird through the window was the morning he realized their definition of normal had shifted beyond recognition.
"School in twenty minutes," he said, because what else did you say when your child casually defied physics before breakfast?
Kova's eyes opened—silver as winter moonlight, too beautiful for any human face, too knowing for eleven years. At five foot nine, he'd shot up like bamboo in spring, all elegant lines and ethereal grace that made strangers stop and stare, then look away as if they'd glimpsed something holy.
"The cardinal flew into the window," Kova explained, floating down with the fluid control of someone who'd been bending reality since bef
