The scent of earth and wood hung in the air as Chris descended from the truck bed, his head still spinning with the thrill of it all. Vinny bid him farewell with a sly wink, hinting at a future meeting. And Chris stood on the side of the street, watching as the sound of the motor faded into a bend of the road. Disbelief tightened its grip on his insides.

Theo will flip out, he thought, a silly grin tugging at his lips as he made his way toward the front door. However, as soon as he stepped inside the living room, his heart skipped a beat. Seated on the sofa, each with a cup of coffee in their hands, were the twins: Maria José and Maria Clara.

Maria José stood, her eyes fixed on Chris with the same adoring look he had seen the first time they met. And when Esther emerged from the kitchen, she froze in her tracks.

"What are they doing here?" Chris demanded, and a tense silence descended, thick as fog and impossible to ignore.

Esther's gaze darted between them, and a half-formed word escaped her lips before Maria Clara rose from her seat and spoke: "Our mother's health has taken a turn for the worse. She's been moved to the ICU. So, we've come to ask you a favor, Chris."

"You know that our mothers were very close friends," Maria José chimed in, their words melting together as one. "They were always there for each other. Mommy had a lot of faith in you." Maria José took a deep breath and glanced at her sister, who nodded in encouragement. "We humbly ask you to try again. Heal our mother. For us."

She placed her coffee cup on the table and slowly approached. With each measured step, Chris felt fear's merciless grip tightening in his soul. And then, without warning, she knelt before him, taking his hand and pressing her lips to his thin fingers in a gesture of deep adoration and despair.

"I beg you," she whispered.

At that moment, the walls felt like they were falling away, and there were only Chris and the woman. Was this going to be his future? To be worshiped like an idol, burdened with the responsibility of someone's life or death? Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he held them back. And with a burst of courage, he pulled his hand away from Maria José.

"I won't do it. I'm tired of being treated like a freak!" his voice boomed, filled with a sudden certainty that only anger could bring.

He confronted his mother with a fierce gaze before storming up the stairs, his feet pounding hard against each step, until he flung himself into his bedroom and slammed the door shut—the sharp thump rumbling through the walls and lingering in the air, refusing to dissipate.

Seeking solace, Chris buried himself under the covers and let it all come down in an irrepressible wave; crying so much that he thought his tears would never cease. But when the first knock on the door came, they had already run dry. Even when the second, more insistent knock followed, he refused to answer, clinging to the foolish idea that his mother might simply vanish into thin air. But the creak of the door and the dip of the mattress betrayed her presence, and her voice came soft, fraught with concern: "Chris..."

"What do you want?" His question was muffled by the blankets.

"I just spoke with the headmaster. You've been given a week of detention."

Chris uncovered his head; his eyes were puffy and bloodshot. "Fantastic. Just what I needed."

"I'm sorry, son. But this time, there's nothing I can do."

"As if you ever cared about how I feel," he snapped, hating how the words came out like a sob.

"I do care, love. I know exactly how it feels. I understand this huge burden you carry." She took a deep breath, and for a split second, Chris caught a glimpse of her vulnerability—something strange glinting in her eyes, the downturn of her mouth, the weight of sadness and the past swirling before them. "I've felt this way before, just like you're feeling now. Lost." But Esther's fragility swiftly dissipated, replaced by her usual haughtiness. "Sooner or later, you'll face much worse. Eventually, people will discover your origin, and you mean a lot to them. For some, hope. For others, a threat. When the time comes, you'll need to be prepared for it all."

Chris stared straight towards the ceiling. "Leave me alone. I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm only trying to help. Be strong. I know you are." She attempted to run a hand through his hair, but Chris turned to the opposite side of the bed.

Esther stood and glanced over her shoulder. "When you're ready to talk, I'll be in my room."

Alone once more, Chris found himself adrift, like a boat guided by the mysterious currents of an uncharted sea. Unsure if they would help him navigate the treacherous waters of his life, or drag him further into the abyss.