Lena sat in the passenger seat of Angelica's rust-red sedan, her boot tapping anxiously against the floorboard as Angelica slowly brought the car to a stop across from a modest two-story house on Magnolia Springs Avenue. 

The neighborhood was quiet, trees casting long shadows across cracked sidewalks. The house itself was plain—white siding, red shutters, a patchy lawn. It looked like a hundred others they’d passed on the way.

“Is this it?” Angelica asked, eyeing the mailbox.

“Yeah,” Lena answered, gaze fixed on the house. “This is the one.”

They watched in silence, the engine idling. After a minute, the front door opened. A woman stepped out with a trash bag in hand. Her hair, now streaked with gray, was pulled into a tight bun. Kim Sullivan.

Then came Oscar. Slightly heavier than Lena remembered, but unmistakable. He followed Kim down the steps, coffee mug in hand, walking with the slow comfort of routine.

A moment later, a boy appeared.

Angelica froze. He was twelve—maybe thirteen—with short, dark hair and solemn brown eyes. There was something in the shape of his mouth, the arch of his brow… something painfully familiar.

“That’s gotta be him,” Lena whispered.

Angelica blinked hard. “He looks like Mom. Like my Dad too. More so than either of those bastards over there.”

They stayed for a few more minutes, taking in the rhythm of an ordinary life that shouldn't exist. Angelica reached for the small camera she’d brought and quietly clicked a few photos through the windshield. Just enough to have proof.

“Let’s go,” she said. “We need to talk to someone.”

The police station was cool and sterile under buzzing fluorescent lights. Angelica and Lena sat across from Detective Hayes in a small conference room. He was young—early thirties—with sharp eyes and an easy confidence. He carried a notepad and wore his badge on his belt.

Hayes gave Angelica a polite nod before glancing briefly at Lena. His expression softened just a little when he saw her but didn’t linger.

“So,” he said, flipping open his notepad. “You said you have a lead on your brother’s case?”

Angelica slid the printed photos across the table. “That’s Kim and Oscar Sullivan. They’ve got a son. He looks… a lot like me. He looks to be around the right age as well.”

Hayes raised a brow but didn’t interrupt.

“My mother swore she saw a woman watching us at the park the day Alan was taken. She dismissed her as just being a lingering weirdo, but she remembered the face all the same. It was definitely Kim.”

“They weren’t on the radar back then,” Hayes said, flipping through the photos. “I don’t remember the name in the original reports.”

“They weren’t suspects. I get that. But… something isn’t right.”

Hayes studied her for a moment. “You’re asking me to reopen a cold case based solely on a resemblance.”

“I’m asking you to take a closer look,” she said. “Please.”

His gaze shifted to Lena. “You’ve been quiet.”

Lena met his eyes, unreadable. “It’s not my place to butt in. I'm just here for moral support.”

“You’re Lena Cross, right?” he asked, voice softer now. “I hope you know I didn’t want to—”

Lena’s lips thinned. “I know.”

An awkward silence followed. Hayes seemed unsure whether to press, then looked away and scribbled something down.

“I’ll look into the Sullivans,” he said at last. “Discreetly.”

Five days passed.

Angelica was walking across the college quad, books tucked under her arm, when Hayes approached her near the fountain. His expression was different—tight-lipped, serious.

“You were right,” he said quietly.

She froze. “Alan?”

“He’s safe. DNA confirms it. That’s your brother.”

Angelica couldn’t speak.

“We picked up Kim and Oscar this morning,” Hayes continued. “Oscar cracked immediately. Said Kim orchestrated everything—threatened divorce if he didn’t go along with it. Claimed she couldn’t handle another miscarriage.”

“And Kim?”

“Hasn’t said a word. Just asked for a lawyer.”

Angelica’s throat was dry. “Where’s Alan now?”

“He’s with child services for the moment. Physically fine, but… he keeps asking to see them. Even when we told him the truth, he didn’t believe it. He said he wanted to go home.”

Angelica’s heart sank.

The reunion was subdued. Alan—now calling himself Tyler—sat stiffly on the couch, eyes darting between Angelica, her parents, and the unfamiliar house around him.

Angelica tried to smile, crouching in front of him. “I’m your sister, Angelica. But you can call me Angie,” she said gently. “We’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

He didn’t respond. Just stared at the floor. Their mother excused herself quietly, holding back tears. Their father sat silently in the armchair, eyes wet but resolute.

“I want to go home,” Alan finally said. “To my real parents.”

No one had the heart to correct him.

That night, Angelica sat on the porch steps, head in her hands. Lena joined her without a word, settling beside her with a sigh.

“You did everything right,” Lena said. Angelica shook her head. “I got him back… but I still feel like I lost him.”

“Don’t say that,” Lena replied. “He’s alive and home safe. That's all that matters, right? Just give him some time.”

Angelica looked over. “You know… if you hadn’t told me about them…”

Lena didn’t respond, just looked up at the stars.

“Thank you,” Angelica added softly. Lena smiled faintly. “For the first time… I think having these powers might’ve actually been a blessing.”

And in that quiet, bruised moment between old grief and fragile hope, they both believed it might just be true.