His father.

The man who had died in front of him, his blood staining Felix's face, his father's last, desperate breath escaping his chest as Felix had… frozen. He hadn't been able to move, hadn't been able to save him. He hadn't even been able to say goodbye. He had only stood there — paralyzed. And now, here he was again. Alive? Or was this just another cruel trick of the mind? Another ghost to haunt him?

"Dad?" 

Felix's voice cracked, raw and desperate, and he took a step back, his heart crashing against his ribcage. The words felt foreign, like he was speaking to a stranger, like the connection he once had with this man had been severed. His eyes scanned his father's face. It looked just like it had the day he died — pale, bloodless, but still there, still haunting him.

The figure of his father stepped closer, his face a mask of anger and disappointment. The familiarity of it made Felix's chest ache, but what took him by surprise was the intensity of his father's gaze. It was cold, accusing, almost unbearable.

"That's enough" his father repeated, his voice now thick with the weight of years of silent accusation. He crossed his arms over his chest, his posture rigid, as if he were trying to contain the fury bubbling just beneath the surface. 

"You don't get to hide from this, Felix. Not anymore."

Felix's throat tightened, a strangled gasp escaping him. 

"What… What do you mean?" he stammered, his voice shaking. "I — Dad, I tried —"

"You tried?" His father's voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. "You didn't try, Felix. You froze. You stood there and did nothing. You watched as I died — right in front of you — and you did nothing."

Felix's legs threatened to give way beneath him. The words were a slap in the face, a punch to his gut. His father's accusation tore through the fragile walls of his mind, unraveling everything he had told himself to make it through each day since that moment. He had told himself it wasn't his fault. He had told himself there was nothing he could have done, that he had been powerless. 

But now, hearing his father say it — hearing the raw, unfiltered anger in his voice — Felix felt the weight of it all crashing down on him. His chest tightened, suffocating him, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe.

"You let me die, Felix. You let me bleed out, and you didn't even try to stop it. All you could do was watch." 

His father's voice was thick with disgust now, and Felix recoiled as if the words physically struck him. 

"I trusted you, Felix. I trusted you. And you let me down. Just like you let her down."

Felix's breath hitched at the mention of Evelyn. His mind flickered back to the memory of her pale face, her blood-soaked clothes, the hole in the middle of her chest. The image of her death had never left him, and had never stopped tormenting him. He had been the one to fail her. He had been the one to freeze when his family needed him most. And now, his father's voice made it clear that he had failed him too.

"No... Dad, I —" Felix's voice faltered. "I didn't know what to do. I couldn't —"

"Don't give me excuses!" his father roared, stepping closer, his face twisted in anger and hurt. 

"You were supposed to protect us. You were supposed to be strong, to act. But instead, you stood there like a coward, watching us die. You don't get to say you didn't know what to do. You didn't want to do anything, Felix."

The words hit harder than any physical blow could. Felix's knees buckled, and he sank down onto the ground, his hands clutching his hair, trying to steady himself as the weight of everything came crashing down on him. The guilt. The shame. The overwhelming realization that maybe he wasn't just a victim of fate. Maybe, just maybe, he was the one responsible.

"Dad, please…" Felix whispered through gritted teeth, tears welling in his eyes, his voice hoarse with the pain of it all. "I didn't mean to…"

His father's voice softened for a moment, but the accusation was still there, just beneath the surface. 

"You just didn't care enough to act. You let us die. And now you're left with nothing but your guilt."

The words echoed in Felix's ears, reverberating through his skull. He wanted to scream, to deny it all, but deep down, he knew. He knew the truth. He had let them both die. He hadn't been strong enough, brave enough. He had failed them both. His father's shadow loomed over him, an unshakable presence, as if even in death, he would never be free of this guilt. Felix felt like he was suffocating, his chest constricting with the weight of it all. 

"I couldn't save you…" Felix whispered, his voice breaking.

"You couldn't even try," his father replied coldly, before turning and fading into the shadows of the greenhouse. 

Felix was left alone once again, the silence now deafening, the guilt crushing him under its weight. Felix's head spun, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his father's words continued to echo in his mind. The air around him was thick with guilt, suffocating him, weighing him down. His heart ached, every beat sending waves of sharp, stabbing pain through his chest. He felt the sting of their accusations — his father, Evelyn — all of them, reminding him of his failures. Of his weakness. Of how he had let them both slip through his fingers. But before he could process any more of the crushing weight that had been piled upon him, a new voice broke through the heavy silence.

"Felix."

The voice was soft, laced with an unbearable sorrow, but there was also something fierce beneath it, something sharp. 

Felix's head snapped up, his heart skipping a beat as he recognized it. His mother. 

His mind recoiled, a sick feeling crawling up his spine. His mother… How was she here?

Felix's throat went dry. "Mom?"

She stepped into view slowly, her face pale, her eyes bloodshot, as though she hadn't slept in days — or perhaps had never woken up at all. Her clothes were dark, somber, like she hadn't seen the light in years.

"Felix…" Her voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, something jagged buried deep inside. 

"I thought you were better than this."

Felix staggered to his feet, his eyes wide with shock. His mind raced. 

"What do you mean? What — what are you talking about?" 

Her gaze was cold, distant. "You let them die, Felix. You let your father die. You let Evelyn die. And now look at you — standing here, lost in your own guilt, too weak to do anything about it."

"No, Mom, I didn't…" Felix's voice trembled, the words caught in his throat. "I — I tried! I tried to save them, but —"

"You did nothing," she interrupted, her tone sharp, piercing. Her eyes narrowed, disappointment curling around the edges of her words. 

"You failed them. You failed the Holmes."

The words stung like a slap. Felix felt himself shrink back, his chest tightening with the weight of her judgment. But just as quickly, her expression softened, and she let out a sigh, a long, drawn-out breath, like the wind that slips through cracks in a broken door.

"You're not entirely to blame, you know," she said, her voice softer now, almost as if she were speaking to herself rather than him. She looked away, her gaze distant, like she was lost in a memory of her own. 

"Your enemy… she is strong, Felix. Stronger than we ever thought. Diana James Moriarty. She's been pulling the strings all along, hasn't she?"

Felix blinked, his mind reeling. Diana? But he hadn't fully understood the depth of her power. He hadn't realized how much of his life had been controlled by her, by her machinations. 

"I don't understand…" Felix muttered, his hands trembling. "How could… How could someone like her be so — I mean, she's still just a woman after all!"

"She's not just anyone," his mother cut in, her voice suddenly urgent, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that stopped him in his tracks. "She's a monster, Felix. You don't even realize how much of your life she's already taken. She's been controlling you this whole time."

Felix's heart skipped a beat. His chest tightened painfully as the realization began to sink in. Of course, she was the one pulling the strings. She was the one who had driven everything to this point — his father's death, Evelyn's tragedy, the darkness that seemed to shadow him at every turn. He had been a puppet, a pawn in her cruel game.

But before he could process the flood of emotions that surged through him, a strange heaviness settled over him. The air around him seemed to thicken, and his mother's figure wavered, her outline blurring like a reflection on water disturbed by a ripple.

Felix blinked hard, trying to focus. "Mom…? What's — what's happening?"

His mother's eyes softened for just a moment, her lips trembling as if she were about to say something, but then she stopped herself, her expression turning unreadable.

"You still don't understand, do you?" she whispered, more to herself than to him. Her voice trembled, as if the words were too heavy to speak aloud.

Felix's breath caught in his throat. "What do you mean…?"

His mother let out a slight sigh, a soft, almost imperceptible sound that seemed to carry a world of unspoken weight. She stood there, her eyes distant, as if her thoughts were far away, somewhere Felix couldn't reach. 

"How can I possibly know about Diana?" she murmured, her voice thick with the kind of sorrow that only comes from years of regret. "Only you and your father did."

Felix's mind immediately stumbled. "What?"

He blinked, his heart racing in confusion. "What — what are you talking about?" His voice trembled, the question slipping out before he could stop it. "How could you — how could you know anything about her? About Diana?" 

The air around them felt thick, heavy with the weight of things left unsaid, as if the greenhouse itself was holding its breath. He stepped forward, his mind scrambling for answers, for clarity. But just as quickly as his words left his mouth, a chill swept through him, like a gust of wind that ruffled the leaves of the roses surrounding them. The world, it seemed, had stopped making sense.

And then, like a sudden jolt, it hit him. 

The realization crashed through his thoughts with the force of a tidal wave. His stomach churned as it all clicked into place. He had been wondering why everything felt so strange, so out of sync. The vividness, the distortion of time, the impossible presence of his mother — everything suddenly made sense, in the worst way possible.

This is a dream.

The thought hit him like a gut punch, and the weight of it almost knocked him off his feet. The moment the realization settled in, Felix's legs felt like they might buckle beneath him. His heart began to race faster, his breath quickening, as if his body had just caught up with what his mind had only just begun to understand.

He staggered back, his head spinning. The roses around him — the sun above him, the way the air felt too thick, too dreamlike — everything was an illusion. The emotions flooding through him — anger, guilt, regret — were all just fragments of his subconscious mind, playing out in a twisted, surreal landscape. His mother is not dead. She can't be here.

He was trapped in his own mind. 

His mother watched him with a sadness in her eyes, as though she had known all along that he would figure it out. She sighed again, a sad, almost resigned sound. 

"I'm sorry, Felix…" she said softly, her voice filled with regret. "But the truth is... I can't help you anymore. This isn't real. And neither am I." 

"Mom —" Felix's voice was barely above a whisper, the words thick with the ache of everything unsaid.

"This is your battle, Felix. I can't fight it for you."

He reached out toward her, but before his fingers could touch hers, her form shimmered, fading like a cloud dissolving in the wind.

"Wake up, Felix," she murmured, her voice growing fainter, as if she were standing on the other side of a vast chasm.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

Felix stood frozen, staring at the empty space where his mother had been just moments ago. The reality of her absence hit him like a wave. He blinked, his chest tightening. The sadness, the guilt—it was all still there, anchored to him, but now it was different. Now, it wasn't her fault. It was his. He was the one who had failed. He was the one who had allowed everything to slip away, but before he could move, another voice — strong, commanding — cut through the haze of his thoughts.

"Felix."

He whipped around, his heart pounding in his chest. His legs felt like lead, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse right there on the ground. The voice was familiar — too familiar. And when he saw who stood before him, his breath caught in his throat.

It was her. Diana James Moriarty.

She was standing in the center of the greenhouse, her cold, calculating eyes fixed on him, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Her presence was suffocating, like a dark storm cloud looming overhead, threatening to swallow everything in its path.

"You think this is over?" Diana's voice was low, laced with disdain. "You think you can wake up and forget about me? That you can run from what you've done?"

Felix's mind reeled as he took a step back. His thoughts scrambled, trying to process her words, her presence. She had been the one behind it all — the one pulling the strings, the one who had manipulated him, forced him into a corner. The one who had taken everything from him.

And now, here she was, standing before him like a living nightmare.

"No," Felix whispered, his voice shaking with a mixture of fear and anger. 

"No. I'm done running."

Diana's smile widened, her eyes glinting with malicious delight.

"You can wake up, Felix," she said, her voice like ice, "but the real battle hasn't even begun."

And with that, the world around him began to collapse, the roses, the greenhouse, his mother — all of it — fading away as he was pulled back into the darkness.

The truth was waiting for him, just beyond the veil of his sleep.

-

Felix's eyes shot open, the suddenness of it all making his breath catch in his throat. He was back in his room. His bed was familiar, the soft quilt draped over him as it always was, the pale sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting stripes across the floor. His heart pounded in his chest, the remnants of the dream still clinging to his mind like a fog, pulling at his thoughts. 

He blinked rapidly, trying to ground himself, trying to separate the dream from reality. The nightmare — the voices of his family, the accusations, the haunting presence of Diana Moriarty — it all seemed so vivid, so real. But now, as the morning light streamed in, he realized with a sinking feeling that it had all been a dream. Just a dream.