My worries turned out not to be worries at all.

  They turned out to be reality. Standing at the door to my old apartment, my aura pulsed outwards. Two bright lights flared in my aura senses from within the apartment. Apparently, my apartment had been rented to a young couple. The way the two auras of the apartment's inhabitants were entangled told me all I needed to know about what was going on in there. Also, I didn't need to know anything more about it than I already did. The couple could probably afford the place better than I had been able to, anyway. I turned away from the door and headed back down the stairwell that had brought me to the third-floor apartment. This new, but entirely expected development, left me in limbo. This was particularly true given the information I'd received as soon as I had gotten the phone, I'd booted up.

  I had been gone a long time.

  Longer than I had thought. I didn’t know if time flowed differently in the Soul-Sheer or if there was something else going on.

  I had no answers.

  Two years.

  I was gone for two years.

  As wonky as my sense of time had been in the Soul-Sheer, I still knew I hadn't been there for two years. Maybe six months, a year at the absolute most, but no longer than that. It was hard to judge without the need to sleep, being constantly on the move and always fighting. Nothing to mark the passage of time in any meaningful way. Not even a sun and moon to greet at the beginning and end of each day.

  A sigh escaped me as I walked back out into the cool air of the night. Of course, I shouldn't have been surprised that my apartment had gone to someone else. What landlord would leave a unit empty if their tenant disappeared? I wasn't surprised, not really, but it was still a punch in the gut.

  This left me in a situation I would have preferred to avoid a little longer. Until I knew more about what was going on, until I knew more about the situation I was walking back into.

  In the back of my mind, there was a constant concern that not all was as it seemed.

  It was only logical.

  If the Soul-Sheer had happened to me, made me into what I was now.

  Whatever that was.

  The chances of my being the only one were slim. Very slim. This left me with a need to investigate, to know the players in the strange new game I was sure I would find myself in. Unfortunately, it looked like I wasn't going to be able to do that from the privacy of my own apartment. There was only one place I was certain I could go, and find a bed and place to rest. Where I could reconnoitre and plan. Unfortunately, that place would come with a lot of questions. I didn't really have any answers to.

  Home.

  My father's home wasn't far from my apartment. I might have left home, but I'd never gone far. It was barely a thirty-minute walk between the two homes. There was a time in our lives when we'd wanted to kill each other. Frequently. The simple reality was that we'd been entirely too much alike, and yet too different at the same time, with little to no common ground between us. My own issues with authority hadn't helped matters. After my mother had passed nearly half a decade ago, that time ended. We'd become much closer. We didn't speak or see each other as often as we probably should, and certainly less than other people thought we should.

  They could get bent.

  My feet plodded against the well-worn sidewalk. Anxiety and dread bubbled up in my guts. I had no idea how to handle this situation. I'd never been any good with people. And neither my father nor I were the type of people who had emotional talk about your feelings type of people. Thankfully, I was at least fairly certain my siblings wouldn't be around when I arrived. That would have only made matters even more complicated.

  My mental turmoil increased as I moved through the familiar streets. Just a few minutes off the main road and into a sleepy suburb. Memories flew through my mind. Running around the streets the way a kid does. Sneaking out late for coffee and donuts as a teenager. So many bike rides, walks, playing, fighting, living. Memories, so many memories. These streets were still just the same as I remembered them, but the man who walked them wasn't the same anymore. I wondered if my father would even recognize me now. I knew I looked different from the last time he saw me. I was in better shape than I had ever been in at any point in my life previously, not to mention I was close to half a foot taller. It had hit me when I'd stared into the mirror in the changing room. I wasn't just different on the inside; the outside looked different too. Moved differently, watched the world through different eyes.

  I stopped on the street, staring. The house looked the same as it always did. Red brick walls, black driveway, a small front yard nestled into the street corner that allowed it the much larger backyard that sprawled out behind the house. The lawn was neatly trimmed and maintained. My father used to tell me stories about how his father would get down on his belly and paint the leaves of the weeds with weed killer with a little brush.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Couldn’t have any of his grass dying, no sir.

  I couldn’t help the smirk that spread across my face.

  It was early yet, somewhere around four in the morning and dark out, but one of the smaller front windows was lit up from inside.

  The office.

  I drew in a shaky breath, padding up the driveway silently. There was still time to turn around.

  To leave.

  To go anywhere else.

  I let out a heavy sigh as I made my way up the driveway and ascended the front steps. I stood there unmoving for a long time. Minutes passed as I stared at the familiar door in front of me. Another sigh. I opened the screen door and rapped my knuckles against the heavy wood of the inner door. My aura pulsed out unconsciously, and the familiar thrum of my father's aura resonated within mine, a comforting yet unsettling sensation. I wasn't sure how something I'd never felt before could feel so familiar. He felt steady, firm, much like the man I'd always known. Yet there was tiredness to his aura, as if he'd been worn down over time. I heard the creak of his office chair, followed by his heavy footsteps approaching the door. My heart raced as the lock clicked and the inner door swung open.

  "Who's there at this ungodly hour?" My father's gruff voice demanded before his eyes locked onto mine. His face, more weathered than I remembered, froze in shock.

  "Hey, Dad." I managed weakly, my voice catching in my throat.

  For a moment, we stood there in silence, the weight of years hanging between us. Then, without warning, he lunged forward and wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug. Well, it would have been bone-crushing once upon a time ago. The scent of his cologne, a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely him, filled my nostrils. It was the same scent I'd known all my life, and it nearly broke me.

  "My boy," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "My God, where the hell have you been?"

  I returned the embrace, feeling the strength in his arms that belied his age. "It's... a long story, Dad. A really long story." He pulled back, his hands gripping my shoulders as he studied my face. His eyes, the same deep brown as mine, were rimmed with unshed tears.

  "You've changed," he said, his voice a mix of wonder and concern. "You're... bigger. Different." I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The lump in my throat threatened to choke me.

  "Come in," he said, stepping back and ushering me inside. "You look like you could use a drink. Or ten." I followed him into the house, the familiar scents and sights washing over me. Everything was exactly as I remembered, yet it all felt slightly off, like I was looking at it through a warped lens. My father led me to the kitchen, gesturing for me to sit at the small table while he rummaged in a cabinet.

  "Still like whiskey?" he asked, pulling out a bottle and two glasses. “I need a whiskey.”

  "Yeah," I replied, my voice hoarse. "Thanks." He poured us each a generous measure and sat across from me. For a long moment, we just looked at each other, the silence stretching between us like a living thing.

  "Two years," he finally said.

  "Two years." I agreed dimly, sipping from the glass. The burn was nice; it helped keep me a little more present rather than getting lost in my head, in the maelstrom of thoughts and emotions that swirled in my mind. "I'll answer what I can, Dad, but there are things I can't explain yet. Questions that I don't even have all the answers to." I snorted, I couldn't help it. The entire idea of sitting here at my father's kitchen table and trying to explain that magic and monsters were real? The thought was so utterly surreal it beggared my mind to think about it much.

  "I don't have many more answers than you do, but I'll be doing some looking." My father was silent. And an odd thing from Robert Kaesor, that contemplative silence had appeared more and more over the last few years after my mother's death. Where before he would have shouted, now he was silent.

  "Looking for answers, huh?" my father said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Sounds dangerous." He looked contemplative. The man was either entirely too observant or stone dense; there was little in between. As frustrating as it was at times, it was helpful at others.

  I nodded, taking another sip. The familiar burn of the whiskey was oddly comforting. "It could be. I don't know yet. Which is why there are some things I can’t tell you. Not yet."

  He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving my face. "You know, when you first disappeared, I thought maybe you'd just taken off. Needed some space or something. You were always content in your own company. But then days turned to weeks, weeks to months..." He trailed off, his gaze distant. "I filed a missing persons report. Hired a private investigator. Nothing."

  Guilt gnawed at my insides. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to-"

  He held up a hand, cutting me off. "I know, son. I know you wouldn't have put me through that if you had a choice." He drained his glass and poured another. "But you're different now. Not just physically. There's something... else," His gaze held my own steadily. “Something dangerous.”

  I tensed, wondering how much he could sense. How much should I reveal? My father was an odd combination of dense with some things but sharper than any blade with others. "Yeah, I am," I admitted cautiously. "A lot happened, Dad. Good. Bad. Ugly. Things I'm still trying to process myself." I tapered off, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not sure who I am anymore. I think I left some of me behind where I was."

  My father nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. "I can see that. You've got that look about you. The same one I saw in some of your uncles after they came back from overseas." He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Whatever happened to you, son, whatever you've been through... You don't have to face it alone."

  His words hit me like a physical blow. The lump in my throat grew, threatening to choke me. I took another swig of whiskey; the burn helped center me. "Thanks, Dad," I managed. "That... that means a lot."

  We sat in silence for a while, the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hallway the only sound. I could feel my father's eyes on me, studying me, trying to reconcile the son he knew with the man sitting across from him now.

  "So," he said finally, breaking the silence. "What's your plan now?"

  I sighed, running a hand through my hair. It was longer now than it had been at any other point in my life.

  "Honestly? After a haircut? " I snorted, a small smirk forming on my face. "I'm not sure. My apartment's gone, obviously. I need to figure out... well, everything." There was almost too much to figure out. I was going to have a long to-do list at the rate I was going, and it was only growing by the moment. First, though, I needed to know what was going on with whatever the magic situation was here.

  "I feel like there's a game here, going on behind the scenes, but I can't see any of the players." I let out a sigh. I had far too many questions, too damn few answers for them.

  "Well, the rest of it can wait till later." Robert shook his head. "You're back. And you're safe. That's all that matters right now." He rose from his chair, coming to stand at my side, planting a heavy hand on my shoulder. "My boy came home, that's the only thing that matters. Your old room is how you left it. You should get some rest."

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