Teleportation magic hit every trigger I had.

  By the time we appeared in Blaine’s living room, I crumpled to the floor, shaking.

  Why couldn’t I stop collapsing?

  “Mental blocks aren’t easy to bypass, Hale,” Blaine said as he sank down beside me.

  “How do you know what I’m thinking?” I muttered.

  Yay. At least I could still get words out.

  “I’m a demon,” Blaine shrugged. “When you’re meant to torture souls in Hell, it helps to know what they’re thinking.”

  Reassuring.

  Not.

  He rose smoothly and dimmed the lights, then closed the curtains. I heard him move into another room—the open and close of a fridge door drifting back to me.

  I was slipping.

  Hands on the spell.

  Parts of my mind erasing themselves.

  Something cold was pressed into my hands.

  An ice-cold water bottle.

  “Focus on that,” Blaine said as he settled back onto the floor across from me. “Describe how it feels.”

  “Cold.” I hated cold.

  Pause.

  I could feel the cold.

  “Solid.”

  The weight in my hands grounded me.

  “Wet,” I added. Not my favorite sensation.

  “Good,” he said gently. “Use things like that when you get like this. Now—deep breath in.”

  I drew one in slowly.

  “Hold. One. Two. Three,” he said. “And out.”

  I released it just as slowly.

  He kept the rhythm steady—breath in, hold, out—until the room stopped tilting and I could feel the floor beneath me again.

  Until I was present.

  I looked up at him and caught that rare expression—the one he used to get in basic when I did something right.

  Pride.

  A faint smile tugged at my lips.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You need tools,” Blaine sighed. “No one’s teaching you that. Tomorrow we’ll try something that might make you feel more like John.”

  “I really prefer Carl,” I whispered. “Kathy gave me the name.”

  Blaine’s features softened.

  “You invited me to the wedding.”

  I nodded.

  “She was good for you,” he said quietly. “She knew what you needed.”

  “I miss her.”

  “I know,” he said, a small grin breaking through. “She’d be proud of the progress you’ve made.”

  He paused, then added, “I’m proud of you too, Carl.”

  I blinked.

  “You finally corrected me,” he said.

  “Small steps,” I whispered.

  “Those are the biggest ones.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll start lunch. You’ll probably need to drink a bit.”

  After a while, I managed to get up and crawl onto the couch.

  Sleep took me within minutes.

  Hopefully—no nightmares.

  John

  I didn’t wake up in the cabin.

  That was the first problem.

  Where the hell was I now?

  This had been happening for years—

  waking up in random places,

  piecing together scraps of a life I apparently lived but didn’t remember.

  A detective in my own skull.

  The first time it happened, I’d woken to a baby crying and Kathy gone.

  That had nearly broken me.

  “Fuck.”

  I dragged both hands down my face.

  “Why does this keep happening?”

  “Carl?” a familiar male voice said behind me.

  I stiffened.

  Who the hell was Carl?

  Not right now.

  “Where the fuck am I now?” I snapped, rolling off the couch and turning toward the voice.

  Drill Sergeant Blaine stood there staring at me like he was looking at a ghost.

  Finally.

  Maybe someone could give me answers for once.

  I crossed my arms. “Do you know what the hell is going on with me?”

  He blinked. “Well… this is an unexpected direction.”

  “Not really,” I scowled. “It’s been happening for years. Do you know how hard it was to figure out Kathy died? A kid just showed up one day. That’s how I found out.” I dragged a hand down my face. “Hell of a way to learn your wife’s gone.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Blaine swallowed hard. “I—think we should talk in the kitchen.”

  He looked nervous.

  How the hell did I manage that?

  I sighed and followed him. “Please tell me you have coffee. The last place never had any.”

  Blaine rubbed his face. “John without freaking out. Okay. Are there… voices in your head?”

  “What? Why the hell would I have voices in my—”

  ‘I like this side of my human,’ a voice rumbled—older, ancient, far too familiar.

  “Fuck you,” I said automatically.

  ‘This version is more… just more,’ another voice added, sounding far too amused.

  I froze.

  “Blaine!” I snapped, dropping into a chair. “What is going on?!” My voice cracked. “I couldn’t ask my kid. I tried not to freak him out.”

  “I’ll get the coffee,” Blaine sighed.

  “Make it black,” I muttered, folding my arms on the table like the world was collapsing.

  While Blaine fetched the coffee cups, I focused on the intruders in my head.

  Who the hell are you?

  I’m the cosmic power of Chaos, the first voice said smugly. And you are my chosen vessel.

  The other one chimed in, far too cheerful. I’m your Shadow dragon form—Dragoon. You’re more silver right now than usual. I like it!

  Great.

  Annoying dragon puppy.

  Got it.

  Blaine glanced over his shoulder at me.

  “So,” I said flatly, “I’ve got a cosmic entity and a dragon living in my skull. What else happened?”

  A knock hit the front door.

  Then it opened.

  “Blaine—”

  I froze.

  Arthur.

  The man who’d been imprisoned with me before all this time-skipping crap.

  He stepped into the kitchen with—

  “Mitchell?” I snapped. “What the hell is going on? I want a straight answer. Now.”

  “Things got more complicated,” Blaine muttered, setting a mug of coffee in front of me like a peace offering.

  “Shit,” Arthur said.

  Someone else shut the front door behind them.

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

  “Yeah, that’s my thought exactly,” I growled, grabbing the coffee and downing half of it in one swallow.

  Coffee was life.

  “Dad?”

  I froze.

  “Fuck.”

  He’d heard the real voice.

  Not the softer one I used around him.

  Not the careful version.

  “Damian brought me,” Jack said as he stepped into the kitchen, staring at me like he wasn’t quite sure who he was looking at. “He thought I could help.”

  “Damn it,” I muttered, rubbing my face. “Who the hell is Damian?”

  “I think I need a drink,” Mitchell muttered under his breath.

  “Tequila?” I perked up automatically.

  Everyone stared at me.

  I sighed and let my head drop.

  “Why is this happening?”

  Still staring.

  “I NEED FUCKING ANSWERS!”

  My stool slammed backward, clattering across the floor.

  “I’ve had to pretend to be a shadow of myself just to raise my son! Do you know what that feels like?” I snapped. “It feels wrong!”

  Jack was watching me.

  Studying me.

  Crap.

  He didn’t need this.

  He didn’t deserve this.

  I turned away fast and braced both hands against the wall, forcing myself to breathe.

  Silence.

  It always came when I lost my temper—

  a room holding its breath.

  Soft footsteps sounded behind me.

  “Dad?”

  Jack.

  “I… I think I might be able to help,” he said gently.

  “How?” I muttered, resting my forehead against my arm. “This has been happening for years.”

  A firm hand settled on my shoulder.

  “Dad?” Jack’s voice shook. “Can I… see what’s going on inside your mind?”

  A dry, humorless laugh escaped me.

  “Sure. Why not,” I muttered. “Seems like it’s free real estate in there.”

  My shoulders sagged.

  I was so damn tired of living like this—

  half alive,

  half erased.

  Then the world blinked.

  We were standing inside my mind.

  In front of us loomed a shimmering wall—

  the same kind of magic field that had sealed my cell.

  On the other side, staring back with dead, hollow eyes,

  was a version of me.

  I stepped away from Jack and walked toward the barrier.

  Carl mirrored me on the other side, hollow gaze tracking every movement.

  I lifted a hand and pressed my palm to the shimmering surface.

  The same power as the cell field.

  “I absorbed it,” I muttered.

  The moment my skin touched the barrier, memories surged—

  the night everything went wrong.

  Fury at not being there for Kathy.

  Fury at leaving the baby alone.

  Fury at the universe for daring to take everything from me.

  Anger so deep it cracked something inside.

  “You were there that night,” I said, raising my other hand to the wall.

  “I was,” Chaos replied, unexpectedly soft.

  “And I didn’t approve of what you were doing.”

  Power rippled through the barrier.

  Chaos showed me the truth.

  Corrupted chaos magic.

  Twisted.

  Warped by my grief, my rage, my refusal to let go.

  My hands curled into fists.

  “This wall can’t be broken,” I whispered.

  “Not alone,” Jack said, stepping up beside me.

  He placed his hand over my clenched fist—steady, grounding, warm.

  “But maybe we can balance it.”

  “How?” I turned toward him.

  “Let me try my Order magic.”

  I felt it—

  a strange, steady power reaching out, joining with my chaos.

  Together, the two magics chased the corruption away.

  Tangled threads snapping loose.

  Snarls unbinding.

  Fire burning through only what needed to be burned.

  Order had always been a shield.

  Now we wielded it as a weapon.

  The corruption shattered.

  Chaos magic poured through me—warm, bright, cleansing.

  I stumbled forward and wrapped my arms around Carl.

  We merged.

  And then I was back in the kitchen, panting hard—

  fully awake for the first time in years.

  I didn’t move.

  My mind was busy stitching itself back together—

  memories sliding into place,

  thoughts finally lining up.

  Is our human whole again?

  Dragoon did laps around my skull—

  a cosmic toddler with four legs and far too much enthusiasm.

  “Dad?” Jack’s voice wavered with worry.

  “Give him a minute,” Blaine said somewhere behind me.

  “It’s like when Hillary reboots.”

  …Not going to ask who Hillary was.

  I was both John and Carl now—

  but Carl felt like he’d been the shell.

  John was the part that still made sense.

  I groaned and thunked my forehead gently against the wall.

  “Magic should come with instruction manuals.”

  “You’re probably the only recruit who ever read them,” Blaine chuckled.

  “Knepper did,” I muttered.

  And eventually…

  I was going to have to turn around.

  But I was facing people who knew John—

  and a son who knew Carl.

  Was I both?

  Neither?

  They care for you either way, Chaos murmured.

  Which name feels like you?

  The one nobody knew.

  The one I grew up with.

  The one I legally changed so Dad couldn’t find me.

  Bipolar bastard.

  Dead now.

  I’d had a lot of names in my life. Okay?

  I drew a shuddering breath and finally turned around.

  Yeah.

  There it was—

  worry carved into every face.

  “I’m okay,” I said. The words came out shaky. “Just… weird.”

  There was no better way to explain any of this.

  “So,” Arthur asked gently, “do we call you Carl or John?”

  I looked at Jack.

  He got a say in this.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “You choose your name,” Jack said—and grinned.

  “You’ll always just be Dad to me.”

  My knees gave out.

  I dropped to the floor in pure, overwhelming relief.

  Because no matter what name I chose…

  I was still Dad.

  “After everything I did—and didn’t tell you?” I muttered.

  Jack rolled his eyes and plopped down beside me.

  “How the hell did I manage to raise a smart-ass,” I murmured,

  “while being a hollow husk?”

  “I’d be a hypocrite,” Jack said with a grin, “since it sounds like it was all for me. So—what name are you going to choose? Billy Bob?”

  Push-ups.

  The kid needed push-ups.

  Five hundred of them.

  I looked at the others.

  “How the hell did I manage to raise this creature?” I asked wearily.

  “Father like son,” Blaine smirked. “But he has a point. What do you want to be called?”

  I ground my teeth.

  “Daniel,” I said. “That’s the name my mom gave me.”

  Silence.

  Everyone stared.

  “The last name can die,” I added coldly. “Dad had no part in Jack’s future. My mom named me Daniel—and Kathy’s maiden name was Vicars. So… Daniel Vicars.”

  “Oh Danny boy—” my offspring immediately began to sing.

  I glared at him.

  His eyes widened.

  “Shit—is that where Carter learned it from?”

  Carter.

  Recent events slammed into place.

  Andrew Carter.

  General Andrew Carter.

  Oh good grief.

  I was a hero in someone’s eyes.

  “He needs better role models,” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

  “By the way,” Jack added, turning to Paul, “did you tell him Carter wants to talk to him?”

  “He got attacked by a dragon,” Mitchell said, arms crossed. “And he wasn’t mentally ready for it.”

  “Breakdowns are a thing, kid,” Blaine added dryly.

  Yep.

  This whole disaster called for coffee.

  I scrambled to my feet and headed straight for the pot.

  “What the hell did I miss?” Jack demanded.

  I paused, gripping the handle.

  Dragoon?

  Yes? He sounded way too eager.

  “Any chance being a dragon means my mouth is burn-proof?” I eyed the steaming pot.

  Yup! Cool, right? Dragoon practically wagged his tail.

  Perfect.

  I lifted the pot and drank straight from it.

  Screw everyone.