The morning sun filtered through the slats of the bedroom window, casting soft golden lines across the sheets. Adam, still somewhat snoring, felt the heat land on his face as he slowly opened his eyes. For a moment, he lay there in a daze, blinking into the soft haze of morning light. His body felt heavy and for a moment, he contemplated not getting up. This changed however, with a knock at the door.


    “Dad?” a voice called—clear and impatient, muffled slightly by the wooden frame. “Are you up yet? Alex is hogging the toaster again.”


    Adam groaned softly and rubbed his eyes. “Give me two minutes!”


    “Fine,” the voice called back. “But if I burn another waffle because of him, I’m blaming you.”


    He could hear her footsteps retreat down the hall, punctuated by another shout at her brother. A familiar sort of chaos.


    Rolling to his side, Adam saw Bonnie still curled up under the blanket, one arm draped across her pillow. She shifted slightly at the sound but didn’t wake. Her breathing was calm, her face peaceful in the soft morning light.


    Adam smiled faintly and sat up.


    His joints ached—a side effect of early onset arthritis as well as good old-fashioned aging. He scratched the back of his neck, stood, and stretched until he heard a satisfying pop in his shoulder. With a quiet grunt, he stepped toward the window, pulled the blinds open, and let the morning light fully flood the room. The neighborhood outside was calm, suburban, and unremarkable in the way that meant everything was okay. Lawns were green, cars were parked neatly in driveways, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once before falling silent again.


    Behind him, Bonnie stirred beneath the covers, rolling to her other side and sighing contentedly in her sleep. Adam glanced back at her and smiled. Even after all these years, the sight of her like that—peaceful, alive—still stopped him cold.


    He turned and crossed the room, scooping up a t-shirt from the back of the chair where he’d left it the night before. As he slipped it on, he caught a glimpse of the dresser and the framed photo sitting on top of it. It was the same one that sat on his desk at work—a snapshot of the four of them at Lake Huron, sunburned, smiling, squinting into the wind.


    He lingered for a moment, staring at it. Something about the photodidnt seem right to him. It wasnt the image itself—he remembered the trip, remembered how Alex had dropped the hot dog in the sand and Emma had cried because they ran out of sunscreen—but the feeling it gave him. Like a memory playing back through a fogged lens. Before he could think about the weird feeling any further, another muffled shout from the kitchen brought him back to the present.


    He shook his head, pushed the thought away, and headed out into the hallway. Today, was going to be a good day.


    ***


    The scent of toast and fresh-brewed coffee filled the air as Adam took a bite from his toast. It was crunchy and had just the perfect amount of butter on it—rich, warm, and comforting in the way only simple things could be. He closed his eyes for a second, savoring it longer than usual, letting it anchor him in the moment.


    Seated across from him, Emma sat upright with the practiced posture of someone trying to pay attention while something distracted her. Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, though a few strands had already slipped free to frame her sharp, thoughtful face. She had Bonnie’s eyes—steady and observant—and Adam’s cheekbones, which made her look a little too grown up every time she frowned in concentration. Her school tablet rested beside her plate, untouched toast cooling slowly while she tapped through academic emails and lecture recordings. Every now and the,n she’d glance at Alex with the kind of exhausted patience only older siblings seemed to master.


    Alex, in contrast, was a tangle of motion and teenage energy. Fourteen going on unfiltered chaos, with messy dark hair that refused to stay flat no matter how many times he ran his hands through it. He wore a faded hoodie with a logo from some old indie space game he wouldn’t shut up about last month, and his mouth had been moving almost non-stop since Adam sat down—alternating between bites of food and sarcastic commentary about whatever had caught in interest. He had Adam’s nose, Bonnie’s grin, and absolutely none of their restraint.


    Bonnie leaned over slightly and rested her chin on Adam’s shoulder, her coffee mug held in both hands like it was the only thing keeping her upright.


    “They’re growing up too fast,” she said softly, just to him.


    Adam tilted his head to rest against hers. “Yeah. Alex is already halfway to eating like a marine, and Emma might be running a research station in orbit by next week.”


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    Bonnie chuckled under her breath. “You realize she’s applying to the same engineering program you turned down when we first met, right?”


    “Yeah,” Adam said with a crooked smile. “And she’ll probably ace it without having to run laps in the rain first.”


    She squeezed his hand beneath the table. There was love in the gesture, but something else too—gratitude, maybe. Or just the comfort that came with years of knowing someone inside and out.


    He looked around the table once more.


    Today was truly going to be a great day.


    ***


    The drive to work was as uneventful as it always was. Adam merged onto the freeway with ease, cruising along familiar lanes beneath a pale blue sky just beginning to warm with the day. His hands rested lazily on the wheel, the soft hum of the engine mixing with the quiet rhythm of his morning playlist—mostly old classic rock and a few jazz tracks Bonnie had snuck into the rotation. He didn’t bother skipping them anymore. By now, they were just part of the routine.


    Traffic was light. The occasional car passed him, and he passed a few in return, nodding along to the music without really thinking about it. When he reached the government checkpoint, the guard at the gate gave him the same practiced nod and wave as always. Adam returned it with a smile and rolled on through, security clearance on his dash catching the early morning light.


    Inside the Pentagon’s south annex, the atmosphere was calm but in motion. Early risers with coffee in hand walked the halls, murmuring quietly about schedules and briefings. Elevators dinged open and closed with practiced rhythm, and overhead lighting cast a steady, sterile glow across the freshly waxed tile. It was all so deeply familiar that Adam moved through it without needing to think. He exchanged a few nods and brief greetings with coworkers he’d seen a hundred times before. Faces he could place but not name. People who likely thought the same of him.


    His office was just as he’d left it. Clean, quiet, and maybe a little too organized. The family photo sat in its usual spot beside the monitor, angled just slightly toward him. The small fern his daughter had insisted he take to work last year still clung to life in its ceramic pot on the filing cabinet. He set down his travel mug, slid off his jacket, and sank into the old office chair with a comfortable sigh.


    He powered up his system. The login screen blinked for a moment, then faded into the department dashboard. Just like that, he was back into it—logistics queues, equipment requests, requisition updates. He sipped his coffee as he scanned through the first batch of data. A few overdue shipments, a mistyped inventory code, nothing unusual.


    The familiarity of it all was almost comforting. The screen cast a dull blue glow over his desk as he typed, cross-checking schedules and approving minor adjustments. It was a job that didn’t demand too much, just consistency and a careful eye—both things Adam had in spades. There was a rhythm to the work, a quiet sort of order. Click, scroll, confirm. Move to the next.


    Outside his office, the morning was in full swing. He could hear fragments of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter from the break room, the soft shuffle of people passing by. Someone wheeled a cart of reports down the hallway. The overhead lights hummed in a constant, low tone, easily tuned out.


    He leaned back in his chair, cracking his knuckles absently. A few more forms, then maybe a refill on his coffee before the daily stand-up meeting. But before he could begin typing out another form, he heard a knock at his door.


    It was soft—just one, maybe two quick raps. Not loud enough to be urgent, but not the kind of knock someone gave when they were just being polite, either. He glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen. No appointments were scheduled, and no one had mentioned stopping by earlier.


    “Come in,” he called, still half-focused on the screen.


    The door creaked open.


    He expected Jenkins from analytics, or maybe one of the interns with a folder of misfiled paperwork. But when he looked up, the woman standing in the doorway was neither of those things.


    She was tall, dressed in a neatly fitted black suit that stood out against the beige walls and artificial lighting. Her features were striking—refined, almost sculpted—with high cheekbones, sharp eyes, and dark hair tucked behind her ears. Everything about her was composed, deliberate. There was a kind of quiet gravity to the way she carried herself, as if she belonged to another space entirely.


    Adam blinked, unsure if he’d seen her before.


    “Can I help you?” he asked, trying to place her. No badge. No clipboard. No familiar face. Yet something about her tugged at the edge of his memory.


    She stepped inside the room without answering. Her eyes scanned the space—not aimlessly, but as though she were checking off invisible boxes. She approached the desk with slow, measured steps, the heels of her shoes clicking softly against the tile floor.


    “I didn’t see any meetings on my schedule,” Adam added, glancing toward the corner of his screen.


    “No,” she said, her voice calm. “I’m not on it.”


    He waited for more, but she offered nothing else. Instead, she reached into the inner pocket of her jacket and pulled out a small object. Without a word, she placed it on the center of his desk—matte black, compact, and unfamiliar.


    Then she turned and walked toward the door.


    “Wait,” Adam said, standing halfway out of his chair. “Who are you?”


    She paused just before stepping out. “Delphi,” she said simply, looking at him over her shoulder. “Like the oracle.”


    Before he could respond, she was gone. Adam stood there for a second, frozen in place, the name echoing in his head.


    Delphi. Like the oracle.


    He crossed the room in three quick strides, pushing the door open and stepping into the hallway. The fluorescent lights outside buzzed faintly, the same dull tone they always gave off. A few people walked by—two analysts from finance, one of the IT guys from downstairs—but there was no sign of the woman.


    He turned to one of the nearby cubicles, where a junior assistant was rifling through a box of file folders.


    “Hey,” Adam said, keeping his voice steady. “Did you see someone just leave my office? Tall woman, black suit, dark hair?”


    The assistant blinked at him, confused. “No, sir. I didn’t see anyone go in or out. Been here the whole time.”


    Adam frowned. “Are you sure?”


    “Pretty sure,” they replied, shrugging. “I think I’d remember.”


    He nodded slowly and stepped back into his office, closing the door behind him. The room felt quieter now—too quiet. He looked around the space again, trying to shake the unease that had started building in the back of his mind.


    Sitting back down at his desk, he grabbed the object she’d left on it. It was just a pin—simple, elegant, and very official-looking. It had been shaped like an eagle in flight and underneath it, he could make out some words.


    He brought it closer to his face to read it. Adam whispered it aloud, almost without thinking.


    “Ark-Light Initiative?”


    He frowned, staring down at the emblem.


    “What’s that?”