They landed hard in the yard, the grass soft and vibrant under a golden summer sky. Tylor's breath caught as he saw her—Amaira, her pigtails bouncing, her laughter like wind chimes as she chased a red balloon across the lawn. She was real, not a memory, her tiny sneakers kicking up dirt. Tylor's knees buckled, tears blurring his vision. He wanted to run to her, to hold her, but Kayla's hand clamped on his wrist.
"Wait," she hissed, pulling him behind the weathered shed. "We need to see what happens. We can't mess this up."
From their hiding spot, they watched Amaira's small figure dart toward the street, the balloon bobbing just out of reach. Then, a shadow moved—a man in a dark coat, his face obscured by a hood, stepping from the alley. Tylor's blood ran cold. The man moved fast, his gloved hand clamping over Amaira's mouth as she screamed, the sound muffled. He dragged her toward a black van parked at the curb, its engine idling ominously.
"No!" Tylor whispered, his body shaking with rage. Kayla's grip tightened, but her eyes were wide with fear and determination.
"We follow," she said, her voice low. "We stop him."
They sprinted after the van, weaving through quiet streets, the summer air thick with the scent of honeysuckle and dread. The van stopped at an abandoned lot, overgrown with weeds, a dilapidated shed looming in the shadows. The man pulled Amaira inside, her small form struggling against his grip.
Tylor didn't think. He charged, tackling the man with a force he didn't know he had. Kayla grabbed a broken branch, swinging it with a crack against the man's shoulder. He roared, stronger than they expected, his fists lashing out. Tylor dodged, his heart pounding, and grabbed the man's hood, yanking it back.
The face beneath stopped him cold.
"Dad?" Tylor's voice was a broken whisper, his world tilting. His father's face was pale, lined with grief, his eyes glistening with a sorrow that cut deeper than betrayal.
"Tylor…" his dad rasped, collapsing to his knees, the fight draining from him. "I didn't want you to know."
"Know what?" Tylor shouted, tears streaming down his face. "You took her? You let me think she was gone?"
Amaira sobbed, clinging to Kayla, who held her tightly. Tylor's father looked up, his voice trembling. "Your mother died, Tylor. You were breaking—both of you. Amaira was so young, so fragile. I thought I could protect her, hide her in the basement lab while I worked on the time machine. I wanted to bring your mom back, to fix everything. But I couldn't let you see. You'd hate me."
"You kept her locked up?" Tylor's voice shook, rage and heartbreak colliding. "You let me live in hell, thinking she was dead?"
"I'm sorry," his father sobbed, his hands trembling. "I thought it was the only way."
Tylor's fists clenched, but Kayla's hand on his shoulder steadied him. "Tylor," she said softly, "Amaira's safe now. Let's get her home."
Tylor looked at his father, a stranger now, and turned away. "You're not my family anymore," he said, his voice cold. He took Amaira's hand, and the time machine's hum pulled them back to the present, leaving his father behind.