It had been three days since Kai had declared Talia his "mother" and signed a glowing adoption contract like it was a game.
Since then, the café had… adjusted.
The sugar stock had vanished twice.
Spice jars were mysteriously alphabetized.
And the back pantry door, once perpetually squeaky, now opened with a soft shhhk—thanks to a temporal rewind loop Kai had set up to "save time." Literally.
Talia leaned on the counter, sipping a lukewarm cup of her own failed espresso experiment. Across from her, Kai sat with his legs swinging, scribbling in a notebook that definitely hadn't existed yesterday.
He was humming. Off-key. Loudly.
Talia squinted. "Is that a lullaby?"
Kai didn't look up. "A memory."
Her brows pulled together. "Yours?"
"Someone's."
"…Right."
She took another sip, grimaced, and set the cup down. "You know," she said slowly, "you didn't know what 'mother' meant a few days ago. But now you're quoting poetry and writing cursive. How did you learn to speak properly so fast?"
Kai finally looked up, blinking. "I didn't."
Talia raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure you did."
Kai tilted his head. "I'm just… remembering how. Words come back. One by one. Some are mine. Some aren't. Some I stole."
Talia blinked. "You—stole language?"
He shrugged. "People leave pieces behind when they leave places. I pick them up."
There was a moment of silence.
"…You know that's the creepiest way I've ever heard someone say they're good at languages, right?"
Kai nodded seriously. "Thank you."
Talia gave a slow, tired blink. "Not a compliment."
He returned to his notebook, quietly mouthing syllables like they were candy.
Talia watched him for a moment longer—this strange, fragile thing in a too-small body with a too-big soul—and something tight pulled in her chest.
She stood, walked around the counter, and tousled his hair.
Kai froze.
Slowly, he looked up at her, wide-eyed. "Why did you do that?"
Talia shrugged, playing it off. "It's what moms do, right? When kids say weird stuff but look… kind of lonely."
Kai blinked.
Then reached up and carefully patted the top of her head in return. "There. Now you're not lonely either."
Talia bit back a laugh. "That's not how it—never mind."
They sat like that for a while—him scribbling, her sipping coffee that tasted slightly less bitter.
And for once, the café was quiet. Still. Peaceful.
DING.
A new notification appeared in Talia's peripheral vision.
> [Emotional Milestone Reached: "Guardian Bond – Phase One"]
Kai's trust has grown. His memories are beginning to stabilize.
New passive unlocked: "Memory Link – Gain glimpses of Kai's past through shared emotions."
Talia glanced at the system message, then at the boy now sketching a swirly version of the café's front door.
She didn't say anything. But she didn't move away either.
Kai hummed again. Slower this time.
Not off-key. Not loud.
But… haunting.
Talia frowned. Something about the sound twisted under her skin like the memory of a memory.
And then—
CRACK.
The air shimmered.
Not loud. Not visible to anyone else. But in Talia's mind, something peeled open—like someone had torn a page halfway through a book and shoved her inside.
She blinked.
Suddenly, she wasn't in Haven Brew.
She was standing in a ruined city, the sky split with broken moons and flickering red static. The ground was ash. Time bled sideways—clock faces melted on buildings, trees blooming and withering in seconds.
And in the middle of it all was Kai.
But older as a teenager. Taller. Eyes sharp like glass cracked from pressure. His hair whipped around him as he ran—barefoot, bleeding, wild with desperation.
He darted through warped alleyways that bent the wrong way, clutching something glowing and fragile against his chest. A sphere? A clock? A star?
Something chased him.
Not with footsteps. But with absence.
Reality behind him unraveled—buildings turning to salt, color draining from the sky, time devouring itself. And it was gaining.
"NO—NOT YET—NOT—"
Kai tripped and fell.
The glowing object shattered on impact.
A scream—warped, silent, *centuries long*—ripped through the collapsing world.
And then—
Darkness.
DING.
[Memory Link Triggered] Memory Fragment: "The End That Wasn't" Emotional Sync: 62% Kai's emotional core partially stabilized.
Talia gasped, stumbling back into the present like she'd been yanked out by force.
Kai sat in front of her, still scribbling.
Still small.
Still humming.
He blinked up at her. "You look pale."
Talia stared at him, heart hammering, the echo of ash still in her lungs.
"…What happened to you?" she whispered.
Kai tilted his head. "I don't remember. But sometimes... my soul does."
He tapped his chest once, then turned back to his drawing, as if nothing had happened.
Later That Day...
Jasper was inspecting the espresso machine while Xander cleaned his knives with enough intensity to make the spoons nervous.
Kai sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the pastry case, building something from empty sugar packets, mismatched buttons, and a spoon Talia *knew* had been part of the good set.
"Is that… a nest?" she asked.
Kai nodded. "For my time birds."
"…Your what now."
He held up a drawing. "See? They eat seconds and lay hourglass eggs."
Talia blinked at the sketch. "…Honestly, I've seen worse."
Xander passed by with a tray of freshly sharpened cutlery. "He asked if he could keep one if it hatched. I said no. He started naming them anyway."
"Behold," Kai declared, pointing to a sugar-packet egg with a swirl on it. "This one is Gertrude. She's dramatic."
Jasper didn't even look up. "Is she also imaginary?"
Kai gave a proud nod. "Extremely."
Talia pressed a hand to her forehead. "Is this what parenting is? Constant confusion and mild fear?"
The cat, curled in a sunbeam, flicked its tail. "Yes. You're doing great."
DING!
[Daily Café Mood: Chaotically Functional] [Kai has reduced temporal fluctuations by 12%. Sugar stock at 8%. Spoon count: …decreasing.]
Talia looked around.
A sugar nest.
A time-child.
A knife-obsessed guardian.
A snarky nerd with techmage-like abilities.
A café at the edge of reality.
And herself.
Smiling.
"…Yeah. Alright."
She picked up a mug, filled it with something strong, and clinked it gently against Kai's.
"To the weird ones," she said.
Kai blinked. Then beamed. "To the ones who stay."
The sugar nest had gained a second level by lunchtime.
Kai had added a stir stick chandelier, two marshmallow balconies, and a "roof" made from an unfolded tea box. A string of paperclip stars dangled from it like some celestial offering to whatever ancient god ruled the pantry.
Xander stepped around it with the kind of precision usually reserved for combat zones.
Talia arched a brow from behind the counter. "You're avoiding the nest now?"
Xander didn't answer. Just glanced at Gertrude—currently nestled atop the marshmallow dome like she owned the place—and made a noncommittal grunt.
Kai, seated beside his masterpiece with a pastry half-dismantled in his hands, looked up proudly. "She doesn't like being stepped on."
Jasper muttered from the espresso machine, "Neither do most people, Kai."
"She's not people," Kai replied cheerfully. "She's a time bird."
Talia, arms crossed, leaned on the counter. "How do they even hatch?"
Kai blinked, as if the answer were obvious. "Emotionally."
That earned a sharp wheeze from Jasper.
Xander didn't laugh—he rarely did—but his mouth twitched like it wanted to betray him.
Kai stood suddenly and marched toward the counter, holding out a spoon coated in something suspiciously glittery. "Here. Taste this."
Talia recoiled. "I'm not eating a spell."
"It's not a spell," Kai insisted. "It's marmalade. Mostly."
"…Mostly?"
Kai shrugged. "I was experimenting."
"I've seen you experiment," Talia said. "Last time, the cupboard learned how to sigh."
Behind her, the cupboard did, in fact, sigh.
Kai beamed.
The white cat, who had been lounging upside down on the bookshelf like gravity was optional, lifted its head. "He's adapting well."
Talia gave it a look. "Define 'well.'"
"He hasn't imploded. Or rewritten the café into a cosmic labyrinth. That's growth."
Jasper set down a cup with a sharp clink. "I don't know, I'm still recovering from the Day of Infinite Pudding."
Kai gasped. "That was a good day!"
"There were three of me by the end," Jasper said.
"One of them played the violin," Kai added.
"No one here plays the violin," Xander muttered.
"Exactly," Jasper snapped, pointing.
Kai plopped onto a stool beside Talia and rested his chin on the counter. "What do people do when there's no apocalypse chasing them?"
"Normal stuff," she said. "Serve coffee. Complain about the weather. Pay bills."
Kai frowned. "I don't like bills."
"Join the club."
There was a pause. Then—
"Can we do something normal now?" Kai asked. "Like… like soup?"
"Soup?" Jasper echoed, looking alarmed.
Kai nodded. "The warm kind. That hugs your insides."
Talia blinked. "Soup hugs?"
"That's what soup is for," Kai said seriously. "Why else would it be shaped like a bowl?"
The café went still. Then Jasper snorted. "You're not wrong."
Xander slid a cutting board across the counter. "I'll get the ingredients."
The cat purred from its perch. "Let it be known—on this day, soup saved reality."
Talia rolled her eyes, but the smile lingered at the corners of her mouth.
---
The soup was… weird.
Of course it was. This was Haven Brew.
Xander chopped vegetables like he was on a mission. Jasper added spices with the kind of reckless precision only a theoretical alchemist could manage. Kai stood on a stool with a ladle, humming to the bubbling pot and muttering encouragement like it was a magical creature that needed emotional validation.
Talia just watched.
Not because she didn't trust them—but because, in that moment, watching was enough.
She watched Xander carefully tuck a towel beneath Kai's feet to make sure he didn't slip.
Watched Jasper grumble as he cleaned spilled herbs with one hand and adjusted Kai's apron with the other.
Watched Kai beam up at them like they were constellations drawn back into his orbit.
And later, when the soup was ladled into mismatched mugs and shared around the quiet café, Talia sat back, warm bowl in hand, and thought—
This isn't how it's supposed to be.
But maybe that wasn't the point.
Maybe this—this soup, this sugar nest, this stitched-together family at the edge of unraveling time—was what it needed to be.
Her gaze drifted to Kai, who had fallen asleep at the table, cheek smushed into his arms, one sugar cube still clenched in his fist.
The cat curled beside him, tail flicking softly.
A new system message popped into view.
> [Café Sync Status: 87%]
Emotional Stability Detected.
Chrono-Child anchored.
Environment secured (for now).
Talia let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.
"…Yeah," she whispered. "We'll stay."