Setting: Late afternoon — Irwin residence, front door hallway.

The sun dipped low over the quiet Californian suburb as Nathan Irwin flipped shut the cover of his textbook with an audible click. He was seated in the living room, sipping a cup of black tea with surgical calm while soft Chopin played in the background. The house, for once, was unusually tidy—even by his standards. His mother had been cleaning all day, his father unusually cheerful.

Apparently, they were expecting "old friends."

Not that Nathan cared. His only plan for the evening was to finish his physics review and avoid being dragged into one of Angela's chaotic memory-lane parades.

From the other end of the house came the sound of heels on tile. Angela peeked around the corner, eyes sparkling. "Nathan, do try to smile when they arrive, will you? It's been years since we've seen them. And I think their daughter is around your age."

"Fascinating," he replied dryly, not looking up. "Do I have to interact?"

His father's voice chimed in from the kitchen. "At least greet them at the door, son. It's Chris."

Nathan blinked. Chris? The name was vaguely familiar. A business friend? A golfing buddy?

He adjusted his cuffs and stood, reluctantly.

At the Same Time... Outside the House

You clutched your duffel bag with both hands, trying not to trip over the stone steps leading to the front door. Your father, Chris, walked beside you, his eyes warm despite the weariness lining his face. The earthquake had turned your life upside down in a matter of hours—but his smile hadn't faltered once since the Irwins had offered them shelter.

"They're old friends of mine," he said. "You used to play with their son when you were little."

You blinked. "Wait—what? Who?"

But before he could answer, the door opened.

A tall figure stood framed in the doorway, backlit by golden light. Broad-shouldered, handsome, cold-eyed—impossibly familiar.

Your heart stopped.

It was Nathan.