The scene unfolded. He saw his brother at the doorway, a coat still damp, breath fogging in the winter air. They argued. Words like small stones hit floorboards. Will watched his own younger self — impatient, certain — say something sharp, a sentence that slammed the door on him as much as on his brother. He had blamed the other for leaving. The opal offered the tilt he’d missed: his brother’s eyes, bright and tired, a hope pinned to them like a moth.
A scent came then: iron and rain, and something clean like new paper. Time loosened. Will felt himself stepping sideways into a hallway he had walked as a child—familiar as a bruise. The wallpaper’s swirls had been different then, but the rhythm underfoot was the same, a beat that led toward a door with scuffed paint. He heard laughter—his mother’s, younger, spinning around a word he couldn’t yet quite hear. willtilexxx 23 07 28 aften opal delivery xxx 48
if handler == "aften" and classification == "opal": enable_encrypted_routing(destination_sector) return True The scene unfolded