The move to Italy had been a whirlwind of change.

  Julie handled it with effortless ease, navigating the logistics, the flights, the housing arrangements as if it were second nature. For her, international moves were nothing new—her family’s wealth and access to elite networks made sure of that.

  But for Ezra? It was everything.

  He had never imagined himself living in Italy, let alone for the foreseeable future. The thought of leaving his old life behind, of stepping into something unknown and unfamiliar, should have scared him.

  But it didn’t. Because it meant being closer to Nonna Francesca.

  And Julie?

  She had agreed without hesitation. For all her sharp wit, for all her strong opinions and stubbornness, she had never once made him feel like he was asking too much. She had simply said:

  "If this is what you need, then we go."

  And now, here they were. Living in a cozy little apartment just outside Turin, the countryside rolling out before them, the Italian mountains standing tall in the distance, like old friends watching over them.

  Nonna Francesca had recovered well from her stroke.

  Well enough to walk again, well enough to continue her daily routines, though now she relied on a cane—a sturdy, carved piece of wood that she hated acknowledging but always kept within reach.

  She had scolded them both at first, waving off the idea that she needed looking after. "Bah! I am not some old bird waiting to be caged," she had grumbled, smacking Ezra lightly with the back of her hand when he tried to help her with the groceries.

  But he could see it—the slight hesitation when she moved, the way she sometimes sat down longer than usual, the way her fingers curled just a little tighter around that cane when she thought no one was watching.

  So, he stayed anyway.

  Julie took care of the rger logistics, handling what needed to be done around the apartment and keeping Nonna entertained with historical debates that could go on for hours.

  Ezra, on the other hand, picked up a construction job nearby, one that didn’t pay much but felt familiar, something he could fall back into like muscle memory. The work was physically exhausting, but it wasn’t what weighed on him.

  And Julie noticed.

  She had been watching him for weeks.

  It wasn’t like before, when his exhaustion came from long shifts or financial struggles. This was different—quieter, heavier, like he was carrying a decision too big to hold alone. At first, she thought he was still bothered by Nonna’s stroke, that maybe seeing her weakened, seeing her with a cane, had made him feel powerless in some way.

  One night, after dinner, she finally pressed him on it. "You’ve been quiet tely," she said, sitting on the couch beside him.

  Ezra leaned his head back against the cushions, exhaling slowly. “Have I?”

  Julie shot him a look. "Yes."

  A pause. Then, softer—"Is it about Nonna?"

  Ezra turned his head to look at her. The way her blue eyes softened, the way her fingers lightly traced patterns against her knee, told him that she was genuinely worried. And for a moment, he considered letting her believe that was it. That he was just processing the move, the change, the weight of family responsibilities.

  But she deserved more than that.

  Ezra swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinking about the White-Coats.”

  Julie’s brows furrowed. “The university?”

  He nodded.

  Julie sat back, crossing her arms. "You’re actually considering it."

  Ezra let out a humorless chuckle. “I mean… how can I not?”

  Julie was silent for a long moment, and then—softly, almost reluctantly—she asked, "Do you want it?"

  Ezra hesitated. Did he?

  He thought about what she had told him months ago—about how people like her father didn’t have the luxury of worrying about what was lost because they were too busy building the future.

  He thought about Key Industries, about how the world was built on sacrifice, about how a hundred-year project couldn’t wait for efficiency to catch up.

  The truth was, he didn’t know if he wanted it. But he knew he couldn’t ignore it.

  Julie didn’t press further. Not yet. She just sighed, resting her head on his shoulder, her fingers lightly tapping against his hand.

  And for now, that was enough.

  There were few things that helped Ezra clear his mind. Video games were one of them.

  Late at night, when Julie had gone to bed and the world outside had settled into a quiet hum, he would boot up his system, slip on his headset, and wait for that familiar voice to come through his speakers.

  “Oi, dumbass.”

  Ezra smirked. “Sup, Bruiser.”

  Brandon "Bruiser" Michaels had been his best friend since high school, a friendship built on shared detentions, dumb pranks, and hours spent yelling at each other over competitive strategy games.

  They had been through a lot together. And despite living oceans apart now, Bruiser was still one of the only people Ezra could truly talk to without reservation. Tonight, they were pying Total War, a game that required careful pnning, resource management, and patience—things neither of them were particurly known for.

  But the game wasn’t really the point.

  It was about the routine, about letting their minds wander while their hands worked on autopilot, about having someone to talk to without the pressure of deep conversation. At least, until Bruiser broke the silence. "You know," he said casually, deploying troops across the battlefield, "you’re kinda following in my footsteps."

  Ezra raised an eyebrow. "What?"

  "Moving across the world to take care of your granny," Bruiser said, smirking. "That’s my thing, dude."

  Ezra chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Guess I owe you royalties or something.”

  "Ten percent of your paycheck should do it."

  "Not a chance."

  Bruiser ughed, then paused, his voice softening just a little. "She doing okay?"

  Ezra nodded, even though Bruiser couldn’t see him. "She’s doing good. Cane helps. Still stubborn as ever."

  "Sounds about right."

  The match continued, the cshing of armies filling the screen, but the conversation settled into something calmer. They pyed for a while longer before switching to something lighter—a run-and-gun game, something that didn’t require thinking, just instinct.

  Ezra found comfort in these nights, in the simple predictability of old friendships.

  It didn’t solve everything. Didn’t make the decision about the White-Coats any easier. But it gave him a space to breathe.

  And right now, that was enough.

  They had switched to a space simution game, the kind that let you design ships, build stations, and explore procedurally generated gaxies. Ezra had been tinkering with his ship’s fuel efficiency, adjusting thrust-to-weight ratios, while Bruiser was less interested in optimization and more into smming asteroids at high speeds just to see what happened.

  At some point, their conversation drifted back to Ezra’s indecision.

  "So," Bruiser said, bsting his way through a field of debris, "you gonna take that university deal or what?"

  Ezra hesitated, adjusting the trajectory of his own ship. "I don’t know, man. It’s a lot. More than I ever pnned for."

  Bruiser made a thoughtful noise, as if considering something. "You know what I think?"

  Ezra smirked. "Something dumb, probably."

  "Obviously," Bruiser shot back. "But also this—I think you’re scared."

  Ezra paused. For a moment, he just stared at the screen, watching his ship coast through the darkness of space.

  "Yeah," he admitted, quietly.

  Bruiser didn’t mock him for it. Instead, he said, "Good. You should be. Means it’s worth doing."

  Ezra’s hands stilled on the controls.

  Bruiser continued, voice calmer than usual. "Think about it. Everything that ever changed your life—the good stuff? You were scared first, right? First day on a construction site. First time meeting Julie’s family. Hell, probably when you proposed, too."

  Ezra exhaled through his nose. Damn it, he wasn’t wrong.

  Bruiser chuckled, sensing the hesitation. "The real question is—are you scared because it’s a mistake? Or are you scared because it’s too damn big to ignore?"

  Ezra didn’t answer right away. Because, deep down, he already knew.

  And Bruiser? Bruiser had always known exactly when to shut up and let Ezra think.

  Ezra wasn’t ready to say it out loud yet. But for the first time, he wasn’t just avoiding the decision.He was leaning toward an answer.

  The te autumn air was crisp and cold, the sky stretched wide and endless above the Italian countryside. The golden hues of fall had begun to fade, leaving behind bare branches and quiet hills, the st remnants of warmth clinging stubbornly to the ndscape.

  Ezra stood outside their small apartment, leaning against the wooden railing of the balcony, watching the distant lights of the town flicker like stars scattered across the valley. The world felt still, but inside him, a storm was brewing.

  Julie had been watching him for a while now.

  She wasn’t one to hover, wasn’t one to pry when Ezra needed space—but he had been distant these st few weeks, and she had noticed. She always noticed.

  Finally, she stepped outside, a woolen shawl wrapped loosely around her shoulders, her breath visible in the cool night air. She leaned against the railing beside him, their arms just barely brushing.

  “You’re thinking about it,” she said, her voice soft, knowing.

  Ezra exhaled slowly, nodding. “Yeah.”

  Julie didn’t ask what. She didn’t have to.

  After a long pause, he turned to face her, hands gripping the railing as he searched for the right words. "I don’t know if I can be like your father, Julie," he admitted. "Hell, I don’t think I’ll ever be. But… that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try."

  Julie’s eyes flickered with something he couldn’t quite pce—something deeper than just concern.

  He ran a hand through his hair, frustration ced in his voice. "Bruiser’s right. This is big. And yeah, it scares me, but… imagine how many people I could help. How many lives I could save." He swallowed hard. "The sacrifices that went into building Key Industries? The people who died making it happen? I can’t just ignore that."

  Julie was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the hills, her expression unreadable. Then, finally, she spoke.

  "You know what I wanted for you, Ezra?" she murmured.

  He turned his head, watching her closely.

  "I wanted you to just… be you. Not someone shaped by my father’s shadow. Not someone forced into something bigger than himself just because the world decided he should be."

  Ezra’s stomach twisted.

  Julie turned, meeting his gaze fully now, her blue eyes steady, piercing. “But this isn’t about my father, is it?”

  He hesitated. Then—

  “No,” he said quietly. “It’s not.”

  Julie searched his face, as if trying to see past every doubt, every fear, every thought racing through his mind. "You’re sure?"

  He nodded, slowly.

  She let out a slow breath, her fingers curling around the fabric of her shawl. “Then…” Another pause. Then she reached out, cupping the side of his face gently, her thumb brushing against his cheek. "Then you have my blessing."

  Ezra’s chest tightened, a strange mix of relief, gratitude, and something heavier, deeper settling inside him. Julie gave him a small, bittersweet smile. "But make no mistake," she murmured, her voice low, teasing. "I am going to be mad at you when this gets hard."

  Ezra let out a breathy chuckle. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  Julie leaned in, pressing her forehead lightly against his, their breaths mingling in the cold night air.

  "Just promise me one thing," she whispered.

  "Anything."

  Her voice was quiet, but firm. "Don’t get so caught up in saving the world that you forget the people waiting for you to come home."

  Ezra swallowed hard, nodding. "I promise."

  For a moment, they just stood there, wrapped in the silence of the night, wrapped in the weight of their decision, their future, and everything that came with it.

  Then Julie smirked.

  "Now come inside," she said, nudging him. "You’re letting all the warmth out."

  And just like that, the moment passed. But Ezra knew—deep down, something had changed. This was the beginning of something he couldn’t turn back from.