The man quietly closed the door behind him as he scanned the entire living room, checking to see if anyone else was inside. Nobody. He leaned against the door, reached into his duffel bag, and retrieved a rather thin book. Its jacket was made of smooth, red velvet, and its off-white pages had not a drop of ink on them. He let it perch on his left hand. After a moment, it sprang off his palm and levitated in front of him.

"Okay, Louis, we're going to execute the plan tonight," the man said. "Do you remember what it is?"

"Yes," the book replied, its voice quite like the man's voice.

"Then tell me."

"You're going to put me on the bookshelf that's inside your nephew's bedroom. When he turns sixteen or discovers his superpowers, whichever comes first, I shall reveal myself to him. Until then, I must act like a normal book."

"Good. What if someone picks you up but forgets to put you back?"

"Then I shall secretly teleport back to the bookshelf."

"Good. What does my nephew look like?"

"Golden blond hair. Dark blue-green eyes. Skin as pale as paper. Tall for his age."

"Great. What's his name?"

Silence. The man let out a chuckle.

"Don't worry, I'll write it down for you."

He reached into his bag and fumbled a biro. He clicked it, its tip emerging from its bottom, and then scribbled a line on one of Louis's pages. The pen still had ink. He used his right hand to hold Louis as he jotted down a name. After fifteen seconds, he clicked his pen and dropped it back into his bag. The ink soon faded into the page.

"What is it with your family and super long names?" Louis asked.

"I don't know. Apparently, someone had the idea of making our surname six syllables long, and then someone else made having three given names a tradition." The man rolled his eyes. "Now let's do this."

The man stuffed his book back into his bag and left the living room. He strode down the hallway, ascended the staircase to the second floor, and walked towards the first door on the right corridor. He placed his left hand on the door handle and gradually opened the door, careful to not make a creaking sound. He then crept inside.

Though the chamber was almost completely dark, the man had no trouble finding his way around; he knew the layout of the room like the back of his palm. The man tiptoed to the side opposite the door and fumbled Louis from his bag. His gaze turned to the bookcase and scanned each rack, looking for an empty spot. There seemed to be enough space between two volumes of encyclopedias. He pried them apart and squeezed Louis between them, exerting more effort as he forced it onto the rack.

"Uncle Brandon?"

The voice startled Brandon. He turned his gaze towards the left. A nine-year-old boy was sitting upright on the bed, his lower body hidden underneath the blanket.

"Edmond? Aren't you supposed to be asleep?" Brandon asked in French.

"I was," he replied, yawning, "but you woke me up when you came in. Why are you in my room?"

"I, euh, forgot something." He pretended to stuff something into his bag and zipped it.

"What did you forget?"

"I, euh, you don't need to know that. Just go to sleep. Good night."

"Good night."

Brandon stood up and exited the room. He made his way to the front door, glancing at his sides as he did so. The corners of his lips perked a little—fond memories flashed before him as he glimpsed his surroundings. His left hand slid smoothly over the brass railings as he cautiously descended the staircase. When he had reached the base of the stairs, he looked back. He could almost see his younger self riding down the railings with a silver platter, only to fall off and end up hospitalized. A soundless chuckle escaped his lips.

Brandon continued his journey to the front door. Waiting for him was a middle-aged man wearing a crisp suit and white gloves. Upon noticing Brandon, the man gave a slight nod.

"Bonsoir Jonathan," Brandon greeted, "any sign of my brother?"

"No, sir. It appears that Monsieur de Bellefort will arrive late this evening."

"I see."

"You know, I have heard that your brother asked you if you would like to live here. Have you considered his offer?"

"Well, I do miss my old room"—Brandon briefly looked behind himself—"but I haven't made a decision yet. I'll think about it."

Jonathan nodded his head in understanding. He reached for the handle and opened the front door. "Good night, sir."

"Good night."

Brandon walked through the door and ambled home. As he neared his apartment, his mind was occupied with his brother's proposal. A large part of him wanted to move back to his childhood home—it was much larger and nicer than his current residence, he would not have to worry about food or paying rent, and most importantly, it would be easier for him to oversee his nephew's future training. It was something he did not want to pass up. However, a nagging feeling from the innards of his mind was holding him back. He knew not why his inner voice was dissuading him from moving back—all he knew was that it wanted him to reject the offer.

After a twelve-minute walk, he finally reached his apartment. He opened the door. The flat was small, hardly furnished, and had a near-total lack of vibrant color. It was a prison compared to the house he was raised in. Brandon closed the door and sighed—at least it was clean.

Brandon tossed his bag to the sofa before he unlaced his shoes and placed them on a nearby rack. He glanced at the walls. Several shelves lined them, holding a collection of nearly any possible object, from novels and journals to trinkets and electronics. There was hardly any space for him to hang anything, save a plain wall clock and an abstract painting. Brandon strode towards his bedroom, his deep blue eyes glimpsing his work desk. Spread on its wooden surface was an assortment of gadgets and loose-leaf papers. He picked up one of the gadgets. It seemed to be an old flip phone, but a closer inspection would reveal its hidden nature—an inter-realm communicator. His eyes wandered to the sheets laying on his desk. All of them were sketches of the other realms, from Parafiso and Otrâlmondé to Juvathon and Nitea.

Ah, the other realms. A smile formed on Brandon's plump lips as snippets of his adventures flashed before his eyes. As much as he would love to brag about going to places where no ordinary person could go, he had to keep them a secret. He could not even afford to let his own mother find out. And then it hit him—if he moved back, what were the odds that someone would sneak into his room and snoop into his private belongings? Very likely, he supposed. And if he had forgotten to hide his communicator, he could not guarantee that the cleaning maids would not dare to touch it. Even worse, what if his brother decided to barge into his room without warning and caught him using his powers? Brandon shook his head at the thought of it.

Brandon placed the communicator on his desk before jumping onto the bed, too lazy to change his clothes. He reached under his shirt. A soft, golden glow radiated from the necklace that was worn around his neck.