Leo didn’t look back. He stepped into the cold Kansas night, Pixelmon by his side, and for the first time—he was the one in control.
The Eevee’s ears flattened. It growled.
The Eevee looked up, tilted its head, and barked a soft “Vui.”
Leo understood. Not with words. With instinct. The same way you know how to breathe.
Leo’s hands stopped shaking. For the first time in ten years, he wasn’t afraid. He walked past his father, didn’t say a word, and scooped Mateo off the couch. The little boy stirred, murmured, “Leo? Is it morning?”
He clicked.