The Aftermath

The police found him two days later.

They found a paraplegic man, half-frozen, huddled in the ruins of the Conservatory. They found the body of a billionaire tech mogul drowned in his own therapy pool—a tragic accident caused by a power failure and a falling wheelchair.

There were no files on the server. Ezra had wiped them.

There was no record of a murder. Just a tragedy.

\---

**One Month Later.**

The Aerie was quiet. The repairs were finished.

Ezra sat on the balcony, overlooking the ravine. The will had been ironclad. The estate, the money, the technology—it all belonged to "Caspian Vance," an identity Julian had legally created for Ezra months ago.

Ezra held a cup of tea. His hand was steady.

He looked at his reflection in the glass door.

The face was the same. The dark curls. The pale skin.

But the eyes...

The eyes looked older. They looked tired. They looked like they had seen the bottom of an ocean and climbed back out.

Ezra took a sip of tea. He began to hum.

It wasn't a pop song. It wasn't anything he had heard on the radio. It was a slow, mournful waltz. *The Midnight Waltz*.

He hummed the violin solo perfectly, note for note.

He stopped. He looked at the ravine where Julian’s previous lovers lay buried.

"Thank you, Julian," Ezra whispered. His voice was deeper than it used to be. The cadence was different. It sounded vintage.

He smiled at his reflection.

"I'm finally home."

Ezra—or whoever was in the chair—turned back to the view, watching the snow fall, waiting for the spring that he hadn't seen in a hundred years.