“Lots of notes on the legend of the Moon,” Park said, flicking through notepads on the bed. Those were probably the most jumbled looking. All fallen to one side, as if someone had pulled the covers back to sleep right in the middle of all this madness. “A lot of these look like he was recording oral accounts. Who the hell was telling him our legends?”

Cooper was only half listening. He was studying the photos on the walls. It was difficult to tell, but he’d say most of them were taken within the last five months or so. Him leaving a coffee shop. Him taking out the trash at his old apartment. He and Park leaving one of the many houses they’d toured.

Cooper felt a wave of fury at that. That Park was up on this wall because of him. That Neil had ever sat here, lain in this bed and looked at Park...no.

Besides Cooper, there were photos of Arthur Crane and James Finnigan. Separate and together. Old and new. Cooper even found the same photo of Arthur that he’d seen on Finnigan’s phone.

“Oliver,” Cooper said softly, and heard Park approach and pause a long moment behind him. Then, with a slightly unsteady hand, Park pulled the photo off the wall. Stared at it. His fingers brushed almost disbelievingly at the faces of Daisy and Benjamin, his expression a little lost.

“They look like kids,” he whispered finally. “How did I never realize how...young they were?” Cooper touched his hip, comfortingly.

“Oliver, come here,” Cola said from across the room.

“What?” Park looked up distractedly, the photo still clutched in his hand.

“Did you find something?” Cooper asked.

“Just—please, come here,” Cola insisted, a steely note in her voice. Her dark brown eyes were wide and serious, and when she held out her hand, beckoning Park forward, Cooper saw her claws were out. He’d never seen Cola slip. Ever.

Park made to move toward her, and Cooper grabbed his arm.

“Let go of him,” Cola snapped immediately.

“What—what are you doing?” Park protested, sounding appalled.

“I said let go and back away,” Cola repeated. The hand that had been beckoning before had rotated into a distinctly threatening pose. Half raised, as if about to slash down.

Cooper could feel those claws inside of him as if it was already happening. Phantom pains implied something lesser than. A partial remembrance of the original. But this hurt all the more because it was his own body betraying him. Hurting himself.

The one thing keeping him calm was how utterly baffled and unconcerned Park was. Park, who would leap in front of a train to protect him, or fight the clouds if he thought the rain caused him pain, was completely relaxed and loose beneath Cooper’s hands.

“What’s going on?” Cooper asked.