Jackson leaned forward at his desk, frowning as his fingers intertwined into a contemplative fist. The lighting of the office illuminated his meticulously spotless mahogany desk excluding the application papers that sat before him. Jackson had scrutinized every word of Willow’s application papers beyond exhaustion. His task was as simple as signing off the approval for the new hire.

“She doesn’t have the work experience– any of it,” Jackson muttered, only for his comment to be responded to by the memory of the conversation with Gunnsie the night before.

The words replayed in his mind, like a song stuck on repeat. It was almost as if Gunnsie was saying it now, “She’s the top of her class,” he’d said with that irritating, paternal warmth. _“A __natural __with __animatronics __and automation. She can __learn _directly from you—think of her as your understudy.”

Jackson scoffed, “Understudy?” he let the word roll in his mouth, tasting the implications of the role. To him, it was synonymous with “charity case.” Jackson took in a breath before speaking to the stale air before him, “Why should I train anyone?”

He almost lost his train of thought when he gently chuckled at the absurdity of the idea, him train someone? Lest someone who Gunnsie had plucked from academia, untested, unproven, unbroken… Jackson shook his head gently, his eyes settling themselves upon Willow’s application papers once more.

Something about the name Willow Alta felt wrong, it felt distant. It felt like a mask. His eyes drifted to the photograph attached to her application. Her green bow tie stood out sharply against the monochromatic tones of her white dress shirt and black vest. It wasn’t just green—it was emerald.

The word hung in his thoughts, tethered to memories he couldn’t yet untangle. Emerald. Why did that color feel significant? Why did this woman’s face stir something in the recesses of his mind?

He shook his head, leaning back in his chair. The velvet of its crimson upholstery brushed against his neck, its texture grounding him as he closed his hazel eyes.

“_She’s a __gem _Jax,” Gunnsie had said the night before, leaning against the doorway of Jackson’s office with his usual casual confidence. “And to top it off, she’s family. My niece, no less.”

Family. That word had struck a dissonant chord in Jackson’s mind. Never once in their decades of partnership had Gunnsie mentioned a sibling, let alone a niece. And yet, Gunnsie had spoken of Willow with an almost paternal pride, his deep voice laced with something Jackson couldn’t quite place.

Jackson had scoffed at the time, dismissing Gunnsie’s enthusiasm as another one of his whims. Jackson had suspected that the old professor at the university was just rather fond of this student. Professor Pastor had mentioned something about “Will” being the top of their class. But now, alone with the weight of the decision, Jackson found himself poring over Willow’s file for the fifth time.

"Family," Jackson muttered, his Russian accent thick with skepticism and a hint of longing mixed with faint jealousy. “You’ll see,” Gunnsie had added, his German inflection slipping subtly through his words. “She’s a diamond in the rough.”

Jackson listened to the clock methodically slice every second through the air with every tick. He didn’t know how long he sat there, lost in thought just counting the seconds as they passed by him. In his head, the words of his brother, his business partner, his broken compass only continued themselves. 

_“_**_We_**_ can hire her for _**_cheap_**_. You could say that _**_Will _**_had the _**_way _**_to_**_ grasp _**_everything so _**_quickly_**_.” _Guns had said that night when he came to work after teaching his final class of the evening. Will sighed as he sat up straight once more and skimmed through Willow’s application paper’s again. He could recite the whole thing by heart at this point, but maybe there was something between the lines that he had missed. “Что делает её такой перспективный?” _“Will has _**_always _**_been _**_fascinated _**_by _**_our work_**_, she _**_haunts _**_my _**_office _**_hours just to _**_ask _**_about _**_our processes_**_” _Guns chuckled, his hidden German accent slipping through his laugh and re-engraving itself into Jackson’s memory. The echo of his laugh momentarily disorienting him, the echo just as thunderous if not beyond as that of a military freight train. Jackson flipped through the papers on his desk nonchalantly, all the paperwork needed was that signature. Gunnsie could have done it himself, making it ever evident that Guns was giving Luther the option to deny the heavily recommended request to hire Willow. A hire that Guns had been suggesting insistently, borderline naggingly. Jackson restarted his flipping of the pages, that laugh that had felt so lighthearted echoing darkly in his mind. Its tone twisted into that of a deeper plot to thwart and undermine his control in the company. He pauses a moment on the photo of Willow upon her applications. Something about her felt familiar yet Jackson couldn’t seem to place what. He stood from his desk and started pacing the front of the room, his mind chewing on the details. The smile in Willow’s photo nagged at him. It wasn’t genuine. There was something off about it, something broken. He rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of the gnawing familiarity her face brought. “Emerald,” he murmured suddenly. The word slipped out like a long-buried secret. He froze. Emerald. The name rang in his mind, sharp and clear, pulling him back to a different time. With deliberate movements–a purpose, Jackson drifted over to his desk and returned to his seat as he opened a drawer and pulled out an old file labeled 1978. Inside were photographs from Dragon Land’s early days, back when the park was new and Jackson had personally donned the costume of Cashimer. The photos spilled across the desk, their faded colors a stark contrast to the vibrant memories they held. Smiling children posed with Cashimer, their joy almost tangible. Jackson sorted through them methodically, setting aside the ones with boys and groups. He was looking for someone specific. And then he found her. The girl in the photograph couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, her fiery gaze locked onto the camera and an unmistakable grin that shone even through the faded colors of the photograph. Her wavy chestnut hair was tied back, and her smile—genuine, full of life—was nothing like the hollow expression in Willow’s application photo. Jackson’s chest tightened. “Emerald,” he whispered again, his voice almost reverent. He leaned back, the image of the child and the woman merging in his mind. Emerald had been a fixture at Dragon Land, the park’s most frequent visitor. She had always made a beeline for Cashimer. She’d been relentless, confident, and unforgettable.

And then, one day, she vanished.

“What happened to you?” he muttered, staring at the photograph as if it held answers. Emerald had disappeared without a trace in 1987, and now, years later, she was back—a resurfaced memory. He pressed the photo to his forehead, as if trying to absorb the truth it carried. His mind raced, piecing together fragments of memory and observation. Emerald had been athletic, full of energy and determination. The girl in the photos had been a force of nature, and now… Jackson sighed, flipping the lights back on. The office returned to its manufactured warmth, but the unease in his chest lingered. He gathered the photos and tucked them back into their file, placing it gently in the drawer. He glanced at the application papers one last time, the decision weighing heavily on him. Emerald—no, Willow—had haunted his memories for years. Now she was here, in his world again. With a deliberate motion, Jackson picked up his pen, _“My __niece __has always loved Cashimer, she used to observe Your __creations __and adore them. She has __helped __me __fix __the __flaws __in my own __theoretical __designs.” _Gunnsie’s voice cut through the silent air. Jackson lifted his head, he could’ve sworn he just heard Guns, but he remained alone. “It would be wrong of one to not admire my creations… but theory is far different from the real solid world…” Jackson commented.

“_She graduates this semester with her __master’s __in mechanics. With an emphasis on __animatronics _and automation.”

“Right, a useful education…” Jackson trailed sarcastically, “Of nothing but theory…” Jackson mumbled, “What else is there? Any extracurriculars? Hobbies?” Jackson gently rubbed his temples as he closed his hazel eyes. He sat for a moment or so before recalling the answer.

_“She used to observe _**_your _**_creations and _**_adore_**_ them.” _Gunnsie’s words echoed once more in Jackson’s head. “_She’s always been exceptional,_” Gunnsie’s words echoed smoothly. “_A true gem, Jax_.” “Emerald was a gem,” he murmured, recalling Gunnsie’s playful nickname for her during her visits. “Is this your game, G? Playing on my respect for the past?” He stood abruptly for the 3rd time of the night, the legs of his chair scraping against the wooden floor. Pacing the room again, he let his thoughts churn. If Guns had known of his attachment to Emerald, it wouldn’t be beyond him to use that knowledge to sway Jackson’s decision, was it? Jackson returned to his desk, his gaze falling on the stack of documents awaiting his signature. Willow’s application lay on top, her photograph and Emerald’s staring up at him like a challenge. The questions swirled in his mind, his hands gripping the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white. He felt the weight of the past pressing down on him, mingling with the uncertainties of the present. For the first time in years, Jackson Luther was at a loss. He reached for his pen, his hand hovering over the signature line on Willow’s application. The decision felt monumental, as though he were standing at the threshold of something far greater than a simple hire. His hand shook violently and he was forced to drop the pen. He could've sworn he felt his heart stop when the ringing of the phone emitted from his desk. “Fuck” he muttered to himself, answering the insistently ringing device. “Luther here,” he replied , his Russian accent thick. “Wow, someone is in a bad mood… didn’t even throw in a ‘hello’” Gunnsie’s voice comes through the line in a lighthearted manner. Jackson couldn’t help but snap at Guns, “I’m busy, G.” “Sure, and dragons breathe ice, try again.” Guns replied sarcastically, his tone coming across as condescending to Jackson. “Some dragons do breathe ice though,” Jackson returned without missing a beat, his breath shaking and tightening. Gunnsie lets out a dramatic sigh on the line, “Of course you’d say that. Leave it to you to fact-check my metaphors while falling apart.” “H-hey!” Jackson complained, gritting his teeth as his shaking only seemed to worsen.“Я не– я не– I’m not falling apart!” “You just argued about mythical reptiles. Case closed.” Jackson grumbled, he was irked that this is the course the call had taken, he was being treated as a child. “You didn’t call me to lecture me on Dragons. Try again.” Jackson replied rather snarkily. “You’re right, I called to ask if you’ve eaten today. Or slept, or–” “G, Guns! I’m fine.” Jackson replied bluntly, choking on his words as he gasped for breath. He was shaking uncontrollably. “Oh yeah, totally. Snapping at me is exactly what calm people do.” Gunnsie paused for a beat, “You’ve got the tone of a man one jolt away from–” The phone clattered loudly, falling to the floor and dragging its base down with it. Jackson gripped the edge of his desk once more, squeezing his eyes shut as he took a deep breath. His chest was greatly pained as he slowly opened his eyes. He was sitting in his seat, the phone remained untouched, and he was gripping his chest with his now still hands.