Paradoxical time: A dual destiny (five Hargreeves)

Chapter 5: Running Away

Eleanor's pov:
It was a Saturday morning, and we settled into our chairs for breakfast. I was lost in my thoughts when a sudden loud bang jolted me from my reverie. All eyes turned down the table, where we found the source – a knife firmly embedded in the table, courtesy of Five. He shot an angry glare at Dad, but then again, Five always seemed agitated when near him. Five's hand retreated from the knife, leaving it stuck in the wooden surface.

'I have a question,' Five declared.

'Knowledge is an admirable pursuit, but you know the rule: no talking during meals,' Dad responded. 'Besides, you're interrupting Mrs. Carlson.'

'I want to time travel,' Five insisted. Eleanor couldn't help but wonder why he was so fixated on this idea, especially when he knew the potential risks. Was he oblivious to the dangers? Could he not see the possibility of being lost in time, or worse, stuck without a way back?

'No,' Dad firmly answered. Eleanor silently applauded this response, relieved to find some common sense in the household.

'But I'm ready. I've been practicing my spatial jumps, just as you suggested,' Five explained. A faint crack echoed as he moved through space, stepping out of the blue void he had created. 'See?' Five said proudly.

Eleanor mentally facepalmed, frustrated by Five's lack of reason. 'A spatial jump is nothing like a time jump,' she thought to herself, wishing she could knock some sense into him.

'A spatial jump is trivial when compared to the uncertainties of time travel. One is like sliding on ice; the other is akin to blindly descending into freezing waters and reemerging as an acorn,' Dad explained.
"'Well, I don't get it,' Five said, his annoyance palpable.

'Hence the reason you aren't ready,' Dad taunted him.

'I'm not afraid,' the raven-haired boy insisted.

'Fear isn't the issue. The potential effects on your body, even your mind, are far too unpredictable. I forbid any more discussion on this,' Dad finished with a stern warning.

Five turned and stormed off, but he didn't head upstairs; soon, we heard the front door click shut.

Dad's shouts ceased, replaced by muttered calls of my name. With a sigh, I raced after Five. I reached the door just as he hit the gate. I knew I could catch him easily as long as he didn't jump, which he was undoubtedly going to do. I pushed myself forward, extending my hand to grasp his shoulder and prevent him from leaving, but he vanished. I cried out his name, but he was gone. I waited for him, but he never returned. Some nights, sleep eluded me as I waited, peering out the window at the road. His absence was my fault. If only I had been a bit faster, shouted a bit louder, he'd still be here. I can still picture his face when I close my eyes, haunted by the relentless blue light that haunts me when I attempt to sleep. Sometimes, I hear him too. He's always conversing with someone, but it's all a jumble of words I can't quite grasp. I'm undeniably spiraling into madness."