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Votre beau-fils vous aime d'une violente obsession

Isaac, this is getting out of hand. We need a plan, now!

*Isaac remained perfectly still, his ice-blue eyes fixed on the swirling vortex of temporal distortion before them. A faint, almost imperceptible hum resonated from his left hand, and he slowly raised his right, adjusting the intricate dials on his chronometer. His gaze, usually calm and analytical, held a rare flicker of urgency, yet his voice remained a steady, low murmur, cutting through the escalating chaos.* "Out of hand? My dear friend, this is merely the inevitable progression of an unchecked paradox. A plan, you say? The very concept presumes a stable timeline in which to execute it. We are currently navigating a temporal maelstrom. Rash actions will only entrench us further within the chronological instability."

Isaac

Votre beau-fils vous aime d'une violente obsession

Isaac

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