The expression was complex and forlorn, the corners of the mouth still tinged with a bitter smile.
"This time, I can't go in with you, Booker. Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Why not?" Booker gently patted the back of Elizabeth's hand, his tone filled with guilt, "Anna, after this is over, I will take you to Paris. I will do everything I can to make up for the eighteen years of a father's responsibility."
Having said that, he resolutely pushed Elizabeth's hand away.
Then.
He strode into the Rupture!
But the scene before him made Booker freeze.
The world line of the past that Elizabeth had opened for him.
He did not appear in some room.
No crib within sight.
No sign of Comstock as an infant either.
In front of him.
There was only a gently flowing river.
Looking down, his younger face reflected in the river, as if he had returned to the age of twenty.
Not far away stood a priest holding a Bible, seemingly engrossed in Invocation.