The bunker was quiet, save for the faint hum of machinery and the occasional flicker of dying lights overhead. Ezra sat hunched over his workstation, fingers drumming anxiously against the metal table as he stared at the disassembled ECHO components in front of him.
This was it.
For months, he had been holed up in this underground ruin, refining, theorizing, second-guessing himself. Now? Now he was about to take the first real step forward.
Ciarra had come through. She always did. He had asked for the biggest hourglass she could find, and somehow, the woman had returned with something absurdly massive—an antique monstrosity nearly the size of a small table. The kind of thing that probably belonged in some rich bastard’s mansion rather than an abandoned bunker.
She set it down beside him with a grin. "You’re lucky I didn’t get arrested for this."
Ezra smirked, rolling his sleeves up. ["No such thing as luck. Just convenient timing."]
Ciarra raised a brow. "Right. Well, if this whole time travel thing doesn’t pan out, at least you’ve got a sick-ass home decoration."
Ezra ignored her, already moving to set up the test. He positioned the hourglass next to the ECHO device, making sure the sand was already flowing downward. The five-hour timer was more than enough for what he needed.
The goal was simple: This wasn’t about human trials. This wasn’t about Haru. Not yet. This was about seeing just how much time he could push back.
The first ECHO unit was already connected, its power source primed. The Jade AI was carefully disconnected—he wasn’t going to risk using it up too soon. This needed to be a clean test.
Ezra took a deep breath. No going back now. He pressed the activation switch.
-BWOMP-
A wave rippled outward.
For a brief moment, the air shimmered—not in a way that could be explained by light or distortion, but something more. Something that made Ezra’s skin prickle.
And then—The sand stopped.
The hourglass froze. The final grains that had been seconds away from falling simply hovered in place. Time was caught, held, like an invisible force had reached out and grabbed it.
Then—It reversed.
Slowly, smoothly, impossibly, the sand began to flow backward. Every grain that had fallen was returning to the top, the entire five-hour process undoing itself second by second. Ezra’s breath hitched.
It worked. Not just worked—it had gone all the way.
He grabbed his phone with shaking hands. ["Ciarra. Look."]
She stepped closer, watching in open disbelief. "Holy shit."
Ezra grinned, running a trembling hand through his hair. ["It’s not just seconds or minutes anymore. This thing could’ve gone way further."]
But the elation didn’t last long.
The ECHO’s device started to hum dangerously. A sharp, piercing whine built up from within its core, its casing vibrating under the strain.
Ezra barely had time to register it before—
-BOOM-
The ECHO burned out, collapsing inward, its circuitry fizzling into nothing. Smoke curled from the ruined device, its power source spent.
Silence.
Ezra exhaled sharply. ["Okay. Not perfect."]
Ciarra let out a low whistle. "No shit." She nudged the ruined ECHO unit with her boot. "So, that’s one down. You do have more of these, right?"
Ezra’s expression darkened. ["Three. That’s all you were able to get me."]
Ciarra crossed her arms, biting her lip. "...Yeah. And getting more? It’s gonna be damn near impossible at this point."
Ezra didn’t need her to explain. He already knew.
Humanity’s only known source of anti-gravity waves had been destroyed.
Every colony in the solar system relied on reserves. But those reserves wouldn’t last forever. It was a doomsday countdown, slow but inevitable. Migration ships were already returning from Mars and Jupiter’s moons. Settlements in the asteroid belt? Collapsing.
Hell, even the Dyson Sphere project—the grand, ambitious energy initiative Ezra had once admired—was dead. There was no point in continuing it if half of humanity was already preparing for collapse.
And what was Ezra doing? Hiding. Experimenting. Watching the world crumble while he sat underground, trying to break the limits of time itself.
The weight pressed on him. But he pushed it down. Because right now? He had a working test. And now, he needed to push further.
Ciarra left to scout.
She had been making regular trips back to Nonna’s house, keeping up appearances, making sure Adam was safe. The Silent Legion wasn’t outright making a move, but that didn’t mean they weren’t circling.
When she returned this time? She wasn’t alone.
Ezra felt the tension the second she entered the bunker. She wasn’t visibly panicked, but her entire posture was locked tight, like she was holding herself together by force.
He set down his tools. ["What happened?"]
Ciarra pulled out her phone, tossed it onto the workbench, and played a video.
Security footage.
Ezra’s stomach turned.
The Silent Legion had been inside Nonna’s house.
The footage showed them moving carefully, scanning the walls, the rooms, the people. Their uniforms weren’t standard—they weren’t in full armored gear, but rather the kind of sleek, covert suits that blended in too easily.
They weren’t here for a raid.
They were here to observe.
Ciarra exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. "I met them. Played dumb. Told them I was just looking after Adam."
Ezra felt his fists clench. ["And they bought it?"]
She hesitated. "For now."
Ezra gritted his teeth. ["They don’t just buy things, Ciarra. You know that."]
Ciarra’s tail flicked. "Yeah, well. What choice did I have?"
He had no answer for that.
She ran a hand through her hair. "Look. I told them I’ve been here since the funeral. That I was keeping an eye on the kid. They accepted it, but I could tell they weren’t convinced." She exhaled. "Which means I have to stay there. At least for now."
Ezra’s breath hitched. ["For how long?"]
She shook her head. "I don’t know. Maybe until they think I’ve got nothing to hide. Maybe longer."
Ezra pressed his fingers to his temples, frustration mounting. ["So I’m alone down here now?"]
"Not forever." Ciarra’s tone softened. "I’ll still bring you supplies. Once a month. But I can’t risk being tracked back here."
The air felt too heavy. The weight of it all—the isolation, the pressure, the looming threat—it was suffocating.
But he nodded. He didn’t like it. But he understood.
Ciarra hesitated. Then, carefully, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "You’ll be okay."
Ezra let out a sharp breath. ["No choice but to be."]
She gave him one last squeeze before stepping back. "I’ll check in soon."
And then, just like that—she was gone.
Ezra stood alone in the bunker, staring at the space she had just occupied, his thoughts a chaotic mess.
For the first time in months… He truly felt trapped.
The silence in the bunker had never been louder.
Ezra sat at his workstation, hunched over a series of complex equations scrawled haphazardly across scraps of paper, the glowing screen of his laptop flickering as he reran calculations for the thousandth time. His fingers drummed rhythmically against the metal surface. His breathing was steady, but his mind? A fucking hurricane.
The answer was here. Right here.
He could feel it.
The ECHO had always been limited—always shackled by power, by precision, by the stubborn laws of physics that refused to bend any further. But now? Now he had something that shouldn’t exist. The jade-encased AI chip had unlocked an accuracy threshold beyond what he ever thought possible.
And when he ran the new numbers? A gap appeared.
A point in the calculations where energy spiked exponentially—an impossible wall that only the AI might be able to push past.
Ezra leaned back, rubbing his tired eyes. The solution wasn’t impossible. It was just beyond his reach. And the missing ingredient?
More power.
Way more power.
Not the kind he could pull from a generator. Not even the kind he could rig up from battery storage. He needed something massive. An industrial-grade surge.
His fingers flew across his phone’s offline maps, zooming in, panning out, cross-referencing elevation and infrastructure diagrams Ciarra had given him in one of her supply runs. His heart pounded as he found what he was looking for.
A substation.
An entire grid of transformers, wires, and high-voltage powerlines that stretched out into the city like veins feeding a sleeping giant. The power coursing through there? If he could tap into even a fraction of it, it might be enough.
Might be.
He exhaled sharply. Jesus. He was really about to fuck with a goddamn substation.
This was fine. This was fine.
He quickly jotted down a list.
-Heavy-duty cables – He needed thick enough gauge wire to handle the ampacity without turning himself into deep-fried human kebab.
-PVC tubing & a launching mechanism – He wasn’t walking up to a substation like a dumbass. No, he was going to yeet the wires onto the lines from a safe distance.
-A disguise – Nobody looked twice at homeless people loitering near infrastructure. But if someone saw a guy tampering with live electrical lines? That was how you got national news coverage.
Ezra tapped out a message for Ciarra.
[New list. Prioritize cables. Need high-amp rated insulation. Also… get me the shittiest, most hobo-ass disguise you can find.]
Ciarra responded almost instantly.
[What the fuck are you planning, Ezra.]
Ezra smirked, typing back.
[Nothing that should concern the FBI unless they track power surges.]
Ciarra didn’t respond for a long time. Then:
[You’re gonna make me regret helping you one day, huh?]
Ezra snorted.
[Probably.]
The wait was killing him.
Ezra had never been good at waiting. His whole life, he had been a doer—someone who pushed through obstacles, who never let the world’s limitations slow him down.
Now? He was stuck underground, again, pacing the dim corridors of the bunker like a caged animal.
He had already run the numbers. Already checked the calculations. Already made backup plans in case this all went to shit (and let’s be real—his plans always went to shit).
But the waiting?
The waiting was the worst fucking part.
Days blurred together. The only way he kept track of time was by marking scratches into the wall near his bed—like some goddamn prisoner in an ancient dungeon.
He trained his body as much as he could in the limited space. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Practicing his grip strength. He needed to be physically ready. If anything went wrong during this stunt, he needed to be able to run, climb, and escape fast.
When he wasn’t exercising?
He planned.
He built a makeshift potato cannon—not for potatoes, but for launching the insulated cables onto the power lines. It was crude, but it would work. Probably.
And when he wasn’t doing that?
He thought.
About Adam. About Haru. About the future that felt like it was slipping further away the longer he was stuck down here.
He stared at the ECHO. At the jade-encased AI chip sitting beside it.
He had three working ECHO units left.
Just three.
And the one thing he knew for certain?
He could not afford to waste another.
His heart pounded.
Ciarra was taking longer than usual. Was she okay? Had she been caught? Was the Silent Legion already closing in?
He ran a hand down his face. Fucking hell.
Then—finally—one evening, he heard it.
The faint sound of the bunker door unlocking.
Ezra nearly sprinted to the entrance, but he forced himself to move slowly, cautiously.
Ciarra stepped inside, looking rough. Her tail twitched with irritation, her ears flattened, her jacket wet from the storm outside.
Ezra wasted no time. ["Where the fuck have you been?"]
She yanked off her hood, sighing. "Traffic. Supplies. Oh, and, y’know, the Silent Legion has an entire goddamn surveillance team watching Nonna’s house now."
Ezra’s blood ran cold. ["Shit."]
Ciarra tossed a heavy bag onto the workbench. "Yeah. Shit. So whatever the fuck you’re planning, we need to be extra careful, because they are not playing around anymore."
Ezra swallowed hard. He already knew this was risky. But now?
Now he was gambling with his own life.
He looked at the bag. Opened it. Inside—Thick, industrial-grade power cables.
Ezra let out a slow exhale. It was time. He had the materials, now it was all just a long waiting game.
The waiting was killing him.
Ezra had everything prepped—the cables, the makeshift launcher, the rigged safety gear that probably wouldn’t kill him when he hooked into the substation—but none of that mattered yet. It wasn’t time. Ciarra had warned him not to rush. They had to be careful, had to watch for Silent Legion movement in the area before he even thought about making his move.
So here he was, again, stuck underground, pacing the bunker like a restless animal, his mind gnawing on itself.
That was when the curiosity kicked in.
He had barely explored this place. Hell, when Ciarra first brought him here, he was too exhausted—too damn overwhelmed—to care about anything beyond survival. But now? Now he had the time.
And that was a dangerous thing for a mind like his.
With a flashlight clipped to his vest, Ezra ventured deeper into the ruined complex, taking slow, measured steps through the darkened corridors. The air down here was stale, thick with the scent of dust, rust, and time itself. Most of the doors he passed were damaged beyond repair—collapsed from age or sealed so tight that even with his full strength, he couldn’t pry them open.
Then, he found it.
A doorframe, half-destroyed, leading into what could only be described as a cavernous abyss.
Ezra swallowed hard. His flashlight flickered as he stepped inside, illuminating a vast, open space that made his stomach lurch. It was massive. Artificially massive.
The remnants of something—a structure, a machine, a housing unit?—lay in ruins. Metal scaffolding jutted out from the walls, broken pipes twisted along the ceiling, remnants of wiring and paneling hung like vines from collapsed walkways. The far side of the chamber had completely caved in, a mountain of debris choking what must have once been a clear path.
The walls… they weren’t just walls. They were reinforced like a vault.
Ezra’s fingers twitched as his mind raced.
What the hell had this place housed?
His flashlight skimmed over something metallic—wreckage. A broken section of plating, large enough to be part of a containment chamber. His boots crunched against shattered glass, pieces of tubing, fractured gears. This hadn’t been a storage bay. This had been something bigger.
And something had been in here.
He didn’t like that thought.
Not one bit.
Ezra took a cautious step forward, his breath slow, measured. He wasn’t about to die in a fucking forgotten ruin because of some cave-in. If this place was already unstable, his movement could—
A deep, slow groan echoed from above.
Ezra froze.
The ceiling shifted. The weight of the debris hanging above the collapsed section shifted just enough for him to realize—
I need to get the fuck out of here.
He turned. Walked. Then walked faster.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
Another shift. A trickle of dust from above.
Nope. Nope nope nope. Fuck this.
Ezra ran.
By the time he reached the corridor again, his breath was ragged, and his heart pounded against his ribs. He turned back just in time to see a fresh cloud of debris spill into the cavern. The ruins groaned once more, settling into a slightly more fucked state than before.
"Jesus," he rasped, rubbing his temples.
That place? Off-limits.
For now.
It took Ezra a few hours to fully calm down from his "almost died in a collapsing ruin" experience. He wasn’t about to test his luck by wandering into another death trap, but he was curious about something else.
The bunker had a medical wing.
Or at least… what was left of one.
Ezra had found the old signage earlier when he was mapping out the corridors. Most of it was written in some ancient dialect, but with the occasional modern text slapped onto faded plaques. He had ignored it before, assuming it was just another useless wreck.
But now? Now he had time.
The doors were cracked open, and when Ezra stepped inside, the stench of old, rotting synthetic materials hit him like a brick. Whatever had been stored here? Long gone. The dust clung to the remains of what might have been examination beds, overturned equipment, and shattered glass from what once looked like containment tubes.
Some were still intact.
Not functional, but intact.
Ezra stepped closer to one, wiping the grime away with the sleeve of his jacket. The inside was empty—thank god—but the design was unsettling. The padding inside? Too human-shaped. The restraints? Suspicious as hell.
These weren’t just medical beds.
They were containment units.
Ezra’s stomach twisted. What the fuck kind of research had been going on down here?
He turned away, stepping further in. Some of the walls had decayed monitors, long since darkened, their screens cracked and useless. Scattered across the floor were remnants of broken tablets, medical datapads so ancient that even if they had power, their software wouldn’t be compatible with anything modern.
Then—he found something different.
A logbook.
It was buried under a pile of debris, its cover brittle, but still intact. Ezra carefully picked it up, dusting off the surface.
It was handwritten.
Which was strange, considering everything else in this place had been tech-based.
He flipped through the pages, eyes scanning faded ink. The handwriting was tight, precise—written by someone who had probably spent years logging data.
Most of it? Completely unreadable. The language wasn’t entirely foreign, but it wasn’t modern enough for him to make out anything coherent.
But then—he found a name.
Or rather, a symbol.
A sigil.
And it looked eerily similar to the insignia of the Silent Legion. Ezra’s grip tightened on the book. His breath slowed. This place—this whole fucking place—was connected to them. And if the Silent Legion had been here…
Then whatever happened to Bajookiland, whatever had led to Ciarra’s exile, to the fall of the entire civilization she came from—
It had started here.
Ezra exhaled sharply. His mind was spinning. This was too much. He shoved the book into his bag and turned to leave. He needed time to process this. Time he didn’t have. Because soon? He was going to have to leave this bunker.
And when he did? There was no telling what the Silent Legion had waiting for him.
The night was thick with rain, sheets of water cascading through the autumn leaves, wind howling through the hills like the voice of something ancient, something waiting.
Ezra adjusted the collar of his tattered coat, hunching further beneath the oversized hood as he crouched low in the brush, eyes locked onto the substation through the storm. His fingers flexed over the makeshift launcher in his lap, the heavy-duty power cables coiled at his side like coiled serpents waiting to strike.
Ciarra stood behind him, hidden beneath the layered branches of an overgrown willow, her tail flicking with nervous energy. "You sure about this?" she whispered, barely audible beneath the rolling thunder.
Ezra didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for his phone, his fingers trembling slightly as he typed.
[Nope.]
[But I’m doing it anyway.]
Ciarra sighed. "I hate you."
Ezra smirked. [Love you too.]
She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smirk there. He could feel it.
The substation stood about forty yards ahead, humming with the quiet, constant energy of an urban power grid—thick metal transformers standing like monoliths, cables running along steel lattices, feeding energy into the heart of the city. If this worked, even partially, it would be the first real leap forward.
The ECHO had always been constrained by two things: energy and accuracy. The jade-encased AI chip had solved one of those. The second? That’s what tonight was about.
He ran his fingers over the damp casing of the modified ECHO device, its frame reinforced, its internal components pushed to their absolute limits. He had spent weeks recalibrating, reinforcing, doing everything he could to ensure the device wouldn’t immediately fry under the sheer voltage he was about to pump through it.
The math checked out.
Theoretically.
Ezra swallowed hard, adjusting his position beneath the shelter of the trees. His breath fogged in the cold, his ribs still aching, a dull reminder that he was working on borrowed time.
This was it. This was his last chance.
He pulled his hood lower, hunching over the launcher as he double-checked the targeting. The potato cannon—because of course it was a potato cannon—was a last-minute improvisation. He wasn’t about to waltz up to a fucking substation and manually clamp anything onto live wires. No, he was going to fire the cables from a distance, let the hooks latch onto the lines, and pray to whatever cosmic entity that still had a shred of mercy left in the universe that the insulation held.
The power levels here weren’t just dangerous. They were lethal.
He glanced up at the sky. The storm hadn’t let up, but for what he needed, that might actually work in his favor. Wet air was a natural conductor. Maybe—just maybe—that would ease the initial surge.
Ciarra crouched down beside him, her ears pinned back. "One last time, genius—are we really doing this?"
Ezra exhaled slowly, reaching for his phone.
[Just stand back.]
[If this works, we won’t have to run forever.]
Ciarra’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. Worry. Fear. Maybe even hope. But she didn’t say another word.
She pulled back, retreating to a safer position near the truck. Ezra adjusted the cannon, angled it upward, breathed. His muscles tensed. His pulse pounded.
Then—He fired.
THWUMP.
The modified projectile launched into the night, arcing high over the substation, the coiled cables unfurling behind it like the tendrils of some unnatural beast. The hooks snapped onto the main transmission lines, locking into place with a hard metallic clank.
Ezra barely had time to process before he flicked the activation switch.
The ECHO hummed.
At first, nothing happened. Then—Reality shifted.
The storm around him began to slow. The rain paused in midair. Leaves reverted back to their branches, drops of water crawling back up bark as if time itself had second thoughts.
Ezra’s breath hitched.
It was working.
The power surge pulsed through the cables, flooding the ECHO with more raw energy than it had ever received. His hands trembled as he stared at the device, watching as the screen flickered, numbers fluctuating wildly.
The hourglass.
He had tested it with an hourglass before, watching it rewind five hours. But now? The range was limitless. Time was unraveling in real-time, the effects rippling out across the substation’s grid. It wasn’t just the immediate area—Ezra could feel it extending beyond him, creeping into the woods, pushing time backward. Or rather.. The past forwards.
For a single, fleeting second—He thought he had done it.
Then—
The screaming began.
Not from the woods.
Not from Ciarra.
But from the device itself.
The jade chip flickered, pulsing erratically. Ezra’s stomach dropped. The energy curve—it was spiking too high, too fast.
Oh fuck.
His fingers scrambled to yank the chip free, his entire body going cold as the screen flashed warnings in a language he didn’t recognize. The device fought against itself, the AI struggling to maintain control.
And then—BOOM!!
The world erupted in light.
Ezra barely had time to react before the shockwave hit. Electric arcs exploded through the sky, violent bolts of lightning leaping between the power lines in a chaotic frenzy. The transformers blew out, one by one, detonating in a chain reaction of fire and thunder.
Ezra ripped the jade chip free just in time.
The ECHO imploded, sending a burst of raw force through the air, knocking Ezra off his feet and slamming him into the mud. He couldn’t breathe. His vision spun. He tried to move, but his body refused to respond.
And above him—The substation crumbled.
Fire erupted from the transformers.
Explosions rippled through the grid.
And the city beyond?
Blackout.
Ezra gasped for breath, rolling onto his side, his fingers still clenched around the jade chip like a lifeline.
He had fucked up.
Ciarra was at his side in an instant, yanking him up, dragging him back toward the truck. "We need to GO!" she shouted over the chaos, her voice barely audible over the blaring sirens already wailing in the distance.
Ezra staggered, his legs weak, his ribs screaming in protest. His ears rang. He couldn’t tell if his body was shaking from the blast or from the realization that he had just taken out an entire fucking grid sector.
But there was no time to process. They ran. Through the trees, through the mud, through the shadows of a world gone dark. The Silent Legion would come. He knew that. The moment the substation’s fail-safes triggered, someone, somewhere, would notice. They just had to make it back to the bunker before anyone saw them.
The truck was waiting, still hidden beneath the thick overgrowth. Ciarra threw open the door, shoving Ezra inside before jumping into the driver’s seat.
She gunned it. The tires spun. The truck lurched forward, kicking up mud and debris as they tore away from the disaster site.
Ezra clutched the jade chip to his chest, his breathing shallow, his mind racing.
He had almost done it.
He had almost changed everything.
But "almost" wasn’t good enough.
And now?
Now he had one last ECHO left.
The truck rattled violently as it tore through the muddy backroads, the suspension groaning with every pothole, every sharp turn. The storm had started to roll back in, the wind howling through the skeletal remains of the trees that lined the hillsides.
Ezra sat slumped in the passenger seat, chest heaving, his grip white-knuckled around the jade chip. His ears still rang from the explosion, and every bone in his body screamed in protest. The taste of smoke and ozone clung to his tongue, burned into the back of his throat.
Ciarra’s hands strangled the steering wheel, her foot heavy on the gas as she weaved through the trees, keeping to the narrow back trails that led toward the bunker. “What the fuck was that, Ezra?!"
Ezra’s breath was still shaky. His fingers found his phone, typing sluggishly.
[The ECHO hit its limit.]
[Power spiked too fast. Couldn’t stop it.]
Ciarra let out a sharp, exasperated breath. “Yeah. No fucking shit! You blew up a substation! Half the city just went dark!”
Ezra didn’t reply. He knew what he had done. He had felt the raw power crackling through the wires, had seen the eerie, unnatural rewind of the storm—just before the device buckled under the sheer weight of it. It had worked. For a brief, impossible moment, time had actually reversed.
But then…
Then it broke. And now? Now he was down to one last ECHO.
Ciarra kept glancing at him between turns, her ears twitching with barely-contained panic. “Please tell me you at least got something useful out of that."
Ezra inhaled shakily, his mind still spinning. He had learned something. Something critical. The jade AI chip? It could stabilize the effect. For the first time, the ECHO had nearly breached the wall of time itself. But the power—He needed more.
[It almost worked.]
Ciarra shot him a look. “Almost got us killed.”
Ezra didn’t argue. He had fucked up. The Silent Legion would be combing the grid for answers. The moment the blackout hit, emergency teams would have scrambled to trace the failure back to its source. If they found even the faintest trace of what he had done…
They wouldn’t just be running. They’d be hunted.
The thought barely had time to settle before Ciarra’s phone buzzed. Her entire body went stiff.
Ezra felt the tension roll off her before she even looked at the screen. Unknown Caller. Ezra’s fingers hovered over his phone, typing quickly. [Who is it?]
Ciarra swallowed. "I think I know."
She hesitated—just long enough for the call to ring through to voicemail. Silence.
Then, the phone buzzed again. A single text message popped up.
Clover:
[Pick up the fucking phone.]
Ezra’s stomach dropped.
Ciarra’s tail bristled. She didn’t hesitate this time—she answered, putting it on speaker. “Clover.” Her voice was too steady. Too forced.
Ezra could hear the urgency in Clover’s tone before she even spoke. “Stop whatever the fuck you’re doing.”
Ciarra’s grip on the wheel tightened. “And why the hell would we do that?”
A pause. Then—Clover’s voice dropped, low and deadly serious. “Because you’re about to run out of time.”
Ezra’s blood ran cold.
Ciarra’s ears flattened. “What does that mean?”
Clover didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was tense.
“Do you have any fucking idea what you just did?”
Ezra clenched his jaw. Of course he did. He had pushed time itself to the breaking point. He had watched as the storm peeled itself backward, as the trees regrew their lost leaves—a glimpse of something impossible, something bigger than himself.
But Clover wasn’t talking about that. Ezra could hear it in her voice. She wasn’t warning them. She was afraid.
Ciarra’s tail flicked. “What are you talking about?”
Clover exhaled sharply. Then, in a voice cold and absolute—“Turn yourselves in. Right now.”
Ezra’s pulse spiked.
Ciarra scoffed. “Yeah. No. Try again.”
“Ciarra, I’m not fucking around.”
Ezra typed quickly. [Silent Legion closing in?]
Clover’s pause was too long. “They’re already here.”
Ezra’s heart stopped.
Ciarra’s knuckles turned white against the wheel. "You’re lying."
Clover’s voice was grim. “You really think that blackout didn’t set off every single goddamn alarm? Ezra’s already wanted for Mount Fuji. Do you understand how bad this looks?”
Ezra’s stomach twisted. Shit.
Ciarra’s ears twitched—she was calculating. Weighing options.
Clover sighed. “You need to listen to me. You don’t want to see what happens next if you don’t.”
Ezra’s fingers tightened around his phone. His instincts screamed at him. Clover wasn’t just calling for the hell of it. She could’ve let the Legion handle this. She could’ve waited for them to get caught.
But she called first. That meant something.
Ciarra made her decision. She forced a breath, then, in a very neutral tone: “Sorry, bad signal—going through a tunnel.” Then she hung up.
Ezra barely had time to react before she rolled the window down and threw the phone into the storm.
Ezra stared at her. Then slowly—[What the fuck.]
Ciarra didn’t answer. Her face was stone cold. She just pressed harder on the gas. Ezra let out a slow, shaky breath. That was too close. Clover never gave warnings. Not unless she was trying to save them.
The truck sped through the winding backroads, mud kicking up behind them, the distant city now nothing but a black void against the storm.
Ezra looked down at the jade chip in his hand. The power he needed—it had almost worked. And now? Now he was on borrowed time. They both were. As the bunker came into view, Ezra clenched his jaw, his thoughts racing.
He had one last ECHO left. And this time?
Failure was not an option.
The bunker’s heater hummed faintly, but it did nothing to cut through the cold in Ezra’s bones. He hunched over his worktable, fingers stiff as he twisted a stripped wire between his thumb and forefinger. It wasn’t working. None of it was working. He needed more power.
The ECHO was ready, but the energy draw was too unstable. Too little, and the signal wouldn't hold. Too much, and—Ezra swallowed hard. Another failure would mean losing everything. He exhaled sharply, dropping the wire onto the table. He needed air.
Shrugging on his coat, he stepped toward the bunker’s entrance. The door groaned as he shoved it open, spilling a gust of bitter wind inside. The cold air bit at his cheeks, but he barely noticed.
He just needed a second to think. Then—Footsteps. Not real ones. Phantom ones.
Ezra stiffened, his pulse quickening as a familiar shuffle echoed beside him. He turned. And there he was. Mr. Shoelace. Ezra exhaled sharply, lips shaping the breath into a single name. “Shu-lace.”
Shoelace smirked, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, like he’d been here the whole time, just waiting.
“Cold night, huh?” he mused, rubbing his palms together.
Ezra didn’t answer. He just watched, eyes narrowing slightly.
Shoelace leaned against the bunker wall, his breath not fogging up like Ezra’s. His coat looked dustier than usual, like he’d been traveling a long way just to get here. "Bet you’re thinking about one last shot, huh?"
Ezra stiffened.
Shoelace chuckled, shaking his head. “You always do this, kid. You always think you’re out of options when the answer’s right there.”
He tilted his head toward the horizon. Toward the dark silhouette of the AM tower.
Ezra followed his gaze. The structure stood tall against the storm-heavy sky, its repaired frame glinting faintly in the dim light.
Shoelace sighed. "Funny thing about those old towers. You know why they built ‘em way out here?"
Ezra exhaled, waiting.
"Some folks say AM waves carry echoes. Old signals bouncing around, just waiting for someone to pick ‘em up."
Ezra’s fingers twitched at the word. Echoes.
Shoelace’s smirk widened, like he’d seen the exact moment Ezra took the bait. "If I were looking for a miracle, I’d start there."
Ezra froze. The AM tower. That was it!
Shoelace rocked on his heels, staring up at the sky. Dark clouds churned above, swollen with something unseen. “Y’know, if I didn’t know any better,” Shoelace mused, “I’d say something’s about to give.”
Ezra frowned slightly.
Shoelace grinned.
Then, just as Ezra moved to ask something—He was gone. Like he’d never been there at all. The wind howled through the empty space where he had stood, kicking up loose frost and rattling the bunker door.
Ezra exhaled, his breath unsteady. His pulse roared in his ears. He turned sharply, eyes locking onto the AM tower in the distance. Shoelace was right. That was the key. The signal. The ECHO. This time, it wouldn’t fail.
Ezra bolted inside the bunker, already digging through his supplies. He had work to do.
Ezra tore through his supplies, yanking out cables, connectors, anything that could reinforce the power draw. His fingers moved fast, but his thoughts moved faster.
Shoelace was right. The ECHO hadn’t failed because it was broken. It had failed because he wasn’t thinking big enough. He had been trickling power into the system, hoping to maintain stability, like forcing water through a garden hose—slow, steady, controlled.
But that wasn’t how this worked. He needed a surge. A flood. A damn tidal wave. His hands clenched around a frayed wire as realization struck. Voltage.
The solution had been staring him in the face this whole time. It wasn’t just about the amount of energy—it was about the intensity of the push. A short, powerful burst. Not a slow siphon.
His mind raced through every failed attempt, every near-success that had collapsed just before completion. Every time the ECHO flickered, stabilized for a fraction of a second, then died.
It had always been just shy of the threshold. The power had been dripping when it needed to be dumped all at once.
Ezra dug his fingers into his scalp, frustration mounting. He should have figured this out sooner. He had been so careful, balancing the power flow, rationing energy like it was something fragile, something delicate. But the ECHO wasn’t delicate.
It needed force. It needed a violent push.
Ezra shot up from his chair, nearly knocking over his supply crate. His mind locked onto one goal:
He had to reroute everything. No more slow trickle of energy. He was going to funnel every last watt into one single moment. His hands shook as he began sketching out a new plan. He had to make this work. He couldn’t afford to fail again.
This was his last shot.
The bunker felt too small. The walls too close.
Ezra’s hands moved in frantic repetition—strip the wire, twist the connection, double-check the coil resistance—but it wasn’t working.
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to breathe through his nose. He had been at this for hours, his thoughts racing in circles, chasing solutions that slipped through his fingers like static. His theory was solid. It had to be.
The AM tower was the key. But the energy transfer—that was the problem. He had been trickling power into the ECHO like water through a hose, expecting precision to carry it through. But the signal always collapsed. A single burst. That was what it needed. Not a slow feed—a flood.
He slammed his palm onto the table, frustration bubbling in his chest. His body ached. His head throbbed. His hands shook. He was running on nothing but adrenaline and stubbornness.
Breathe. He had to think.
Ezra pushed back from the table, pressing his knuckles into his eyes. The heater hummed faintly behind him, doing little against the creeping chill in his bones.
Then—a noise. The distant grind of footsteps.
He turned sharply just as the bunker door groaned open, bringing with it a gust of winter air and the familiar shuffle of boots.
Ciarra.
She stepped inside, arms full, her coat dusted with frost. The backpack slung over her shoulder was bulging with supplies—the gear Ezra had asked for. She exhaled sharply, shaking off the cold as she set the bundle down on the crate beside the door.
Then, she looked at him. Ezra knew instantly what she was thinking. You look like hell.
He didn’t need to hear it. He saw it in the tightness of her jaw, the way her brow creased as she took him in—the sunken eyes, the trembling hands, the way his shoulders had locked into something rigid and desperate.
Ezra forced himself to straighten, gesturing toward the table. The project. The work. Ciarra didn’t move. Instead, she reached up and unwrapped her scarf painstakingly slow, setting it neatly on the crate, her gaze never leaving him.
She was waiting. Ezra tapped the edge of the table. Hard. “
Ciarra’s eyes flicked to the mess of cables and parts sprawled before him, then back to his face. She arched a brow. "You eating at all?"
Ezra inhaled sharply through his nose.
Not now, Ciarra.
She sighed, rubbing her hands together for warmth. “You’re spiraling,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I can see it.”
Ezra’s fingers twitched. He turned away, grabbing a cable at random, his hands moving in pointless, frantic precision. Ciarra stepped closer.
"Ezra."
He stilled. Her voice changed. It wasn’t a scolding. It wasn’t frustration. It was quiet. Careful. Like she was talking to someone on the edge of something. Ezra swallowed, but he didn’t turn around.
“You need to slow down,” she said softly. “Before you break yourself trying to fix something that’s already working.”
Ezra’s stomach twisted. No. It’s not working.
He curled his fingers into a fist, squeezing his nails into his palm before exhaling sharply. He finally turned, meeting her gaze. Then, he lifted his hands. “”
Ciarra watched his fingers move. Watched the sharp, clipped gestures. She nodded once, slow. Then, "And if this fails again?"
Ezra’s throat tightened. He hesitated, then signed again, “
The words lingered in the air, settling between them like dust over cold metal. Ciarra let out a slow breath, rubbing her fingers over her temple. She wasn’t going to win this argument.
Not tonight.
She looked at him for a long moment before exhaling through her nose and stepping past him. She crouched beside the crate, unzipping the backpack and pulling out the first coil of fresh wiring.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.
Ezra blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He watched as she set down each item—meticulously, purposefully—before sliding the bag toward him.
He hesitated. She wasn’t telling him to stop. But she wasn’t leaving, either.
Ezra exhaled slowly, reaching for the backpack. His fingers brushed against the coiled wiring, his pulse still hammering in his throat. He tapped the table twice, a silent thanks.
Ciarra nodded.
Then, finally, she sat down across from him, rolling her shoulders before cracking her knuckles. "Alright," she murmured, watching as Ezra dug through the new supplies. “Walk me through this.”
Ezra’s hands moved instantly. He gestured toward the AM tower, drawing lines in the air, illustrating the connection points. The power, the signal, the voltage.
Ciarra listened, eyes flicking between his hands and the mess of calculations scrawled across the table. "Okay," she said slowly. "So what you’re saying is... you’ve been trying to push a slow, steady charge through this thing, and it’s not enough."
Ezra nodded.
Ciarra’s brow furrowed. "But now, instead of feeding it power—"
Ezra lifted his hands. “
Ciarra tilted her head. “Like a power surge?”
Ezra tapped the table. Exactly.
Ciarra huffed out a low breath, running a hand through her hair. "So… like forcing water through a garden hose at high speed instead of just letting it run?"
Ezra hesitated. Then, slowly, he shook his head. He lifted his hands again, forming a wide, open gesture. Not a hose. A tank.
Ciarra frowned, thinking. "...You want to dump everything all at once?"
Ezra nodded sharply.
She let out a long whistle, leaning back. "Hell of a gamble."
Ezra inhaled deeply, lifting his hands. "
Ciarra studied him for a long time. The way his fingers twitched between signs, the way his breath wasn’t steady.
And she knew. He was already past the breaking point.
Finally, she sighed, leaning forward. “You know, if I were you,” she muttered, rubbing her palms together for warmth, “I’d double-check that AM tower before you get your hopes up.”
Ezra glanced at her.
She shrugged. "Never hurts to see what it’s actually capable of."
Ezra hesitated, fingers hovering in midair. Then, slowly, he nodded.
The wind had picked up.
Ezra stepped outside, his boots crunching against the frost-covered ground as he pulled his coat tighter. His breath curled in misty tendrils, disappearing into the heavy clouds above. His eyes locked onto the AM tower in the distance.
It stood tall, defiant against the cold sky—but something was wrong. The low, steady hum he had counted on? Weaker than before.
His stomach twisted. He moved fast, crossing the frozen landscape, his pulse hammering harder than his footsteps. By the time he reached the tower’s base, his worst fear settled in his chest like a stone.
It wasn’t repaired. It was barely hanging on. The substation? Fried beyond recognition. The fuse? Blown. The whole system was running on emergency backup power, hanging by a thread.
Fuck.
Ezra clenched his fists, his breath sharp as he tilted his head back. He wasn’t going to just flip a switch and make this work. If he wanted this tower to carry his signal, he was going to have to fix it first. Ezra exhaled, steadying himself.
Time to work.
Others chase it.
How far will he go to rewrite fate?