Ezra sat at his workstation, staring at the blueprints id out before him. Weeks of trial and error, of failures and near-breakthroughs, had finally led him here.

  He had figured out the chink in reality’s armor.

  Antimatter wasn’t just being used up—it was being pulled away. The gravity waves were doing more than just affecting time. They were disrupting containment. That meant one thing. It wasn’t just physics. It was a design fw.

  Ezra spent the next several weeks locked in deep thought. Draft after draft. Blueprint after blueprint. He went through every possible configuration.

  Casing materials.Energy requirements.Containment fields.

  By the time fall was drawing to a close, he had something. A potential design. A small dome-shaped device—one that could fit in the palm of someone’s hand. Simple. Compact. But powerful.

  He ran more tests. The theory was sound. The antimatter, when controlled correctly, wouldn’t just invert time. It would harmonize it. In essence, it wasn’t traveling back in time, but rather bringing the past to the present.

  Ezra had been so focused on breaking time’s natural flow—he hadn’t considered guiding it. When the device activated—BWOMP—time would bend. It wouldn’t create a paradox. It wouldn’t loop endlessly. Instead, it would roll back in a controlled sine wave.

  The peak of the wave? That was his window. A brief moment where someone could step in, change a variable, and step back before time resumed. Five minutes. That was the safe limit. Anything longer? The antimatter would destabilize—and boom!

  Ezra leaned back, grinning to himself. He had done it. The first working prototype. Now all that remained? Perfecting it. And of course— Naming it. Ezra tapped his fingers against the table. Electronic Calcution Harmonizing Oculus.

  E.C.H.O.

  It was fitting. Because time? Time wasn’t something that stopped. It wasn’t something that could be trapped. It was an echo. And now? Now, Ezra could make it repeat.

  Ezra took every precaution.

  Every corner of his b? Checked.Every potential spy footprint? Swept.Every blueprint? Hidden among mundane, boring documentation.

  He left hardly any trail. No digital records that could be tracked. No lingering notes that could give anything away. His experiments were locked away, coded, and sealed behind redundant encryptions.

  This wasn’t just his best invention yet. It was his most dangerous. If the Silent Legion caught wind of what he was doing? He wouldn’t get a warning sp to the face. He’d be erased.

  By the end of fall, the device was perfected. The final design? Elegant. Compact. Refined. It had one job—and it did it with terrifying efficiency. It could pull a moment from 30 minutes ago into the present.

  Once activated—the user had 5 minutes. Five minutes to make their changes. Then? Time would resume. Clean. Seamless.

  No explosions. No destabilization.

  The antimatter was used up with an efficiency rate of 99.9999%. And that was with maximum energy input. If he pushed the energy output? It could destabilize.

  Too much power? Boom. Too little? Time could almost be reversed. Even at near-perfection, there were microscopic inconsistencies. Minute errors. Tiny ripples. But nothing big enough to matter.

  For his final test—Ezra needed proof. On himself. He stood on the edge of the testing ptform. Checked his watch. Took a deep breath. And jumped. Pain shot through his body the moment he hit the ground. Broken ribs. Bruised limbs.

  He gritted his teeth through the agony. Then—he reached into his pocket, activated E.C.H.O., and threw it. A pulse of reversed time radiated outward. And then—He was back.

  Thirty minutes earlier. Standing at the edge. Untouched. No pain. No bruises. It worked. It fucking worked.

  Ezra exhaled, heart pounding. He had done it. And just in time, too. Duty calls.

  The elevator hummed as it descended into the depths of the core facility, the air growing heavier with each passing second. Ezra stood in silence, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his mind elsewhere.

  At the bottom, Clover was waiting. She didn’t greet him. She didn’t have to. There was no Haru to take the L with him this time. Which meant someone else had drawn the short straw. Ezra didn’t recognize the silent, armored figure standing off to the side. Probably another Legion grunt, trained to observe, never to question.

  Fine. Whatever. It was business as usual.

  Neither of them spoke as Ezra worked through his checklist. Marked each point on his report. Checked the readings like a good little scientist. It was almost normal. Then—Ezra broke the silence. "What if I quit?"

  Clover raised a brow. She didn’t look at him, just continued flipping through her own report. Unbothered. Unimpressed. "Business would go on," she said simply.

  Ezra’s jaw tensed. "And then what?"

  "Then we repce you." She didn’t even look up. "Until we find someone suitable."

  A suitable repcement. That was all he was to them. Not a scientist. Not a genius. Not a person. Just another b rat. Just another number.

  Ezra gritted his teeth and forced himself to focus on his work. But as he checked the readings—Something shifted. A whisper. A voice. Faint. Distant. "You're so close… don’t stop…" Ezra froze. His grip on the clipboard tightened.

  Clover noticed. She stepped closer, her expression unreadable. She didn’t even have to ask.

  Ezra sighed. "It’s the visions, isn’t it?"

  Clover tilted her head. "You tell me."

  Ezra turned to face her fully. "You pick 'suitable repcements' because they’re the only ones who can hear them, don’t you?"

  There was a pause. Then—Clover cpped. Slow. Sarcastic. Mocking. "Well, well. No wonder why you graduated at the top of your css from WCU. About time you caught up."

  Ezra’s stomach twisted. He already knew the answer, but hearing it aloud? It made his skin crawl. "So you pick from the best and brightest," he muttered. "Because only they can attune to whatever messages the core sends them."

  Clover didn’t confirm or deny it. She didn’t have to.

  Ezra exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Well, this one was mighty motivational." He smirked, shaking his head. "Kept telling me to never give up."

  Clover didn’t ugh. Didn’t even react. She just stared. Expression ft. Cold. Unreadable.

  Ezra’s smirk faded. "Why can’t the Silent Legion hear any of this nonsense?"

  Clover exhaled sharply. "Because they’re immune."

  Ezra blinked. "Immune?"

  She folded her arms. "Graviton radiation has polluted our genetic makeup." She turned her gaze to the massive chamber around them, at the pulsing, dim glow of the core. "We’re cut off. Exiled. Beyond its reach."

  Ezra felt his pulse slow. His heart pounded against his ribs. So that was it. The Silent Legion weren’t just guards. They were casualties. Cursed to stand outside the door of something they could no longer hear.

  Ezra lets out a slow breath, staring at the clipboard in his hands. The numbers blur together. He’s not even reading them anymore. His mind is elsewhere. Anywhere but here.

  He could walk away. Could be free of all this. Could finally go home and be the husband and father he should’ve been. This—this wasn’t his fight. It never was.

  Clover watches him in silence. She knows he’s on the edge. So she doesn’t push. She doesn’t threaten. She just waits—lets him sit with his thoughts. And then—She tilts her head. "You still looking for him?" she asks.

  Ezra stiffens. His stomach twists. She doesn’t say who. She doesn’t have to. He turns his head slowly. "What?"

  Clover shrugs. "Haru."

  Ezra’s fingers tighten around the clipboard. His voice is carefully neutral. "Why?"

  Clover meets his gaze, her expression unreadable. "You tell me."

  There’s a silence. A long, hollow silence. Then—Clover takes a step closer. "You still think he’s dead?"

  Ezra’s breath catches. His chest tightens. She’s fucking with him. She has to be. But—She leans in slightly. "I know what you’ve been working on," she murmurs. "Your little—experiments."

  Ezra feels his blood go cold. He hides it well. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. But Clover? She sees right through him. "You’re close," she says simply. "Closer than you realize."

  Ezra’s throat is dry. He doesn’t ask how she knows. Because if the Silent Legion wanted to know something? They’d find a way.

  Clover takes another step back. "So go ahead," she says lightly. "Walk away." She gestures toward the exit. "Go home. Be a father. Be a husband. Forget all about this."

  She lets the words settle. Lets them sink in. Then, in a voice so quiet, so calm—so devastatingly cruel, she adds— "Just know that if you leave? You’ll never find him."

  Ezra’s heart stops. The clipboard creaks in his grip. His head is screaming at him to ignore her. To call her bluff. To turn around and walk the fuck away. But—There’s a reason she said it.

  A reason she knew it would keep him pnted where he stood. Because—Deep down—Somewhere, in the darkest part of his mind—Ezra isn’t sure Haru is dead either. And if there’s even a chance she’s right—He can’t leave.

  Clover watches him. Waits. She knows she’s already won. Finally—Ezra exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t say a word. He just gets back to work.

  Ezra sat alone in his b, staring at the prototype in his hands. The ECHO hummed softly, its energy pulsing like a heartbeat. A machine designed to repy a moment in time. To echo the past, but never truly change it. It was a parlor trick. A cheap time loop.

  And it wasn’t enough. Not for what he needed. Not for Haru.

  Ezra clenched his jaw. He had broken reality. Bent the ws of physics in ways no one else had. But it still wasn’t enough. He couldn’t bring Haru back. Not yet.

  But he was closer than anyone had ever been. And that? That meant something.

  His fingers traced the edges of the ECHO, deep in thought. This wasn’t a failure. It was a foundation. A blueprint. A stepping stone toward something greater. Ezra needed to expand the window. Half an hour wasn’t enough.

  What he needed was something bigger. Something stronger. Something that could reach farther back. And for that? He needed more power. Way more.

  He set the ECHO down carefully, reaching for his blueprints. His calcutions. Clover said he was close. That meant she knew something. She knew where this path led. Ezra didn’t trust her. Didn’t trust the Silent Legion. Didn’t trust any of them.

  But for now? He didn’t care. Because he wasn’t stopping. Not until he had the real answer. The real way to undo this. Ezra exhaled sharply. "Half an hour isn’t enough," he muttered to himself.

  Then, narrowing his eyes at the equations in front of him—"So I’ll just have to go further."

  The hum of the ECHO filled the silence. And Ezra? Ezra got back to work.

  The hum of the strato-jet was a steady rhythm beneath Ezra’s seat, a distant, mechanical heartbeat as he thumbed through his blueprints. His mind raced, his eyes scanning the intricate equations, the delicate bance of forces, the sheer magnitude of what he was trying to do.

  Even with everything he had uncovered—even with all his breakthroughs—the bottleneck was still there. The power. The energy required to make this work—to expand the ECHO beyond its mere half-hour loop—was astronomical. The numbers weren’t just impractical. They were impossible.

  And if he pushed beyond that threshold? Catastrophe. Not just for him. Not just for the b. For the world. Ezra exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. What was he doing? Was he really willing to gamble everything for this?

  His fingers traced the edges of the ECHO device resting on the seat beside him. A small, sleek machine that had already shattered the limits of reality—yet still wasn’t enough.

  He needed more time. More time to think. More time to find another way. Because one thing was clear—Ezra Key wasn’t willing to trade the world for just one boy.