Ezra barely had time to process what was happening before the young journalist and her camera crew were ushered into his b. He had been in the middle of tuning the ECHO’s frequency stabilizer, deeply lost in his work, when a knock on his door nearly made him drop his tools.

  The b assistant poked her head in, looking far too amused for Ezra’s comfort. "You’ve got visitors."

  Ezra wiped the sweat from his brow. "I’m kind of busy—"

  "Yeah, well," she interrupted, gncing over her shoulder at the people behind her, "they’ve got cameras."

  Ezra’s stomach twisted. Cameras? Oh no. Oh no, no, no. He peeked past the doorframe and immediately regretted it.

  Standing in the hallway was a very energetic-looking journalist, her expression beaming like she had just struck gold. She was young—probably fresh out of college—her blonde hair tied in a high ponytail, a press badge clipped proudly to her blouse. The cameraman behind her was already adjusting his equipment, and a second crew member was carrying a boom mic.

  "Mr. Key!" the journalist chirped. "Can we have a moment of your time?"

  Ezra stared at them like a deer in headlights. "Uh." He scratched the back of his neck. "This is… about the, uh… the thing, isn’t it?"

  The reporter’s grin widened. "Oh, you bet it is! The whole Sornet is talking about you!"

  Ezra internally cursed every single person who had shared that damn traffic footage. He could already feel his hands getting cmmy. He could work in front of people, sure. He could give a safety lecture on-site, maybe. But a live interview? Oh, fuck no.

  Still, saying no would just make him look worse. He swallowed his nerves and straightened his posture. "Right. Sure. Yeah. A moment. Let’s… let’s do this."

  The reporter gestured for the cameraman to roll. "Alright, we’re here at Key Industries with the man of the hour—Ezra Key! You may recognize him from this incredible footage!"

  She motioned to the holographic dispy on her tablet, repying the infamous Quarantinemas miracle. Ezra winced as he watched himself bolt toward the SUV, hit the ECHO, and promptly vomit onto the pavement after reversing the accident. The clip had been slowed down for dramatic effect.

  "Ugh, you had to include that part?" Ezra muttered.

  The reporter chuckled. "Come on, that was everyone’s favorite part! So tell us, Mr. Key, how does it feel knowing you’ve single-handedly redefined what’s possible?"

  Ezra blinked. "Uh… I mean… single-handedly is a bit much—"

  "You brought a kid back from certain death," she pressed. "No one had ever seen anything like that before. And yet, you did it, just like that!" She snapped her fingers for emphasis. "What was going through your mind at that moment?"

  Ezra scratched the back of his head. "Honestly?" He exhaled sharply. "I was just thinking, ‘Holy shit, I need to do something.’"

  The reporter ughed. "Well, you did something alright! And I think the whole world wants to know—how? What is that thing you used?" She pointed toward his coat, where the ECHO was snugly tucked inside his pocket.

  Ezra gnced down at it, rolling his lips together. "Uh… well, it’s called the ECHO—the ‘Electronic Calcution Harmonizing Oculus’—and it basically, uh…" He trailed off. How the hell was he supposed to expin time manipution in a way that wouldn’t cause mass hysteria?

  "Yes?" The journalist leaned in, hanging onto his every word.

  Ezra rubbed his temples. "Okay, look. Imagine, uh… imagine reality is like a pond, right?"

  She nodded eagerly.

  "And you drop a stone into it. That stone makes ripples."

  Another nod.

  "Now, what if I told you I figured out how to… catch those ripples and send them backward? Not the whole pond. Just the ripples. Just one moment, repeating itself, like an echo."

  The journalist’s eyes widened. "You’re telling me you can… rewind time?"

  Ezra shifted uncomfortably. "More like fold time. I can take a slice of the past and bring it into the present. But it’s not infinite. The limit is thirty minutes."

  The cameraman gave a low whistle.

  The journalist, still beaming, turned to the camera. "You heard it here first, folks! Time manipution isn’t just science fiction anymore—it’s science fact! And we’re about to see it firsthand."

  Ezra blinked. "Wait—what?"

  Before he could protest, the reporter grabbed his arm, all but dragging him toward the adjacent test chamber.

  "Show us how it works!" she practically sang.

  Ezra mentally screamed.

  Ezra took a deep breath as he prepped the experiment. He could feel every camera locked onto him. He wasn’t used to this level of attention. He preferred working in private, with no one breathing down his neck.

  But fine. If they wanted a show, they’d get one.

  He set up the same paint-sptter experiment he had used before. A bnk canvas. A sealed paint can. And, of course, the ECHO.

  "Alright," Ezra said, forcing his voice to sound steadier than he felt. "I’m gonna throw this paint at the canvas."

  The reporter gave the camera an excited look. "We’re ready!"

  Ezra exhaled and hurled the paint. SPLAT! The bright colors spttered against the canvas in a chaotic explosion of motion.

  The journalist cpped her hands. "Beautiful!"

  Ezra smirked. "Now, watch closely."

  He held up the ECHO, thumb resting on the activation button. He pressed it.

  -BWOMP-

  The air shimmered. The paint sptter trembled. And then—in perfect synchronization, every drop lifted off the canvas and reversed direction. The paint soared backward, retracing its chaotic sptter patterns until—PLUNK! Every single droplet fell neatly back into the can as if it had never left.

  The journalist gasped. "No. Freaking. Way."

  The cameraman audibly muttered "What the hell?" under his breath.

  The room was silent. Then the reporter squealed. "That was AMAZING!" She turned to the camera. "Did you SEE that? That was REAL. That just HAPPENED!"

  Ezra let out a long breath. "Yep."

  The journalist turned back to him, eyes gleaming. "You have to tell me—what’s next for this? What’s your goal?"

  Ezra hesitated. His goal? His real goal? He had plenty. But the only one that mattered—the only one he couldn’t say on live broadcast—was Haru.

  So instead, he smirked and shrugged. "I dunno," he said. "Maybe I’ll figure out how to fold undry with it next."

  The journalist ughed. The tension in the room finally eased.

  Ezra, however, knew the weight of what he had just revealed. And as the cameras rolled and the interview wrapped up, he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling—

  That things would never be the same again.

  Ezra knew the moment that interview aired that he had screwed himself. The whole goddamn world saw it. He had hoped the clip would just die out as another internet curiosity, a footnote in some "Top 10 Unexpined Phenomena" documentary years down the line.

  Nope. Instead, the demand for ECHO skyrocketed.

  At first, it was business inquiries—wealthy clients looking to privately invest in this new miracle device. Then came the corporate giants, the government agencies, the military contractors, all cmoring for a piece of the pie. And if that wasn’t bad enough?

  The talk shows started calling.

  Ezra groaned every time his inbox updated with a new request. Come share your miraculous invention! Come talk about the science behind it! Come tell us what it feels like to be a living god!

  It was ridiculous. He wasn’t a god. He wasn’t even comfortable being in the spotlight. He just wanted to work in peace, away from cameras, away from reporters, away from the weight of a world that had suddenly decided he was a modern-day messiah.

  Which was why, when Mr. Key personally showed up at his b, Ezra braced himself for another headache.

  The older man strolled in casually, hands tucked into his pockets, surveying the organized chaos of Ezra’s workspace. "Looks like you’ve been busy," he mused.

  Ezra, who had been hunched over a blueprint with a grimace, let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah. Trying to push past this damn limit."

  Mr. Key’s brows lifted. "Still stuck at thirty minutes?"

  Ezra sighed, rubbing his temples. "Yeah. I’ve tried adjusting the containment fields, pying with the power ratios—hell, I even tried brute forcing it with raw energy. Doesn’t matter. The system locks in at half an hour, and any attempt to push further just destabilizes the whole thing."

  Mr. Key nodded thoughtfully. "A natural benchmark, then."

  Ezra exhaled sharply, pushing back from his desk. "It’s not natural. It’s mocking me. Like time itself is ughing at my ass."

  Mr. Key chuckled, moving to lean against the workstation. "And here I thought nothing could make you feel humble."

  Ezra shot him a look. "Mr. Key, I love ya, but I swear to God, if you’re here to tell me to go on another interview—"

  Mr. Key held up a hand. "Rex, boyo." He smiled. "I already figured publicity isn’t your thing."

  Ezra sighed in relief. "Thank you."

  "But."

  Ezra groaned. Of course there was a ‘but.’

  Mr. Key’s tone softened. "I know you’re doing this for Haru. And I know you don’t like the spotlight. Which is why I’m offering to take that weight off your shoulders. My company will handle mass production, the business negotiations, the logistics. You focus on the work."

  Ezra squinted. "There’s a catch, isn’t there?"

  Mr. Key smirked. "More of a request."

  Ezra crossed his arms, waiting.

  "There’s a talk show host in Japan," Mr. Key said. "A good friend of mine. Lovely woman. She’d like to have you on her show in the fall. Talk a little about the ECHO, nothing too invasive. Just—" he waved a hand vaguely, "—help people understand what it is you’re really doing."

  Ezra snorted. "Yeah. Fat chance."

  Mr. Key chuckled. "I thought you’d say that." He pushed off the desk, heading toward the door. "But you’ll think about it."

  "No, I won’t."

  "You will."

  Ezra scowled. "Why?"

  Mr. Key grinned. "Because I just pulled the friend card."

  Ezra groaned, dropping his head onto the desk. "Goddammit."

  Mr. Key cpped him on the back before walking off. "Fall, Ezra. Don’t forget."

  Ezra exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling.

  Great. Just great.

  Right now, he had an ECHO to perfect. But in a few months? He was going to have to smile on national television.

  Ezra was still cursing Mr. Key under his breath when he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. A talk show. Jesus. Like he hadn’t already been thrust into enough unwanted attention.

  His fingers drummed against the desk. He knew why Mr. Key wanted him to do it. It wasn’t just about public retions—it was damage control. The world had already seen the ECHO in action. It was only a matter of time before people started demanding answers. Before the wrong people started making their own assumptions.

  Ezra exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. The st thing he needed was the military breathing down his neck.

  But talking about it? Expining it? That was the part that made him twitchy. He was a scientist, not a salesman. He could break down equations and containment fields all day long, but put him in front of a camera and ask him to ‘dumb it down for the masses,’ and suddenly he felt like he was about to embarrass himself in front of the whole world.

  He needed a break. Something to clear his mind.

  His gaze drifted toward the ECHO sitting quietly on his workstation.

  A small smirk tugged at his lips.

  Well. He had thirty minutes to kill.