Kayla's wrists burned against the cold metal cuffs binding her to a chair in the enforcer's lab, its sterile walls pulsing with the violet glow that seeped through high, narrow windows. The air hummed with the low drone of machinery, and her heart raced, not from fear but from fury. She'd pushed Amaira into the closet during the warehouse attack, drawing the enforcers away to protect her, but now she was trapped, the journal gone—left behind in the chaos—and her only weapon her sharp mind. The Chronarch's face, so like Tylor's, haunted her, his words from her dreams echoing: You were always the strong one.
A woman in a sleek lab coat approached, her gray eyes sharp, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. "Kayla Vey," she said, her voice clipped, a tablet glowing in her hand. "Your mother's work was… reckless. But useful." The nameplate on her coat read Dr. Vey, and Kayla's stomach twisted. A relative, maybe, or a cruel coincidence tied to her mother, Sarah Vey, a Chronos Collective scientist.
"What do you want?" Kayla spat, her green eyes blazing despite the cuffs. Her dreams—vivid glimpses of this fractured future, the Hub, the Chronarch—had intensified since arriving in 2045, and she knew they weren't random. They were tied to her mother, to the fractures, to everything.
Dr. Vey's lips curved, not quite a smile. "Your mother stole fracture data, tried to sabotage the Collective. But she left a mark—on you." She tapped the tablet, projecting a hologram of Kayla's brain, glowing with faint, shimmering lines. "You were exposed to fracture energy as a child. It's why you see things—past, future, possibilities. You're a living conduit."
Kayla's breath caught, the pieces falling into place. Her dreams, starting when she moved next to Tylor's house, weren't just visions—they were fracture memories, leaking through time. "You're saying I'm part of this… mess?" she asked, her voice steady despite the shock.
"More than you know," Dr. Vey said, stepping closer. "The Chronarch wants your mind to stabilize the fractures permanently. But I'd rather use you to perfect them." She gestured to a console, where a device pulsed, its design matching the temporal stabilizer in Tylor's possession.
Kayla's mind raced. She needed to escape, to find Tylor and Amaira, to reach the Hub. Her eyes flicked to the console, spotting a loose panel. "My mother stopped you," she said, stalling, her fingers working at the cuffs' lock—a trick she'd learned from sneaking into abandoned city buildings as a kid. "She knew you'd ruin everything."
Dr. Vey's eyes narrowed. "Sarah was weak. She thought closing the fractures would save the world. She didn't see the power in controlling them." She turned to the console, distracted, and Kayla seized her chance, slipping free. She lunged, slamming the panel into Dr. Vey's back, sending her sprawling. Alarms blared as Kayla grabbed a data chip from the console—fracture schematics, stabilizer codes—and sprinted for a side door.
Outside, the violet sky glared, drones circling the lab's perimeter. Kayla ducked through rubble, her heart pounding, the chip clutched tightly. Her dreams guided her—flashes of a school, Tylor's voice calling Amaira's name. She ran, weaving through ruins, until she reached the skeletal school from her visions. "Tylor!" she shouted, her voice raw.
Tylor emerged from the shadows, Amaira at his side, Lila's rifle raised. Relief flooded his hazel eyes, but worry lingered. "Kayla," he breathed, pulling her close, the stabilizer's hum faint in his backpack. Amaira hugged her legs, tears streaking her ash-smudged face. "You're back!"
Kayla held up the chip, her voice urgent. "This has stabilizer data—how to close the fractures. But it's not simple. The Chronarch's using the Hub's core to amplify them." Her eyes met Tylor's, the weight of her discovery heavy. "And my dreams… they're because I was exposed to fracture energy. My mom's experiments. I'm tied to this, Tylor."
Tylor's jaw tightened, the Chronarch's face—his own—flashing in his mind. "Then we use it," he said, his voice steady despite the fear. "Your dreams, this chip, the key—we'll stop him." He glanced at Amaira, clutching the journal page, and Lila, her gray eyes sharp despite her pain.
A drone's hum cut through the silence, its red eye locking onto them. Lila fired, the shot sparking off its hull. "Move!" she shouted, limping toward a rusted stairwell. As they fled, Kayla's hand found Tylor's, her touch a lifeline. Her truth—her connection to the fractures—made her more than a guide; it made her a target. With the Hub looming closer, Tylor knew the Chronarch, his future self, was waiting. But Kayla's fire and Amaira's courage gave him hope to rewrite that future, no matter the cost.