Elara's POV
The machine beeps its death countdown, and I want to scream.
Forty-eight hours. That's what Dr. Morrison said when he looked at my sister Mira with those cold, professional eyes. Not "we'll try harder" or "there's still hope." Just forty-eight hours, like he was talking about a weather forecast instead of my sister's life.
I squeeze Mira's hand—or what's left of it. Her fingers are see-through now, like glass. Like she's not really here anymore. Temporal disease doesn't kill you fast. It erases you slowly, piece by piece, until the world forgets you ever existed.
"Elara?" Mira's voice is barely a whisper. "You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"That thing where you plan something stupid and dangerous." Even dying, my little sister can read me like a book. She tries to smile but winces instead. "Whatever you're thinking... don't."
I force myself to smile back. "I'm not thinking anything."
Liar. I'm thinking about the Chronos Corporation building downtown. I'm thinking about the security codes I memorized three years ago before they destroyed my life. I'm thinking about the machine I invented—the one they stole from me—sitting in their basement right now.
The Chronos Engine. The only thing in the world that can save her.
"Tell me a story," Mira says, her brown eyes already starting to fade to gray. "Remember when we were kids?"
I remember everything. That's my curse.
I remember when Mira was ten and I was seventeen, and Mom died working in the Chronos Corporation mines. They said it was an accident. They lied. She died because they worked her twenty-hour shifts extracting temporal energy, and her body just... gave up.
I remember promising Mira I'd become a scientist. That I'd make sure no one else's mom died like ours did.
I remember the day I got accepted to Chronos Corporation's research program. Mira made me a cake that was completely lopsided and tasted like burnt plastic, but I ate every bite because her smile was so bright.
I remember being happy once.
"Tell me about the fireflies," Mira whispers.
So I tell her. About the summer when we were kids, before Mom died, when we caught fireflies in jars and made wishes on them. Mira wished for a puppy. I wished to be smart enough to help people.
I got my wish. Then I lost everything anyway.
"Did you ever get your puppy?" I ask, even though I know the answer.
"No. But I got something better." Mira squeezes my hand with what little strength she has left. "I got you. The best big sister in the world."
My throat burns. Don't cry. Don't cry. She needs me to be strong.
The heart monitor beeps faster. Mira's breathing gets rough. A nurse rushes in, checks the machines, gives me a look that says this is it, start saying goodbye.
No.
"I'll be right back," I tell Mira. "I just need to... use the bathroom."
"Elara—"
"Two minutes. I promise."
I walk out of the room on shaking legs. The hospital hallway stretches forever, fluorescent lights buzzing like angry insects. I make it to the bathroom, lock the door, and finally let myself fall apart.
I slide down the wall, hugging my knees, trying to breathe through the panic. Forty-eight hours. Two days. Then Mira will be gone, and I'll be alone in this world with nothing but my rage and the people who destroyed me.
Victor Kane. My mentor. The man who smiled at me like a proud father while he stole my research.
Marcus Reeves. My fiancé. The man who said he loved me, then testified against me in court.
Sienna Cross. My best friend. The woman who planted false evidence to frame me for crimes I never committed.
They took everything. My career. My reputation. My future.
But they left me one thing: knowledge. I know exactly where they keep the Chronos Engine. I know how to operate it. And I know they've been using it to steal time from poor people and sell it to the rich.
I pull out my phone. On the screen is a photo of Mira from three years ago—solid, real, laughing at something stupid I said. She was nineteen then. She's twenty-two now, but she looks ancient and newborn all at once, like she's being erased from both ends of her life.
Forty-eight hours.
My phone buzzes. Text from an unknown number: Still think you can save her? You couldn't even save yourself.
My blood freezes.
Another text: They're watching you. They know what you're planning.
Who is this? How do they know?
A third text, and this one makes my heart stop: Your sister's disease wasn't an accident. WE gave it to her. If you want her to live, do EXACTLY what we say.
My hands shake so hard I almost drop the phone.
Fourth text: Break into Chronos tonight. Activate the Engine. Steal time. Prove you're willing to do anything. Then maybe—MAYBE—we'll tell you who really killed your mother and why your sister is dying. You have until midnight. Tick tock, Dr. Chen.
The phone goes dead. Completely dead. Not just powered off—dead, like someone fried it remotely.
I stare at the black screen, my reflection staring back at me.
They gave Mira the disease. On purpose. To control me.
Which means... everything. The last six months of watching her fade. The agony. The helplessness. It was all deliberate.
Someone wanted me desperate enough to use the Engine.
But why?
I stand up, splash cold water on my face, and look at myself in the mirror. Three years ago, I was Dr. Elara Chen, the youngest temporal physicist in the world. Now I'm nobody. A data clerk. A ghost in my own life.
But ghosts can slip through walls. Ghosts can do things the living can't.
They want me to break into Chronos? Fine. I was going to do that anyway.
They want me to steal time? I'll steal it. I'll steal it all.
And then I'll find whoever sent those texts and make them pay for what they did to Mira.
I walk back to Mira's room. She's asleep, her chest barely rising and falling. The machines beep their steady rhythm. Forty-eight hours. Forty-seven now.
I lean down and kiss her forehead—or where her forehead should be. She's so faded I can barely feel her.
"I'm going to save you," I whisper. "I don't care what it costs. I don't care who I have to become. You're going to live, Mira. I promise."
I grab my jacket and head for the door.
The elevator takes forever. My heart pounds so hard I think it might explode. Ground floor. The lobby is empty except for one security guard half-asleep at his desk.
Outside, the city glows with artificial light. Chronos Corporation headquarters rises in the distance like a dark castle—all black glass and steel, sucking in light instead of reflecting it.
Somewhere in that building is the machine I created. The machine that can save Mira.
And somewhere out there is the person who texted me. The person who gave Mira the disease.
I start walking toward Chronos, each step faster than the last, until I'm running.
My phone is dead, but it doesn't matter. I know where I'm going. I know what I have to do.
Behind me, I don't see the black car that's been following me since I left the hospital.
I don't see the man in the driver's seat watching me through cold gray eyes.
I don't see him pick up his own phone and make a call: "She's moving. Just like you said she would."
A voice on the other end, smooth and familiar: "Excellent. Let her break in. Let her activate the Engine. Once she's committed her first crime, she's ours."
The man in the car watches me disappear around a corner. "And if she figures out we're manipulating her?"
The voice laughs. "Then Agent Ashford kills her. Either way, we win."
But I don't hear any of this.
All I hear is my sister's heartbeat in my memory, getting slower and slower.
All I see is the Chronos Corporation building getting closer.
All I know is that in forty-eight hours, either Mira lives or I destroy everyone who made her sick.
Starting tonight.