BREACH

Everything around me faded into black mist. Serina's face blurred, then vanished. The touch of her hand disappeared from mine like smoke slipping through fingers. I tried to yell—her name, anything—but my voice stuck in my throat.

Then silence.

No warehouse. No Peter. No cops. No war-torn future or broken present.

Just a long, empty road. Wide. Dead quiet. Lit by old flickering streetlamps. Buildings rose on either side, but they were warped—like they didn't belong. Familiar silhouettes that twisted if I looked too long.

I wasn't in my world anymore. And then I saw him. Far off. Still. Hands in his coat pockets. Head down.

Something about the way he stood—it rattled me.

I walked toward him, every step echoing too loud in the silence.

As I got closer, I realized he was older. White hair. Deep lines across his face. But more than that—his presence… it was mine.

He lifted his head and looked at me.

My heart dropped.

It was like staring at my own ghost.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, voice low and flat like stone skipping across water.

My throat was dry. "Where is here?"

He looked around slowly, then back at me. "This is the Breach. The space between timelines. The place time dumps broken pieces when reality can't decide what stays and what goes."

I took a shaky step forward. "And you… who are you?"

He let out a breath that felt centuries old. "I'm you. And I'm Peter. In another universe, I was both You and Peter. Our timelines diverged—then collapsed. And when they did… I ended up here."

I couldn't speak.

He kept going. "Rathadium isn't just a chemical. It anchors time. When you used Rathoxile to jump, your adrenaline spiked. You were already unstable… too many jumps, too many timelines. That last one fractured the threads. You weren't pulled forward."

He looked me dead in the eye. "You were pulled out."

I shook my head, whispering, "No… I made it back. Serina—she kissed me. Peter was alive. We won. I felt it."

"You didn't," he said, no hesitation. "That was the illusion. A construct. Your mind's way of shielding you while you were suspended here. It built a story for you. One where you survived. One where she loved you."

His eyes darkened. "None of that happened."

I stumbled back, chest tight. "You're lying."

"I wish I was. But look around you. This place doesn't lie. It doesn't care."

I looked up. The buildings were fading around the edges. Time glitching like a scratched film reel.

"You said I caused this," I said, my voice hoarse.

He nodded. "You're a temporal anchor, Arthur. You don't just travel through time—you shape it. When your adrenaline spikes during jumps, your presence creates thousands of potential outcomes. Some harmless. Others deadly. This one? It's a closed loop. A trap."

My pulse was racing. "Then how do I get out?"

He stepped closer. "There's only one way. Find the true moment. The real timeline. It exists somewhere inside this place. You'll know it because it'll hurt. Badly. The illusion won't want to let you go. It'll fight to keep you comfortable."

"And if I can't find it?"

He stared at me like a man staring at his own coffin. "Then you'll be me. Caught between versions of yourself, forgetting which life was yours. Wandering fake streets. Reliving memories that never happened."

I looked down at my hands. They were shaking.

"Why warn me?" I asked. "Why not let me fall like you did?"

He pulled something from his coat—an old, cracked pocketwatch. Serina's handwriting was still carved into the back. "You're not alone."

"Because no one warned me," he said, pressing it into my hand. "And because somewhere deep down, I still believe we can make it out."

I swallowed hard. "How do I find the real moment?"

He stepped back into the shadows, his voice already fading. "Look for the pain. Choose the timeline that breaks you. That's the one that's real."

The world rippled.

He was gone.

And I was alone again—on a street that wasn't real, in a life that wasn't mine.

And somewhere ahead… the truth waited.

But it wouldn't come easy.

I stood there, holding the pocketwatch, my knuckles white from the grip.

The cold of the street bled into my bones. Silence all around me—until it wasn't.

A voice.

Familiar.

"Arthur?"

I turned, heart skipping.

Serina.

She stood a few feet away, wrapped in her jacket, eyes warm like they always were when she looked at me. Her smile was soft. Welcoming. Real.

No.

No, it wasn't.

I took a step back. "You're not really here."

She tilted her head, concerned. "What do you mean? Of course I'm here. You found me."

The fog started to lift around us. Suddenly, we weren't on the street anymore.

We were back in my apartment.

The photograph of my wife and son was on the table. Peter leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. Smiling.

Kevin's case file was right where I had left it.

Serina walked up and touched my hand. "It's okay. You're safe now."

My throat tightened. Everything felt real.

The hum of the fridge. The flicker of the streetlight outside. The smell of rain on the window.

If I wasn't careful, I'd believe it.

"None of this is real," I whispered. "You're… you're just a copy. A trap."

Peter stepped forward now. "Don't do this again, man. You're tired. You fought. You won. Take the peace. You earned it."

I shook my head. "I watched Victor die. I felt his skull crack under my hand. But if this was real… I'd feel something now. Anything."

The watch in my hand burned cold.

Serina cupped my cheek. "You don't have to keep running. Don't go back to the pain. Stay. Be happy. With us."

My knees buckled.

God, I wanted to.

To believe I made it. That Serina meant what she said. That Kevin's death had meaning. That Peter lived. That I wasn't alone anymore.

But that wasn't the cost.

That was the lie.

I looked at the photograph on the table.

My son was smiling.

I hadn't seen that photo in years. I burned it.

I looked down at my hand. The pocketwatch was gone.

No.

They were trying to strip it all away.

"NO," I shouted, voice ripping through the air.

The walls cracked.

The lights flickered.

Peter and Serina stepped back, their expressions blank now. Hollow.

My apartment peeled away, piece by piece, as if it had never existed.

And then I was back on the street.

Alone again.

Shaking.

I fell to my knees.

They'll keep coming, I realized. Different ways. Different faces. They'll show me everything I ever wanted until I give in.

I gritted my teeth. "Not yet."

Somewhere inside this nightmare was the truth.

I had to find it.

And I had to be ready to suffer when I did.

Because if pain was the only way out—

Then I'd walk through hell to get there.