A LIE

I collapsed to the pavement, the fog around me curling like smoke from a dying fire.

My chest heaved, every breath scraping against my ribs like sandpaper. I should've felt stronger after breaking through. I didn't. I just felt hollow.

The tears came before I could stop them.

Not the kind you cry when you're hurt.

The kind that claw their way up from the inside—the kind that leave you empty, ruined, gasping for something that's already gone.

I pressed my face to the cold ground, knuckles white from gripping the dirt. "Why did you show me that?"

The silence didn't answer.

"Why her smile? Why the apartment? Why give me everything and rip it away again?"

I screamed. No one heard. My voice didn't echo. It just dissolved into the void.

I cried for Kevin.

For Oscar.

For Peter and Serina—wherever they were.

For my wife. My son. For a life that never stood a chance.

I cried until I couldn't cry anymore.

Until my chest stopped rising and falling and all I had was stillness.

And then—

Light.

Blinding white light, cutting through the fog like a blade. The world twisted, jerked, and tore apart—

—and I slammed into something solid.

Concrete.

Rain.

I felt that..it wasn't fake,I was out of the breach

The smell of motor oil and blood.

I blinked hard.

Not a void.

Not a lie.

Real.

I was in an alley.

The sky was overcast, and the air was thicker.

I turned.

Serina was crumpled on the ground near me, her coat soaked, unmoving. Peter lay a few feet beyond her, chest heaving. His shirt was soaked in blood.

"No—no, no, no—"

I scrambled to them, slipping on the wet pavement. I dropped to my knees, lifting Serina first.

"Serina! Hey, hey—wake up." I brushed the hair from her face. Her skin was pale, but I felt a pulse.

Faint. But there.

I turned to Peter. Blood covered his side. His eyes fluttered but didn't open.

"Help! Somebody!" I shouted into the street.

Nothing.

Not a single answer.

Just the distant sound of thunder rolling in.

I cradled Peter's head. "You're gonna be okay. You hear me? You just hang on."

A low groan behind me.

I turned.

Someone was crawling in the distance.

I stood, legs shaking, and staggered toward the figure.

Torn clothes. Blood. Deep cuts across his chest.

And when I saw the face—I froze.

Victor Cardigan.

His mouth twitched like he was trying to smile, but the pain was too much. His voice came in broken gasps.

"They… got what they wanted from me."

I crouched beside him, rage boiling in my chest. "What the hell did you do?"

Victor coughed hard, spitting blood. "The Sentinels… they used me. Promised I'd be spared. That I'd get what I asked for."

"What did they want?"

His eyes flicked toward mine. "You."

The word hit me like a gunshot.

"They knew what you are," Victor rasped. "An anchor in time. A fracture-point. When your adrenaline spikes during a jump—it splits timelines. Infinite versions. They needed that."

My throat clenched. "But the house. The night I found Oscar. You were there—and then suddenly, I was in 1958."

Victor nodded weakly. "I… I led you there. I didn't know how far it would go. I didn't know they'd do this."

I looked over my shoulder. Serina still wasn't moving. Peter was barely breathing.

"You gave them access to me," I said, jaw tight. "And now they're gone, and you're still here?"

Victor looked at me, tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

His hand trembled, gripping something tight.

A bloodstained paper.

He offered it to me with his last breath. "They… left a message."

Then he exhaled—and didn't take another breath.

I slowly pried open his hand, fingers stiff and cold.

The paper inside was torn, wet, and smudged with blood—but I could still read it.

A street number.

No name. No city.

Just:

317 Brackenridge Lane

And scribbled below, in shaky handwriting—

Some stories end only when you do.

I dragged Serina and Peter into the alley's shadow, cradling them like they were the last pieces of me left.

Peter's blood was thick on my hands, but the wound had clotted just enough. I tore strips from my own shirt and wrapped his side. I pressed my coat around Serina and held her close until the shivering stopped.

They didn't wake. Not yet.

But they were alive.

And that was enough to break me.

I sat there for what felt like hours, letting the rain soak me. Watching their faces. Replaying every moment that led to this. Every damn choice.

I'd always thought sacrifice was a heroic thing.

But when you're the one offering yourself, it's just… quiet. Heavy.

I pulled the bloodstained paper from my pocket.

317 Brackenridge Lane.

Some stories end only when you do.

I knew what I had to do.

And I knew what it meant.

I kissed Serina's forehead. I whispered to Peter that he was stronger than any of us knew. Then I stood and walked away without looking back.

Because if I did—I wouldn't have the strength to go.

The house at Brackenridge Lane was huge, silent, and wrong.

No guards. No locks. Just the door creaking open like it expected me.

Inside was a vast, circular hall. Marble floors. Stone pillars. And at the far end, carved into the wall, a figure stretched its arms wide—like Christ.

But it wasn't Jesus.

Its face was jagged. Its eyes were too many. Its smile too wide.

Something older. Something hungry.

I stepped closer.

And then, from the shadows, they emerged.

Three lines of robed figures, their faces hidden. Moving in perfect sync.

And at the center—their leader.

His robe was darker, etched in crimson. His mask was different too. Not blank like the others, but carved to mimic a calm, familiar face.

Something about it twisted in my gut.

"You finally came," he said.

His voice—it struck a memory. But I couldn't place it.

"We've been waiting a long time, Arthur," he continued, stepping down the stone steps. "You've traveled far. Broken time. Lost people. All to get here."

He spread his arms. "You don't have to lose anymore. Together, you and I could rebuild the fabric of reality. Be gods. Immortal."

I shook my head slowly. "You need me. But I'll die in the process, won't I?"

His smile faded for a second.

"You're not offering a throne," I said. "You're offering a coffin."

He chuckled coldly. "Clever. But stubborn."

He gestured to the others. "Take him to the lab."

The robed men moved.

"Wait!" I shouted. "You want me? Fine. But not until you send Serina and Peter to 2024. Alive. Safe. That's the deal."

He raised a hand, halting them. "Why do you still care?" he asked softly. "They'll be dust soon. Time will swallow them."

"I don't care what time does," I said. "They deserve a life."

He stared at me for a long moment. Then nodded. "Very well. I'm a man of my word."

I let them tie my hands.

I let them drag me through the corridors of that twisted house.

They hooked me up to machines—glass tubes, metal clamps, humming lights.

And as they began the extraction, pain shot through me like lightning. I felt the rathadium ripping itself from my cells, like it didn't want to leave me.

In the haze, I heard myself think:

I hope Serina smiles again. I hope Peter learns to laugh. I hope they forget me. That would be the best ending.

The machine was tearing me apart.

It wasn't pain. It was removal. Like they were deleting me piece by piece. Like my memories — of Serina, Peter, of 1958, the laughter, the heartbreak — were being vacuumed out through the tubes drilled into my spine.

"You promised," I muttered, barely able to breathe. "You said they'd be safe…"

Across the room, the leader stepped forward, calm as a priest before a sacrifice.

"I lied."

His words echoed in the hollow lab.

"Peter's rathadium is valuable. He's not going anywhere. And Serina? She's a traitor. She dies too."

The rage didn't explode.

It grew. Slow. Heavy. Like a storm pulling itself together cell by cell.

Then — it snapped.

The rathadium in my blood turned into wildfire. The machine sparked. My restraints melted. I stood, shaking, glowing like something not meant to exist. The pressure was unbearable. My heart became a weapon.

The leader shouted, "Contain him!"

Too late.

Time ripped.

The lab cracked down the middle, the floor swallowed itself into a bottomless rift of time fragments. Through the storm, I saw something impossible: a door forming in midair. A white doorway, flickering like a dying signal.

And then...

She stepped through.

A little girl.

Barefoot. Dressed in white. Eyes full of galaxies.

The world went silent. Even the chaos bent around her presence.

The robed leader dropped to his knees, whispering, "No… not her…"

The girl looked at me. Calm. Timeless.

"You're not supposed to be here," I breathed.

She tilted her head. And in a voice far older than her body:

"You are the fracture, Arthur."

She turned to the leader.

"And he... is the price."

He began convulsing. His body twisted, cracked, and began to collapse — not into blood or dust — but into nothing. Like he never existed. The rift took him back. Swallowed him whole.

I didn't cheer. I didn't move.

I just watched.

Because I knew this wasn't a rescue.

It was a reckoning.

The girl stepped up to me, laid a hand on my chest.

And I saw — Serina and Peter, both alive. Carried through a fold in time, back to 2024. Safe.

I fell to my knees.

"Thank you…"

Her touch was cold and final.

"I didn't save you," she said.

"What?"

She leaned in, whispered like the wind curling through dead leaves:

"You're staying."

Before I could ask why, the lab vanished.

And everything else with it.

-Back in 2024-

Serina gasped awake, choking on breath.

The city was quiet. Morning light cut through a grey sky.

Peter lay beside her — pale but breathing, wounds already clotting like they were never deep.

She sat up. Looked around.

No Arthur.

But next to her, on the ground, was his watch.

Still ticking.

And under it — a note, stained by blood and ash:

"Don't look for me. You were my last reason. That was enough."

She didn't cry.

She just closed her eyes and held the watch close.

-Somewhere Else-

Arthur stood at the edge of the breach.

Time didn't move here. Not really.

All around him, doors floated in the dark — timelines, possibilities, broken loops.

No way back.

No one to speak to.

But not silence, either.

He could hear voices — versions of himself, echoing through every fracture. Some screaming. Some laughing. Some begging to be real.

He walked forward, alone.

Behind him, the universe began to stitch shut.

Ahead of him, eternity.

As he stepped through the next door, one final whisper followed him into the void:

"Some stories don't end when you do. Some… keep walking."

THE END