The Echo of Cold Coffee

Chapter 1: Ninety Days Left

Elara's POV

The first time I sold a year of my life, I bought medicine.

The second time, I bought food.

The third time, I stopped counting.

In Sector Four, everyone learned the value of time before they learned the value of money.

I stood in line beneath a flickering holographic billboard that stretched across three buildings. The giant blue numbers above us shifted every second, reminding the city how much time remained in the Global Reserve.

The billboard's voice was smooth and cheerful.

"Trade safely. Spend wisely. Every second counts."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

Easy for them to say.

The people in the Upper Districts had centuries stored in private vaults. They invested decades the way ordinary people invested stocks. They gambled with years and barely noticed when they lost.

Down here, in the Lower Rings, people sold months just to survive the week.

The woman in front of me stepped into the kiosk.

A bright beam scanned her wrist.

"Transaction approved."

The display flashed.

- 2 YEARS

She didn't even flinch.

The doors opened and she walked away carrying two bags of groceries.

I looked at my own wrist.

The glowing numbers beneath my skin pulsed red.

4 YEARS. 2 MONTHS. 11 DAYS.

Not much.

But enough.

For now.

"Next."

The machine's voice dragged me forward.

I stepped into the booth.

The scanner passed over my wrist.

A moment later my balance appeared.

The kiosk paused.

Then paused again.

The screen flickered.

I frowned.

That wasn't normal.

Every other customer took less than three seconds.

Mine had been processing for nearly ten.

The machine suddenly emitted a sharp tone.

WARNING.

My stomach tightened.

"What?"

The display glitched.

Rows of symbols flashed across the screen.

Then a message appeared.

ACCOUNT FLAGGED.

The air left my lungs.

Flagged accounts belonged to criminals, fugitives, and black-market traders.

I was none of those things.

At least, I thought I wasn't.

The screen changed again.

CONTACT CHRONOS AUTHORITY IMMEDIATELY.

"What the hell?"

The booth door slid open.

People in line stared.

I hurried away before anyone could ask questions.

My heart hammered all the way home.

Home was a generous word.

The apartment occupied the top floor of an abandoned textile warehouse.

Rain leaked through the ceiling.

The heater only worked when it felt inspired.

But my mother smiled whenever she looked around, so I called it home anyway.

"Elara?"

Her voice drifted from the kitchen.

"I'm back."

Julianne Vale emerged carrying a steaming mug.

The smile on her face made my chest ache.

Because every day she looked a little weaker.

Every day the disease stole a little more from her.

The genetic decay syndrome had no cure.

Only treatment.

Expensive treatment.

Treatment paid for in years.

"Did you get the medication?" she asked.

I forced a smile.

"Tomorrow."

A lie.

The medicine cost six months.

I only had enough for food.

Her expression softened.

"You don't have to keep doing this."

"I know."

Another lie.

Because I absolutely had to.

She sat beside me on the worn couch.

The room filled with silence.

Outside, neon advertisements reflected off the rain-soaked streets.

Above the city floated the distant golden towers of the Upper Districts.

A different world.

A different reality.

My mother followed my gaze.

"Still dreaming about going up there?"

"No."

I was lying again.

The truth was I dreamed about it constantly.

Not for myself.

For her.

A place where hospitals didn't ask how many years you could afford before deciding whether you deserved treatment.

A place where people weren't measured by the length of their remaining lifespan.

A place where my mother might survive.

The apartment suddenly went dark.

Power outage.

Again.

I sighed.

"Great."

The emergency lights activated.

For a brief second, a strange reflection flashed across the window.

A silhouette.

Standing on the rooftop opposite ours.

Watching.

I blinked.

The figure vanished.

My pulse quickened.

Maybe it was a trick of the light.

Maybe not.

Lately I had the unsettling feeling that someone was following me.

Watching me.

Waiting.

I just didn't know why.

The nightmare returned that night.

The same one.

Always the same.

I stood inside a ruined city.

Buildings floated upside down.

The moon was split in half.

Clocks hung frozen in the sky.

And everywhere I looked, people were disappearing.

Not dying.

Erasing.

Like pages being torn from a book.

Then I saw him.

The stranger.

Dark coat.

Dark eyes.

A face I somehow recognized despite never meeting him.

He stood among the collapsing ruins staring directly at me.

As if he had been searching for me.

As if he knew my name.

"Elara."

The sound echoed across the dream.

My heart stopped.

The stranger stepped forward.

"Run."

The world shattered.

I woke with a gasp.

Sweat covered my skin.

The room was dark.

Silent.

Then my wrist began to burn.

I cried out.

The glowing numbers beneath my skin flickered violently.

The countdown accelerated.

Seconds disappeared.

Minutes vanished.

Hours evaporated.

I stared in horror.

"What is happening?"

The numbers slowed.

Then stopped.

A new total appeared.

Bright.

Red.

Terrifying.

90 DAYS.

I froze.

Ninety days.

That was impossible.

I had more than four years.

I checked again.

The number remained.

90 DAYS.

A knock sounded at the apartment door.

Three sharp knocks.

At three in the morning.

My blood turned cold.

Another knock followed.

Then a voice.

Low.

Calm.

Dangerously familiar.

"Elara Vale."

The voice from the dream.

"I know this is a terrible time to introduce myself."

My heart hammered.

The stranger continued.

"But if you want to survive the next ninety days..."

A pause.

"...you need to open the door."

And for the first time in her life, Elara realized someone had been counting down to her.