Chapter 7: The First Crack
839 Words
“They won’t let you keep it.”
The words didn’t land right. Not like sound—more like pressure, settling somewhere in my chest, pushing inward.
I opened my mouth.
“Who are—”
The question broke. Not stopped. Just… wrong. The sound thinned out halfway through, like something pulled it apart before it reached him. My throat tightened.
I tried again.
“Who are they?”
This time, the words came out.
But he reacted too quickly. “Don’t.”
Sharp. Immediate.
His hand closed around my wrist before I realized I’d moved. Not rough. Not gentle. Necessary.
I froze.
Not because of the touch.
Because of what came with it.
A sudden pressure behind my eyes—
A sharp pulse—
—
The street was empty.
No cars. No people. No sound.
Just the two of us. Closer this time.
Too close.
“You said you wouldn’t stop me,” I heard myself say.
But it wasn’t me.
His face looked different. Not confused. Not distant.
Tired.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said.
“I do.” My voice—steady. Certain. Nothing like it was now. “If it happens again, you let it.”
His jaw tightened. “And when they find you?”
“Then they find me.”
A pause.
“Promise me,” I said.
—
The world snapped back.
Sound rushed in all at once—cars, footsteps, voices—too loud, too fast. I stumbled, catching myself as my knees threatened to give out.
My hand flew to my head.
“What—”
My breath came uneven.
“That wasn’t—”
I looked at him.
He hadn’t let go of my wrist. But his grip had changed. Tighter. Like letting go would make something worse happen.
“You saw it,” he said.
Not a question.
“I—” The image flickered again—not whole, just enough to leave a weight behind. “I said that.”
“Yeah.”
My chest tightened. “But I don’t remember it.”
“You’re not supposed to.”
Something in me pushed back hard. “Then why did I?”
Before he could answer—
A car passed behind him.
Then another.
Same color. Same speed. Same direction.
My breath caught.
I turned, watching it disappear.
Nothing followed. No duplicate. Just normal traffic.
“Did you—”
“I know,” he said quickly.
Too quickly.
I looked back. He wasn’t watching me anymore. He was scanning past me—the same way he had before.
Only now—
I could feel it too.
That quiet pressure. Not inside me this time. Outside. Like something pressing in.
“They’re already adjusting,” he muttered.
A cold feeling spread through me. “Adjusting what?”
His gaze snapped back to mine.
“Us.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t have to. It just has to work.”
My head started to ache. Not sharp—just building.
“You said I wasn’t supposed to remember this much,” I said slowly. “So what happens now?”
He hesitated.
That was enough.
“Tell me.”
His jaw tightened. “We run out of time.”
The words hit harder than anything else.
“Time for what?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, his grip loosened slightly.
Just enough.
Something about that felt wrong. Like the only thing keeping me here had weakened.
“I don’t understand any of this,” I said, quieter now. “You talk like it’s already happened—like I already chose something. But I don’t remember choosing anything.”
“I know.”
“Then how am I supposed to fix it?”
That made him pause. Really pause.
“You’re not,” he said.
The pressure in my head spiked. A sharp pulse—something just out of reach—
I grabbed the first thought I could hold.
“This isn’t the first morning.”
Silence.
His eyes locked onto mine.
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
My breath caught. The world tilted—just enough to feel wrong.
Behind him, someone walked past.
Then—
Walked past again.
Same steps. Same rhythm. A replay that didn’t quite hide itself.
My chest tightened. “Why is that happening?”
He didn’t look.
“Because you’re noticing.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting right now.”
My head throbbed harder. Like something was pushing back.
I squeezed my eyes shut—
And when I opened them—
He was closer.
Not by movement. Just… closer. Like the space between us had shortened.
My breath hitched. “You didn’t—”
“I didn’t move.”
That was worse.
“If they reset you again…” His voice dropped, urgent now.
He stopped.
“...what?”
His eyes held mine. Steady. Serious.
And underneath it—
Fear.
“I might not find you next time.”
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