He stood in the doorway, watching Sarah clutch the dragon dagger like it might c***k and spill time itself.
His heart thudded like war drums beneath his ribs. There wasn’t time to linger.
He stepped into the catacomb’s shadows.
Behind him, Sarah didn’t call after him.
She knew better than to try and stop the tide.
The drive down from Old Joe’s ridge felt like descending from the past into a burning present.
As the vehicle crested the hill overlooking Harmonfield, Jack’s breath caught.
The city below wasn’t just burning—it was bleeding.
Smoke billowed from shattered buildings. Lightning cracked the skies, streaking violet and black. Roads were torn like paper. The clock tower—the one Ryan used to graffiti—lay in ruins.
The Vault had broken through.
Jack gripped the wheel tighter.
