The peace lasted one month.
Marcus stood at the threshold of the clock tower, watching the golden threads pulse with steady light. The oneness was complete. The lost part was returned. The Foundation was whole. Everything was as it should be.
But something was calling.
It was faint at first, barely perceptible—a whisper at the edges of the connection, a tremor in the threads. Marcus tried to ignore it at first, telling himself it was just the natural rhythm of the oneness. But the whisper grew louder, more insistent, until he could no longer deny it.
Anna noticed his distraction. She arrived at the clock tower one evening, her face pale, her eyes searching.
"Marcus, what's wrong? You've been distant. Preoccupied."
Marcus shook his head slowly. "There's something out there. Something
