The journal didn't answer.
I tried again the next morning, hoping for something—confirmation, warning, direction. But the page remained silent. I stared at the blank sheet until the candle beside me guttered out. The ink from the last message had already faded to gray.
Whatever force had spoken to me, it wasn't mine to summon.
By the time Konrad and Clara stirred, the sun was barely warming the frost on the windows. We moved quietly, each of us still weighed down by what we hadn't said out loud.
We sat at the table. I opened my journal again—not to write, but just to look.
"I think he's already remembering," I said. "Just not all at once."
"So what do we do?" Clara asked. "Wait?"
Konrad shook his head. "Waiting gives our enemy time."
I closed the journal.
"We need to bring it to the surface," I said. "All of it. Whatever he's still holding back."
Clara hesitated. "And how do you plan to do that?"
I looked at her. Then at Konrad. "With Dr. Eberhardt."
***
Dr. Eberhardt didn't look surprised when we returned.
"You've come back sooner than I expected." She said, as she let us in.
"We found him," Clara said. "The student you mentioned. The one you wouldn't name."
Helene nodded once, slowly. "You're certain?"
"He didn't say it outright…" I replied.
Konrad crossed his arms. "He's remembering pieces. But it's messy."
Helene folded her hands in her lap. "You think he's one of you."
"We know he is," I said. "We just don't know if he knows yet."
She looked at each of us in turn, thoughtful. "You want my help."
"If anyone can get through to him, it's you," Clara said.
Helene tilted her head. "It might be dangerous."
"We've seen dangerous," Konrad said.
"And you still want to try?" she asked.
I nodded. "We can't keep letting time slip by."
***
Erich arrived that afternoon, exactly on time for his session with Helene. The sky outside had turned to ash-low, flat clouds blanketing the city in a dull grey. He stepped through the clinic door like he always had, without hesitation, without question.
The three of us were already there—but not in the room. We waited just beyond the wall, behind the half-closed door where the gaslight didn't quite reach.
Inside, Helene sat across from him, posture relaxed, hands loosely folded in her lap. The session began like any other.
"How have things felt this week?" she asked.
He didn't respond immediately. "Unstable."
"In what way?"
He shifted. "I lose time. My thoughts come too fast. I wake up remembering things I haven't lived."
"Do you write them down?"
"Sometimes."
"What's the last thing you remember writing?"
He frowned. "A name. I don't know whose. It's gone now."
Helene nodded. "Let's follow that. Close your eyes. Let it come back."
Erich did. The room fell quiet.
"I'm in a corridor," he said after a long pause. "Narrow. No windows. I've seen it before—but not here. Not in this life."
"What do you feel?"
"Panic. But not mine. Like someone else is afraid through me."
"What else do you see?"
"Clocks, they're broken," he said. "But they still tick."
Helene waited a moment.
Then she said, "Come in."
We stepped into the room.
Erich's eyes snapped open.
He saw us.
And something inside him tore open.
His breath hitched. His hands twitched at his sides.
"Why are you here?"
Clara stepped forward. "We can help you."
Erich staggered back. "No—NO, this isn't right. I was supposed to forget—"
Helene stood, calm and silent.
"You remember them, don't you?" she said softly.
Erich clutched his head. "It's too much."
Then he fell to his knees, screaming in agony.
His voice fractured. Eyes hollowed. The world around him rippled.
Time bent.
He moved.
Straight toward me.
I rewound. One second. He adjusted mid-step.
Clara shouted his name, but he didn't hear her.
Konrad lunged to block, but Erich slipped past, movements sharp and practiced.
He was no longer moving. He was reacting.
Helene didn't flinch.
She raised her hand.
The room folded in on itself. Walls peeled inward. Light bent sideways. Sound dropped into a hollow tunnel.
We weren't in the clinic anymore.
We were somewhere else.
And the fight had just begun.