Night fell over the Victorian house like a velvet shroud, and for the first time in weeks, no one slept.
Downstairs, Tylor, Kayla, Amaira, and a still-weakened Daniel gathered around a table scattered with journal pages, coordinates, and a map marked with rift scars. The locket and key sat between them, glowing faintly like an ember waiting to reignite.
"The Archive," Tylor murmured, tracing a spiral on the map. "If the Collective buried something in time, and it's waking up…"
Kayla looked up. "Then our fight's not over. It's evolving."
Elias entered the room, tossing a pack onto the table. "I've seen that emblem before. The helix-hourglass. It's older than the Collective—rumored to be part of the original experiments into time displacement. Before Sarah. Before Hale."
Amaira's voice was quiet. "Then why was it under the oak tree?"
They all froze. "What oak tree?" Elias asked.
Tylor stood abruptly and led them outside. The moon bathed the backyard in silver. There, in the same spot it had been since they returned to 2025, stood the massive oak—serene, too perfect, its trunk etched with faint spirals no one had noticed before.
Amaira walked forward, drawn to it. Her fingers traced the bark, and a soft click echoed. A hollow opened at the base, revealing a sealed compartment wrapped in cloth.
Inside was a metallic plate, circular, ancient. And a message:
"Time is not a river. It is a root system. You've trimmed the branches. The core still grows."
Tylor whispered, "It's alive."
Suddenly, the house's lights flickered. Kayla clutched her head—visions flooding in. Red sand. Voices in reverse. A door deep beneath stone, opening inward.
"I see the Archive," she said. "It's waking because we're close."
The plate in Tylor's hand began to rotate on its own, aligning with the key. Symbols rearranged themselves, forming a phrase:
"When memory and regret are both unlocked, the Vault shall rise."
Daniel stiffened. "The Vault? That's where the Collective locked away their original failure. The first experiment. The one they tried to erase from time itself."
Elias looked grim. "If it's waking now, someone—or something—wants us to open it."
Tylor turned back to the house. "Then we need to find the second lock—regret."
Amaira looked down at the drawing in her pocket. The one she'd made months ago: a balloon floating away, her silhouette chasing it, and Tylor's, too… standing still.
She held it up. "I think I know where to start."
Somewhere, in time's tangled root system, something was watching them.
And it had been waiting for this moment.