Jay stood still, his feet sunk an inch into the obsidian tiles of the fractured corridor. The air crackled — not with electricity, but with memories, flickering like faulty neon signs along the walls. The academy's halls were collapsing, not physically, but chronologically, different time signatures bleeding into one another.
He didn't speak, not yet. Not until the ticking slowed.
Click.
Clack.
Clutch.
Silence.
Behind him, Alicia emerged from the distortion veil, brushing strands of silver-blonde hair behind her ear, eyes alert. "It's worse than before," she said, her voice as soft as snowfall. "The layer is decaying faster. Whatever the Observer left here… it's trying to bury itself."
Jay didn't answer at first. He was watching a cracked monitor on the wall — a looping visual of a much younger version of himself stumbling through the same hallway, alone, confused. The glitch was not accidental.
