Two minutes and sixteen seconds.
The crystallized writing surface burned beneath Lio's palm as he began inscribing the story that would damn him across all possible realities. Each word carved itself into existence with surgical precision, reality bending to accommodate his terrible vision. But as the first line took shape—a line that would strip choice itself from the cosmos—something blazing crashed into his consciousness like a comet of pure defiance.
"Stop."
The voice didn't come from outside. It erupted from within his own mind, carrying frequencies of connection that made his soul ring like struck crystal. Lio's hand froze mid-word, the writing implement trembling in his grip as recognition flooded through him like molten gold.
Shia.
