The morning after the sky cracked open, the city didn't wake up. It just... lingered.
I hadn't slept. How could I? The image of the red countdown clock from yesterday afternoon was burned into my retinas. 72 hours. That was what the screens had screamed while I ran from the school, ducking through alleys to avoid the staring crowds.
I sat on the edge of my bed, checking the time.
07:42 AM.
By my math, we had about 58 hours left.
My room was usually filled with the hum of the city—traffic, drones, the buzz of the Echo grid. But today, the silence was heavy. It pressed against the windows.
I glanced at my wrist comms. Usually, I'd have a few notifications: "Daily Observation Routine Initiated.""Heart rate normal."
Today, there was only one notification, blinking in angry crimson: [STATUS: UNACCOUNTED.]
I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. I couldn't stay in this box waiting for the end.
The hallway was wrong. Usually, even this early, you'd see the faint blue shimmer of neighbors' Echoes—ghostly outlines of them locking doors or tying shoes a few seconds before they actually did it.
Today? Nothing. Just bare concrete and flickering fluorescent lights. The "future" was gone.
I took the stairs down to the lobby, avoiding the elevator. I didn't want to be trapped in a metal box if the grid failed.
Mr. Das, the night-shift security guard, was standing behind the front desk. Usually, he'd be watching cricket highlights, his Echo sipping tea a moment before he did.
But Mr. Das wasn't watching cricket. He was watching the door. Watching for me.
When I stepped into the light, he flinched. actually flinched, pressing his back against the mailboxes.
"Mr. Das?" I asked, stopping near the elevator banks. "Where is everyone?"
He didn't answer immediately. He looked pale, sweat beading on his bald head. He held his baton, not aggressively, but defensively. Like I was a wild animal.
"They're hiding," he rasped. "Or praying."
"Is it true?" I asked, nodding toward the blacked-out windows. "The countdown?"
Mr. Das let out a shaky breath. "You really don't know, do you?"
"I saw the screens yesterday," I said, defensive. "I saw the fire. I know the world ends in three days."
"No," Das whispered. He stepped out from behind the desk, keeping a safe distance. "It wasn't just the screens, Kairo. When the sky turned red yesterday... our Echoes synced."
He tapped his temple.
"We didn't just see a broadcast. We lived it. For ten seconds, everyone on Earth flashed forward three days. I felt the heat. I felt the building collapse on me. I felt my heart stop."
A chill crawled up my spine. In Chapter 1, I had seen the Echoes freeze and collapse. I didn't realize the people were experiencing their own deaths.
"Okay," I said slowly. "So everyone saw their death. That's... terrifying. But why are you looking at me like that?"
Mr. Das swallowed hard. He pointed a trembling finger at me.
"Because in my vision... in everyone's vision... we saw each other. We saw the crowds running. We saw the panic."
He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper that echoed in the empty lobby.
"But you weren't there, Kairo."
I froze.
"What?"
"We checked the forums last night. Tokyo. New York. London. Everyone saw the end. But no one saw you."
He took another step back, his hand hovering over the silent alarm button under the desk.
"You're the only person on Earth who wasn't in the future. Which means one of two things."
The lobby screen flickered above us, the red numbers ticking down.
58:14:10
"Either you're already dead in three days," Das said, his voice breaking. "Or you're the one who kills us all."