He existed between verbs.
Without a name, Elias slipped through moments like mist. He was no longer anchored to past, present, or future.
He was occurring.
Mara reached for him—and stopped.
"I… I don't know who you are," she whispered, tears streaming. "I know I love you. I don't know why."
That hurt more than annihilation.
Ash watched with unease. "You're outside narrative now. Even time doesn't know when to place you."
Elias closed his eyes.
He did not focus on memory.
He focused on refusal.
The clocks across the city exploded at once, glass raining like shrapnel made of seconds. Time screamed—raw, unfiltered.
And the nameless man chose himself.