The problem with surviving something impossible was that your body didn't immediately believe it.
Jimmy lay on the cold deck plating of the Stellar Nymph, chest rising and falling like he'd just sprinted across a collapsing moon. Every breath tasted faintly of ozone. His nerves still buzzed, phantom currents crawling under his skin as if the ship hadn't quite let go of him yet.
"Okay," he croaked. "Next time we're out of power, remind me to just… push the ship downhill."
Vex snorted despite herself.
She stood a few steps away, hands braced on the console, glowing tattoos along her arms and collarbone slowly dimming from combat-bright to a softer, reactive pulse. The lights traced her body in flowing lines—over her shoulders, down her ribs, curving over her chest like living constellations. Even exhausted, Jimmy's vision flickered, that cursed-through-metals sight threatening to come back online.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Don't look," Sparky advised helpfully. "Your heart rate spikes every time."
"I am literally dying," Jimmy muttered. "Have some tact."
The ship shuddered—not violently this time, but like a long exhale. External cameras flickered to life, revealing the refinery complex collapsing in on itself, Syndicate structures folding and detonating as their power grid finally gave up.
Vex straightened, eyes locked on the display. "We have maybe three minutes before this place turns into debris soup."
Jimmy pushed himself upright with a groan. "Plenty of time. I've almost finished not being dead."
She turned toward him then, really looked at him.
"You didn't hesitate," she said quietly.
He shrugged, wincing as something popped in his shoulder. "Hesitation's how you get exploded."
"No," Vex replied. "You didn't hesitate to let it use you."
That landed harder.
Jimmy glanced down at his hands. Faint lines of residual light still traced his veins, like afterimages burned into flesh. "Yeah. Well. Guess I'm finding out what I'm good for."
Her tattoos brightened—subtly, warmly. Not alarm. Not anger.
Something else.
She stepped closer, close enough that Jimmy could feel heat radiating off her skin. The ship hummed around them, stabilizers kicking in as the Nymph began lifting free of the dying station.
"You scared me," Vex said.
Jimmy blinked. "Wow. Usually people lead with yelling."
"I will also yell," she added. "Later."
He laughed, then immediately regretted it. "Fair."
For a moment, neither of them moved. The space between them felt… charged. Not like combat. Like a held breath. Jimmy's traitorous vision tried again, flickering at the edges—light bending, outlines softening. He caught a glimpse of glowing ink against bare skin beneath her armor, the way the tattoos curved and shifted with her breathing.
He looked away fast.
"I, uh," he said. "For the record. You handled that override like a champ."
She smiled—sharp, dangerous, and very much aware of him. "For the record, you make a terrible extension cord."
Sparky cleared his nonexistent throat. "Hate to interrupt the mutual almost-undressing, but we have incoming signals."
Vex turned back to the console. "Syndicate?"
"Nope," Sparky replied. "Multiple independent hunters. Looks like word got out that someone just wiped a Syndicate stronghold using a half-dead ship and one idiot."
Jimmy grinned weakly. "See? Marketing."
The stars stretched as the Stellar Nymph punched into orbit, leaving fire and wreckage behind. Ahead lay open space—and a rapidly shrinking margin for error.
Vex crossed her arms, eyes reflecting starlight. "They'll come for you now. For what you are."
Jimmy leaned back in the pilot's chair, exhaustion settling into something almost like resolve. "Yeah," he said. "Let them."
Outside, the void waited—hungry, dangerous, and very much alive.
And Jimmy Jones felt it watching back.
"Let's quickly loot what we can," Vex said, already moving.
She didn't wait for agreement. She never did.
The Stellar Nymph settled into a low hover over the fractured remains of the facility, landing hard but stable on a half-intact platform that hadn't yet decided to explode. Emergency lights flickered across the ruined hangar below, painting everything in strobes of red and white.
"You have ninety seconds," Sparky warned. "Maybe less if the structure finishes its existential crisis."
"Plenty," Jimmy said, hopping down the ramp. The moment his boots hit the deck, something pulled at him.
Not hunger.
Direction.
He paused, head tilting slightly. "Uh… Vex?"
She was already cracking open a Syndicate weapons locker, tossing out ammo cells and compact shield nodes. "If this is about snacks, no."
"No, it's—" Jimmy frowned. "It's like… my bones want me to go that way."
Sparky floated closer, lens narrowing. "That's new."
The pull wasn't painful. It wasn't even urgent. It was subtle, persistent—like standing near a magnet with loose screws in your pockets. Jimmy took a step toward the far wall of the hangar, where scorched plating met a row of shattered storage units.
The sensation intensified.
"Jimmy," Vex warned, glancing up. "We don't have time for—"
"I know," he said. "I know. I'll be fast."
He pressed his palm against the wall.
The metal shifted.
Not melted. Not broken.
It moved aside, plates sliding back with a soft, obedient whisper, revealing a narrow passage that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago.
Vex froze. "That's a hidden compartment."
Jimmy swallowed. "I didn't mean to do that."
Inside was a small, spherical chamber—pristine, untouched by the chaos outside. At its center hovered a crystalline object the size of a human heart, suspended in a lattice of invisible force. It pulsed slowly, rhythmically, casting shadows that didn't quite line up with reality.
The air felt thick.
"Oh no," Sparky whispered. "Oh, very no."
"What is it?" Vex asked, hand drifting toward her blaster but not drawing it.
Jimmy stepped closer without meaning to. "I don't know. But it feels… familiar."
The crystal shifted as he approached, its pulse quickening. Lines of light traced across its surface, fractal patterns folding in on themselves like a thought trying to finish.
Sparky's voice rose an octave. "Jimmy, that is not food."
Jimmy reached out.
The lattice collapsed.
The crystal slammed into his chest—and vanished.
There was no explosion.
No flash.
Just silence.
Jimmy stood perfectly still, eyes wide, breath locked in his lungs.
Then the world… slipped.
For half a second, everything doubled. The hangar. Vex. Sparky. All of it existed twice, slightly out of sync, like two film reels misaligned.
Jimmy gasped.
The second version snapped back into place.
"What did you do?" Vex demanded, grabbing his arm.
"I—I didn't mean to—" He staggered, clutching his head. "It didn't taste like anything. It just… fit."
The pull was gone.
In its place was something worse.
A quiet awareness.
Jimmy looked up—and the hangar peeled open.
Not physically. Conceptually.
He could see where the walls had been. Where they would be if repaired. Where they might have been if the Syndicate had made different choices. Ghostly outlines overlapped reality, faint and translucent, like echoes of possibilities stacked on top of each other.
He blinked.
They stayed.
"Oh," Jimmy whispered. "Oh that's… that's not normal."
"What do you see?" Vex asked, voice tight.
"Everything," he said. "And the versions of it that almost happened."
Sparky backed away slowly. "That was a Chrono-Resonant Core."
Vex went very still. "Those are theoretical."
"They were," Sparky replied grimly. "Until about ten seconds ago."
The facility shuddered violently, alarms finally giving up and dying mid-wail.
Jimmy swayed as time itself seemed to hiccup around him—sparks freezing mid-air for a fraction of a second before continuing on, debris falling in staggered, uneven rhythms.
He grabbed the wall to steady himself.
"I think," he said carefully, "I can feel when things are about to happen."
Vex stared at him.
"Jimmy," she said slowly, "if the Syndicate finds out you can eat power, turn into weapons, and touch time—"
A distant rumble cut her off.
Not structural collapse.
Engines.
Sparky's lens flashed crimson. "Multiple inbound signatures. Heavy. They're not hunters."
Jimmy straightened, vision still layered with unreal possibilities—each one ending badly.
"They're leash-holders," he said.
And for the first time since this all started…
Time flinched first.