Elara didn't remember buying blue paint.She stood in her studio, staring at the streak across the far wall—deep, electric, like the color of lightning caught mid-breath.It hadn't been there the night before.
She touched it with her fingertip. Still wet.It shouldn't be.
Her brushes were clean, her palettes dry. And yet there it was—a line of blue that seemed to hum faintly, as if alive.
Something about it made her chest tighten.It was the same shade that appeared in her dream. The same color that ran through the man's eyes when he turned toward her in the rain.
She sat down slowly, pulling her knees close.Maybe she was losing her mind.Maybe the universe was.
The clock on her wall clicked. Then skipped.A second vanished.
She stared at it, waiting. But the next moment came normally, as if nothing had happened.
"Great," she whispered. "Now time's mocking me too."
Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching—that same quiet, familiar presence.The air near the window felt thicker, like static waiting to speak.
She whispered, "If you're real, say something."
Silence.
But the blue paint glowed just slightly brighter, and Elara's heart began to race.
Aiden was barely conscious when Kellen found him.
The lab was a wreck—circuits blown, glass cracked, the hum of the core replaced by a low, irregular pulse.
"What did you do?" Kellen shouted, hauling him up.
Aiden's voice was hoarse. "She saw me."
"You're bleeding into her timeline!" Kellen snapped. "Do you even realize what that means? You've created a loop—an open bridge between memory and observation. The system's reporting phase collapse!"
Aiden managed a weak laugh. "Then I did it."
Kellen grabbed him by the collar. "You think this is some love story? You've made a hole in time, Aiden. A living one. And it's growing."
He pushed past him and pulled up the readings on the main console.
Reality distortions: 0.02%.Crossfield echo contamination: active.
Kellen's hands shook. "You've contaminated now with then."
Aiden stared at the data in silence. The numbers didn't scare him. Only what they meant.
If Elara could see him—if she could feel him—then time wasn't memory anymore.It was something that could remember back.
Elara painted for hours without knowing why.Her hands moved faster than her thoughts.Every stroke felt guided by something unseen—like she was tracing an outline that already existed somewhere else.
When she finally stepped back, she realized she'd painted him.
Not perfectly, not detailed—but enough. The shape of his jaw, the shadow of his eyes. She recognized him immediately.
The man from the dream. The one who didn't belong.
She dropped her brush, breath shaking."Who are you?" she whispered.
The window shimmered. Just faintly.
And for a heartbeat, she saw him—standing there, translucent, like a reflection in glass. His face pale, his eyes filled with a sorrow that made her knees weaken.
Her voice trembled. "You're real…"
Then the lights flickered. The world bent.
Her reflection in the glass smiled back at her—before she did.
Elara stumbled backward, knocking over her easel.
When the lights steadied, the window was empty again.But the painting on the canvas had changed.
The man's hand—once empty—was now reaching toward her.
In the lab, alarms screamed through the silence.
Kellen burst in, pale and shaking. "Aiden—there's been a shift."
Aiden looked up, exhausted. "What kind of shift?"
Kellen turned the monitor toward him.It showed Elara's apartment feed—her painting, her moving, now.
"It's live," Kellen said. "Not recorded. The past isn't the past anymore."
Aiden's heart stopped for a second.
On the screen, Elara was staring straight at the camera.Straight at him.
And she whispered, barely audible through the static,"Please… don't go."