The girl in black didn’t vanish.

  She didn’t flicker like a ghost. Didn’t shimmer like a Return. She stood under the cold wash of the midnight plaza lights as if she’d always belonged there. Her presence made the air feel thicker. Denser.

  Casen watched from the balcony, tension buzzing through his limbs. "You see her too, right?"

  "Yeah," Elian murmured. "She’s real."

  She was dressed in sleek urban gear—black boots, matte jacket, gloves with reinforced knuckles. Utility built into her silhouette. Tactical. Her face was too calm. Too aware.

  Casen glanced back toward the room. "Should we tell Wynn?"

  "She’s already watching."

  Behind them, Dr. Wynn appeared with a silent step, one hand clutching a tablet that didn’t blink. It was analog. Just lights and wire circuits soldered to printed screens. "She’s not on any records. Not GCA. Not Return logs. She’s a blank."

  Elian turned. "Then who is she?"

  The girl in black lifted a hand.

  Not to wave.

  To beckon.

  Casen didn’t think. He was already moving.

  The plaza smelled of cold metal and ash. Old burn scars stained the ground where too many Returns had once collapsed.

  The girl watched Casen approach, Elian and Wynn trailing behind him. Her expression didn’t shift, not even when he stopped just a meter from her.

  "Name?" Casen asked.

  She tilted her head. "Does it matter? You don’t remember me."

  Something about her voice—it wasn’t haunting, it was familiar. Like hearing a melody you’d forgotten you knew.

  Casen’s pulse spiked. "Have we met?"

  The girl looked at Elian. Then at Wynn. Then back to Casen.

  "Once. Before the timelines fractured. Before your first death."

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Wynn stepped forward. "You’re an Echo. But not like the ghosts. You’re a person out of sync. A Black Echo."

  The girl nodded. "And I came back to warn you."

  Casen narrowed his eyes. "Warn us about what?"

  She reached into her coat and pulled out a crumpled, weather-worn photograph. She handed it to Casen. In it, four figures stood in front of the old GCA tower. Himself. Elian. Wynn.

  And her.

  Only Casen didn’t remember this photo ever being taken.

  Wynn’s breath hitched. "This is pre-Split. Pre-Mirror. This—this shouldn't exist anymore."

  The girl’s voice was softer now. "They’ve started rewriting things. Not just memories. Events. Entire branches of time. Ghosts remember things that never happened. People vanish, not because they died, but because they were overwritten."

  Casen touched the photo. The edges were singed. "By who? The Black-Suits?"

  The girl stepped back. "You called them the Ashen Protocol. Before they erased it. Before they erased you."

  The girl saw the confused faces. "The Black-Suits are a field operative division that enforces the rules of the Return, hunts anomalies, and silences breaches in the timeline. The Ashen Protocol is an ancient, classified system enacted after the first timeline fracture. It governs memory control, the Returns, the culling of unstable entities, and the erasure of dangerous truths. The Black-Suits are enforcers of the Ashen Protocol, but not its creators. Even they are not sure about the full scope of the protocol."

  Casen took a moment to process this before asking "Then who created the protocol?"

  "No one knows. But we have speculation that the leader of The Black-Suits may be related to the creation of The Ashen Protocol."

  Lightning cracked above the skyline, silent and without storm. Wynn looked up, eyes narrowing.

  "We need to move. Inside. Now. This plaza’s exposed."

  Back inside Safehouse Delta, the girl sat at the metal table while Wynn barricaded the doors.

  Casen stared at her. "So what are you? Another version of me? Of Elian?"

  She shook her head. "No. I’m real. From a strand that didn’t collapse. But that strand is closing. And when it does... I disappear."

  "Why show up now?"

  "Because the Ashen Protocol has your name again, Casen. And this time, they’re not just sending cleaners. They’re sending erasers."

  Wynn leaned forward. "What do they want?"

  The girl looked at Elian. "Her. And you. Together, you’re an instability. A wound in the timeline that won’t heal. But instead of sealing it, they want to reset it all. Burn the thread."

  Elian’s hands clenched. "We didn’t ask for this. We didn’t cause it."

  "No," the girl said. "But you’re the echo that won’t fade. The more you exist, the more the world bends around you."

  Casen stood. "So what do we do? Wait to be erased?"

  She looked at him, finally—really looked. "You run. You find the Faultline. And you pull back what they buried. That’s the only way to stop them."

  Wynn paled. "The Faultline’s a myth."

  The girl gave a sad smile. "So were ghosts, once."

  That night, Casen didn’t sleep. He sat on the balcony again, holding the photo. The version of him in it was smiling. Carefree.

  It looked wrong.

  Elian joined him, sitting beside him without speaking for a long time.

  Finally, she said, "So. The past is broken. The future’s hunting us. And we’re running toward a place that might not be real."

  Casen glanced at her. "Sounds about right."

  She smiled faintly. "Then let’s make sure whatever’s out there... remembers us."