[REALMNET BREAKING ALERT]:

  Chewie Jiang (Area 001) confirmed dead in Rift T-1444!

  Everything in Eathan went very, very still.

  Before his mind could process, he was scrolling down the text in stark black and crimson. A thumbnail auto?expanded—a SpiritTube livestream, sound already on.

  “…with profound sorrow,” Meng Yao’s voice said, too clear against the static. She stood at a podium in a corridor Eathan could navigate blindfolded. Her hair was yanked into its usual immaculate high ponytail, but her eyes were rimmed red.

  “We confirm the loss of Agent Jiang during last night’s emergency rift in Sector 17B. Her actions prevented catastrophic node collapse and saved countless lives…”

  Behind her, Willow stood rigid, gaze on the ground and jaw clenched. Her eyes were dry in that way that hurt more than crying.

  The bar noise faded to a low, meaningless roar. Eathan’s pulse thudded once, twice. A slow, ugly throb started up behind his ribs.

  He knew, rationally, that Area 001 was a longstanding member of the attention spotlight, that RealmNet loved dramatization of any events, that information came packaged for public consumption.

  He also knew Chewie had walked out of COZMART that morning with her math book half?marked and her pigtails uneven.

  “Eathan?” Emily’s voice cut through the cotton. “What is it?”

  He flicked his wristpad shut, the afterimages of members of Area 001 burning in his eyes. A throbbing pain tugged at his chest—at himself, at the situation, at the necessity of the outcome—but he quickly quelled it, strangling the spike of emotion before it reached his face. He forced his breathing to even out. He had a role to play.

  The bar’s dim fairy lights flared in his vision like he’d stepped out of a tunnel. Someone at the far end laughed too loudly. The clink of glasses pressed against his ears.

  "Eathan?" This time, it was Luke, snapping him back into reality. "Hey, you okay, man?"

  Eathan stood. His empty glass fell against the wooden surface, loud enough to turn a head or two.

  “I—” The first word came out wrong, so he paused, recalibrated. “It’s nothing.”

  Emily frowned. “Nothing doesn’t make you look like that.”

  “It’s inventory night,” he blurted, words tumbling out too quickly. “Work stuff. I—forgot I’m supposed to check in on inventory tonight and if I don’t check in, my boss will… be displeased.”

  Luke stared at him. “Right now? Dude, you look like you just saw a ghost.”

  Eathan kept his gaze on the table. If he looked at them, all of this would be harder—and he couldn’t afford “harder” right now.

  “I’ll be quick,” he said. His mouth felt numb. “I’ll be quick. You don’t have to come.”

  He knew exactly how that would land.

  “Too bad,” Luke said, already sliding out of the booth. “We’re not leaving you to spiral alone in your haunted corner shop.”

  “Luke—”

  Emily slid out of the booth after him, arms already reaching for her coat. “You can’t seriously think we’re letting you walk off alone after that face.”

  Sera rose more slowly, looping her camera strap around her wrist. Her expression had sharpened, that quiet focus he’d learned to recognise surfacing as she studied his face.

  Eathan opened his mouth to push back, then the words jammed in his throat. Oh, he so wanted to tell them that he needed them safe, to not follow him—yet the words didn’t come out.

  Because he also needed them there.

  And that made him sick.

  He pressed his tongue against his teeth, forced something functional out.

  “Fine,” he said. “Meet you there. I just… need a head start.”

  “Eathan—” Luke began.

  “I’m not ditching you,” Eathan said, and it was the closest to a promise he could give. “COZMART’s a mess. Just need to turn some things off before you show up and start judging my snack ordering system.”

  Luke’s mouth twisted. “Ten minutes,” he said. “Then we’re at your door.”

  Eathan nodded, thanked them for the drinks he hadn’t finished, and stepped out into the night.

  The bar’s warmth slid off him in layers. Outside, the cold slapped his face clean. For a second, he just stood on the sidewalk. Streetlights buzzed overhead, and his breath fogged white in front of him. Behind him, the muffled thrum of music leaked through the walls.

  His wristpad buzzed again. This time, the tone was lower and threaded with static.

  

  [IDENTITY LOG – ENTRY #283]

  Dormancy Protocol Day 348 - 22:42

  Prompt: What does your ideal future look like?

  Eathan stared at the prompt, thumb hovering.

  The Identity Log had started as a nuisance, then a habit, then a strange kind of anchor—quiet questions he answered between shifts and crises, each one weighing his choices against something gentler.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Ideal future.

  Wind cut down the street, carrying the far?off wail of a siren. Somewhere down on Maple & 8th, COZMART’s neon sign would be humming away with the night.

  He sank down onto the curb, forearms on his knees, and opened the entry on his [SYSTEM] interface. The UI blinked back at him. He took a breath and started recording.

  

  Ideal future:

  No rifts for a week. Just once. A whole seven days of nothing trying to eat the city.

  COZMART still standing. Windows not shattered, freezers humming, register drawer stuck like always. Me arguing with Mister White about discount tags instead of… whatever this is.

  Chewie mastering the art of horses and calculus. Luke passing Advanced Algorithms. Emily getting her intership and complimenting me once (1) on my outfit. Sera finally getting the perfect picture she wants for the portfolio.

  Area 001 and Area 003 alive. Dormant, loud, annoying. Willow yelling at Finn. Meng Yao pretending she isn’t soft. Li Wei not looking like he’s one bad week away from dissolving into coffee.

  

  If I’m there, great. If I’m not… they still get that version. That’s enough.

  Eathan stared at the entry, then closed it. The entry folded into the archive pane. A soft chime pinged in his ear.

  

  [SYSTEM] NOTIFICATION:

  

  Habit Reinforced: Daily Identity Log (current streak: 283)

  

  [Humanity] has increased by 1%! (41% → 42%)

  Another notification stacked on top of the first.

  

  [HIDDEN QUEST] has been completed!

  

  [Humanity] has increased by 7%! (42% → 49%)

  Warmth moved through him—quiet, spreading out from somewhere in his veins, yet the external cold only became clearer and harsher against his skin.

  He snorted under his breath. “Give and take,” he muttered.

  Was it comforting, knowing his [Humanity] had just gone up right before whatever was about to ensue?

  Not really.

  But the knot in his chest had eased enough that he could stand without feeling like something would crack.

  Eathan pushed to his feet, tucked his hands into his pockets, and stared down the street.

  Somewhere at the far end of the block, past the flow of cars and clusters of pedestrians, COZMART’s sign would glow its familiar blue?white, the “C” always a little malfunctioned than the rest.

  Eathan drew in another breath, let it out slowly.

  He started walking toward the light.

  ***

  Emily checked the time for the third time in as many blocks.

  “We should’ve followed him immediately,” she said. “Ten minutes was a stupid idea. Why did we listen to him?”

  “Because we’re enablers,” Luke said grimly. His usual bounce was gone; his hands were jammed deep in his jacket pockets. “And because he never asks for space, so when he does, I—”

  He cut himself off.

  Sera walked a half?step behind them, eyes scanning their surroundings out of habit. “We’re almost there,” she said. “If he’s really just doing inventory, we can drag him out by his hoodie.”

  “Good,” Emily muttered. “He’s not allowed to have a breakdown alone. That’s against friendship regulations.”

  They turned onto Maple & 8th.

  COZMART glowed at the end of the block like always, neon buzzing, fridge light pooling behind the glass. The street was quieter than usual—no loitering teens, no delivery bikes cutting too close.

  Luke let out a breath. “See?” he said, trying for light. “Still standing. No terrorist attacks, no eldritch horrors, just overpriced chips.”

  Emily elbowed him. “Don’t jinx it.”

  As they drew closer, Sera slowed.

  “Do you smell that?” she asked.

  Emily inhaled. “Dust? Coffee? Your paranoia?”

  But Luke was frowning too now. Under the usual corner shop scents, something else threaded through the air—something metallic, like the air right before a thunderstorm.

  Through the window, they could see Eathan behind the counter. He was facing the shelves, as if restocking, posture neat and deliberate. The light inside the shop had a strange quality—too bright at the edges, colours a shade off, like someone had turned the saturation sideways.

  Luke opened his mouth to call.

  The world went white.

  For one stretched?out heartbeat, everything froze—their breath, the hum of the streetlights, the little flicker of neon in the OZMART sign.

  Then COZMART exploded.

  The front windows burst outward in a sheet of light and shattering glass. The blast hit like a physical wall, a roar that swallowed Emily’s scream and hurled hot air down the sidewalk.

  An invisible force hit them like a wall.

  Luke’s vision whited out. Instinct made him throw an arm across his face. The next second, he found himself flat on his back on the sidewalk, lungs empty, ears ringing.

  Emily landed half on top of him with a choked sound. Sera’s shoulder crashed into the curb; her camera knocked sideways against the concrete, lens pointing blindly toward the inferno as it swung on its strap.

  Shards of glass and something that wasn’t quite debris pattered down all around them, deflected at the last second by a shimmer in the air—a thin, golden film that flashed and was gone before his brain finished noticing.

  Heat rushed past them in a searing wave. It felt like fire, but when he instinctively yanked Emily and Sera closer, his hands weren’t burning. The air tasted of smoke and something sharp, like incense at full choke.

  "Eathan!" Luke’s voice cracked into a raw scream. He scrambled to his knees, only to have Emily clamp onto his arm.

  “Luke, stop!” she shouted over the roar. “You can’t—”

  “I have to go in—”

  “There is no in!” Emily yelled.

  She was right.

  Where the shop had been, there was now a column of fire and collapsing brick. The shelves they’d stood between a dozen times were black silhouettes for a second before disintegrating. The counter was gone. The bell over the door, the door itself, the stupid CLOSED sign—all swallowed.

  For half a beat, through the glare, Luke thought he saw a figure at the centre of it all—thin, hoodie, hair backlit gold.

  Eathan.

  The outline lifted its head toward them. Luke couldn’t see his face, but he felt, irrationally, like Eathan was looking right at him.

  Then the light flared, incandescent, and then there was nothing.

  Luke lunged. The barrier that wasn’t there hit him again, harder, shoving him back onto the pavement. Sparks skittered over an invisible boundary and winked out.

  “Eathan—!” Luke’s voice cracked raw. He tried to surge to his feet.

  Emily grabbed him again, this time around the waist on reflex, muscles shaking. “Luke, stop—!”

  “You saw him, he’s still inside—”

  Sera lurched up on one knee and latched on to his sleeve with both hands, adding her weight. The three of them made a messy knot on the sidewalk, Luke straining forward while the girls held him back with everything they had.

  Sirens howled somewhere, racing closer.

  Around them, the street was chaos. A car slammed its brakes halfway down the block with screeching tires. Someone on the opposite sidewalk shouted, “Call 911!” Another voice yelled, “I’ve got it!”—the flat, high sound of a wristpad already recording.

  On the ground, Sera’s camera dangled against the curb, half under her knee. The impact of the explosion had jolted the power back on; the screen flickered, then stabilized. The strap tugged; her elbow knocked the shutter button by accident when she tightened her hold on Luke.

  Click—click—click.

  None of them saw it.

  All they knew was heat and the stink of burning plastic, the taste of dust and metal on their tongues, and the sound of Luke shouting Eathan’s name like it could drag him out of the fire by force alone.

  COZMART burned, flames clawed up into the sky, sparks dancing like fireflies. People formed a wide circle on the sidewalk, some with wristpads up, some frozen in horror. Their voices rose in a half?panicked, half?disbelieving chorus:

  “Was anyone inside?”

  “Did you see—”

  Luke barely heard any of it. All he could see was the hole where the shop used to be and the way the roof had folded in. He dropped his head, shoulders shaking, as sirens finally screamed into the street.

  COZMART burned, throwing sparks up into the winter night like a thousand tiny, dying stars.

  And for Emily, Sera, and Luke, it felt like the world they knew had just gone up with it.