Ren hated running.

Not just because his lungs burned or because his legs ached—but because he had no idea where he was going.

The woman dragged him through winding alleys, each one less familiar than the last. They turned sharp corners, ducked under low-hanging signs, and slipped through gaps between buildings that barely had room to breathe. Every time Ren thought they’d found a moment to stop, the shadows stretched just a little too far behind them, reminding him that stopping wasn’t an option.

After what felt like an eternity, they burst through the back door of a run-down shop. Dust swirled in the air, and the scent of ink and parchment filled his lungs. Shelves stacked with old tomes and scrolls lined the walls, some crumbling with age, others wrapped in protective bindings. A single oil lamp flickered on the counter.

The woman locked the door behind them, finally releasing his wrist.

Ren collapsed against a shelf, trying to catch his breath. "You want to tell me what’s happening now?"

She pulled back her hood, revealing sharp green eyes and a long scar cutting across her jaw. "We’re at a crossroads," she said. "Literally."

Ren blinked. "That’s not an answer."

She ignored him, moving to the center of the shop. A circular brass plate was embedded in the floor, covered in strange markings—some of which looked eerily similar to the runes on his pocket watch.

She knelt, tracing her fingers along the outer edge. The lines pulsed faintly, responding to her touch.

Ren straightened. "What is that?"

"A map," she said. "One that doesn’t show where you’ve been. Only where you might go."

That made zero sense. "Are you even capable of giving a straight answer?"

The woman smirked. "I could. But then you’d still be standing in the street asking why time is hunting you instead of hiding somewhere safe."

Ren clenched his jaw. He wanted to argue. He wanted to demand real explanations, ones that didn’t feel like riddles. But after what he’d seen today—the warping streets, the creature in the marketplace, the way reality itself had flickered—he wasn’t sure there was a straight answer.

The woman tapped the brass plate twice. The markings shifted, rearranging themselves into something new. A new route. A new possibility.

She stood. "We have one chance to move before the Shadowborn catch our trail again. If we wait too long, the path will close."

Ren swallowed, gripping the watch in his palm.

"And if I don’t go?"

She met his eyes. "Then your fate is already written."

The floor beneath them hummed. The runes on the brass plate brightened.

Ren took a deep breath. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he stepped forward.

The moment his foot touched the plate—

—The world changed.