The chip lay empty on the floor; its data burned in an instant. Casen pocketed the ash, sealing the secret of midnight’s warning: Elian’s fractured echo, bleeding at midnight, whispering, “Run.”

They had no choice but to face the next Return.

Casen led her through the maintenance tunnels before dawn—skipping the train car hideout for a closer perch overlooking the plaza. Elian moved quietly beside him, every step measured, her mismatched eyes flicking toward the grate window.

"You sure you want to do this?" Casen whispered.

She nodded, voice steady. "I need to see if it’ll happen again. If my fracture repeats... or if his does."

He exhaled, tapping the old handheld recaster into position. It was jury-rigged to record only audio, to avoid the risk of networking. They couldn’t trust any visuals, not after that chip. But sound—sound would capture the anomalies.

They waited in silence as the world lit up above them.

12:00 PM — A hollow chime reverberated through the city. The Return shimmer began.

Ghosts drifted back, drifting from thin air in front of statues and memorial benches. Soft sobs and greetings drifted down.

Elian clenched her fists.

Casen’s gaze locked on her—only half its usual warmth. Something fractured inside him at the sight.

As the hour wore on, the audio recaster crackled.

A mother’s voice. A child’s laughter.

Then: a guttural whisper, layered beneath the Return’s hum.

“Casen...”

Elian’s breath caught. Casen’s heart pounded.

They strained to hear.

“Don’t... let me go.”

Casen’s eyes flicked to Elian. "Did you record that?"

She nodded, pale. "It’s my voice—but not my words."

The recaster spat static. Another whisper:

“Remember...”

Terror gripped Casen’s throat. "That’s him. My voice." He pressed a hand to the grate, the metal cold beneath his palm.

Above, the ghosts began to vanish, one by one, as the clock in the plaza tower chimed 1:00 PM.

But beneath the return’s disappearing act came a different sound, low and distant—a rumble like shattering glass.

From the heart of the plaza, a single figure remained:

A pale Casen-ghost, dark eyes bleeding shadows, standing amid empty benches.

He turned his head toward the grate, lips parting.

And spoke.

"See me.”

Casen stumbled back, dropping the recorder. Elian caught him, steadying his shoulders.

"What did he say?" she whispered.

Casen shook, voice raw. "He wants us to see him… not here, but somewhere else."

Elian’s eyes glistened. "You heard him. That’s not part of the Return. He’s calling from another fracture."

Casen seized her hand. "We can’t wait. We have to go now."

Together, they slipped down from the grate and into the empty plaza. The air was still warm from the Return’s final pulse. He scanned the open space, heart racing.

"Show yourself," he called, voice echoing.

Silence.

Then, a soft glow at the far end—where the statues stood. They edged closer.

There, beside the memorial fountain, stood the bleeding Casen-ghost. Its coat hung heavy, ragged, as though it had endured a hundred storms.

Elian approached first. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

The ghost flickered, voice a whisper: “The hour is broken.”

Casen’s chest tightened. "What hour?"

The ghost’s eyes met his: pools of fractured time. “The one after this.”

His voice broke as the figure lifted a trembling hand, pointing at his own heart. “You die. Here.”

Elian gasped and stepped forward. "I saw it once. I saw it wrong. But this… it’s real."

Casen sank to his knees. "I can’t let that happen."

The ghost’s form began to collapse into shards of violet light.

“Fix the Return,” it whispered, “or we all fade.”

And then it was gone.

Elian knelt beside him. Her hand found his. "You’re not alone. We’ll fix it. Together."

He looked up at the empty plaza, the noon returns now a silent memory.

Casen rose, determination hardening his features. "Then we find the source. We end this."

She nodded, shadows of resolve in her mismatched eyes.

Behind them, the city hummed—unaware, unchanged.

But they would be the ones to change it.