RPV2 Tower, Executive Floor — Late Afternoon May 2025

MARISSE

The evening sun turned the glass towers to fire.

The RPV2 executive wing was pristine, hushed by carpeted floors and the scent of ozone and money. 

Marisse had just ended the call with his head of security Zeke when he saw Andrew’s name flash on his phone. He answered immediately.

“You said earlier that Rose died from a tragedy?” Andrew asked, his voice slow, confused.

Marisse straightened. “Yes. Day Seven of the cruise. The Maverick Rose capsized. That was the official---”

“No, she didn’t,” Andrew interrupted. “Not like that.”

Marisse froze. “…What do you mean?”

“I checked. Had to confirm it for myself. I still had a copy of the original manifest… and Marisse, they all made it safely back. And Rose disappeared the night before. She was last seen on the promenade by her nanny."

Marisse felt a jolt like a wave of energy suddenly crash on him that he dropped his phone and fell back on the seat behind his desk.

He had to close his eyes in an attempt to regain his balance and when he opened his eyes, the piles of documents infront of him seemed to have been rewritten, edited right before his very eyes.

Marisse can still remember what he read not five minutes ago on the screen of his laptop... The Maverick’s Rose went down in a storm on Day Seven. Some mechanical failure. Capsized on its return to Manila. Over a hundred casualties. 

That was the version he remembers!

But the article now has no mention of a storm. No capsizing. The ship docked safely. The only incident listed is Rose. Missing. Disappeared sometime after midnight. No one noticed until morning.

Marisse felt the heavy, stunned silence before hemanaged to reach fo rhis phone again where Andrew was still calling his name.

"Marisse!---Are you still there?!"

“And you’re saying,” Marisse whispered, “the entire tragedy… it never happened?”

“What tragedy, Marisse?” Andrew's voice was filled with frustration now. “You're making me worry.”

Marisse lowered the phone from his ear, trembling. He opened the maritime archive app again and scrolled through the updated records. A smooth voyage. Delayed disembarkation due to minor engine trouble, but no casualties. Just one unresolved file: Passenger #071 – Rose Villamor. Status: Missing. Presumed overboard.

He put the call back on speaker, almost breathless. “This is impossible.”

“Marisse, should I worry?” Andrew murmured. “You have a dinner meeting with Enrique Villamor tonight. I feel you must reschedule if all of this is throwing you off a bit, Marisse.”

"I---I'm fine, Andrew."

Hope rose like a tide, high and fast.

She didn’t die in a storm.

She didn’t drown with a hundred others in a disaster no longer recorded.

She just went missing.

And missing meant she could still be found.

The hope that flared in his chest was so sudden and bright, it nearly knocked him back.

“I can find her,” Marisse said aloud, pacing the length of the suite. “If she didn’t die in a capsized ship, then maybe I can stop her from disappearing at all. I was with her. I walked with her on the upper deck. Maybe, maybe I follow her next time. Stay longer. Intervene. Say something.”

“Marisse, slow down,” Andrew said. “You’re not making any sense.”

“No, I’m talking like this is real. The photos, the memories, they’re not just flashbacks. They’re choices. Paths. If I made one change already, then I can make another.”

Andrew was quiet for a beat. And Marisse knew he already said too much to a man who had no clue what had just happened.

So, Marisse breathe through his nose and held himself in check.

Finally, he said over the phone, “I'm not making any sense, am I?”

"No, not really." Andrew's reply was clipped and careful.

"I was just thinking aloud. I have to go." 

As soon as he ended his call to Andrew, Marisse beeped Betita on the intercom. "I need an hour alone, Betita. Do not let anyone in."

"Got it, sir." Betita's voice came through the intercom.

Marisse then called out th eone person who can explain all this to him. 

"Jax."

Nothing happened.

"Jax!"

But Jax did not appear.

The windows bled orange over the bay. Marisse stood at his desk, files and photos spread like tarot cards across its surface. He pulled out his phone as it rang.

Unknown number.

Marisse hesitated but then answered it.

“Marisse.” Jax’s voice came through the speaker, weary. Dry.

“I need to see you,” Marisse said.

A pause.

“I figured you did, but let's just say traffic is jammed up over here currently. We saw it.”

Marisse stiffened. “You saw what?”

“The ripple.” Jax’s voice dropped an octave. “The Maverick’s Rose. It didn’t sink. That alone triggered a four-point temporal echo. Port authorities logged a vessel that no longer exists. Thirty-seven passengers are alive who weren’t supposed to be. One of them---” a sigh “is already being investigated for starting a shell company six years ahead of schedule. Another got elected to a barangay council two days ago. That council never existed before yesterday.”

Marisse sat down slowly, the weight of it settling into his bones. “I didn’t know it would go that far. I just… saved her.”

“You didn’t save her,” Jax said. “You delayed her disappearance. Rose is still gone.”

“I know,” Marisse whispered. “But she didn’t die. Not like before. And that means there’s still time. I can go back.”

Another pause.

“You don’t get to say that so easily anymore,” Jax said. “Contingency’s locked down six internal gates just to keep your butterfly flapping in one quadrant. It’s chaos in here.”

“Then help me. Tell me what to do.”

“I will,” Jax said. “But give me until before midnight there.”

“What?”

“Do you know how many departments are trying to patch the timeline because of your little fiasco? I had to manually intervene on a senator’s birth record because someone’s resurrection redirected an ancestry algorithm. I am drowning in paradox paperwork, and my Director is not happy.”

“But,”

“I’ll come to you. But it won’t be when you call. It’ll be when we can afford to let you break something else.”

Marisse gripped the armrest. “I don’t care what it costs. If I can save her---”

“You should care,” Jax said. “Because eventually, the cost isn’t time. It’s you.”

Silence.

Jax voice came a little softer next, “Give me your time, Marisse. Let me clean up what you’ve already done. Then I’ll help you go further.”

Marisse closed his eyes.

“Just don’t make me wait too long.”

“I won’t,” Jax said. “Because after this? You might not be the only one trying to rewrite things.”

The line went dead.

The room was quiet again, save for the evening wind brushing the glass. Marisse looked down at the time in his wristwatch. 

Quarter past three.

Four hours befire his dinner meeting with Enrique Villamor.

With the efficiency of a magnate, Marisse redirected his energy towards a more pressing matter.

One which he can control and manipulate to his advantage. To her advantage.

She hadn’t died. Not yet.

Marisse then stood at the window, eyes on the golden haze spilling across Manila Bay.

If I do this right. I get to give her a life she never had. Away from that aunt. Away from her father’s grip. A life where she’s free.

With me.

Marisse turned back to his desk with the resolve of a man who knows how to use power to get what he wants. He clicked on then intercom, "Betita, set me an emergency meeting with all three of my associate. They have an hour to get here."

"Yes, sir."

He looked down at the photographs scattered on his desk, their corners curling like old paper, like time itself fraying.

He pressed his thumb to the image of Rose on one of them.

“I’m coming,” he whispered. "I will save you."

******