⚠️ Viewing Discretion Advised ⚠️
This episode plunges into high-stakes confrontations, relentless pursuits, and moments of sudden, intense violence.
Emotional intensity runs deep, with scenes of loss and psychological strain that may unsettle some viewers.
Proceed with caution...every moment counts, and not everyone will make it to the end.

Fortune Island, Nasugbu, Batangas

May 21, 2022 – 11:07 PM
Grecian Ruin, Cliffside

MARISSE

The stars had shifted when Zeke stepped into the light.

He moved like a shadow breaking from stone. Clad in black, wind-cut jacket unzipped, eyes scanning, unreadable.

“They found us,” he said flatly.

Marisse turned. “How many?”

“One SUV. Black. Civilian plate. But I caught the glint of suppressed muzzles. Probably Villamor’s men. We’ve got five minutes max.”

That was all he needed to say.

Marisse pivoted, already pulling Rose by the wrist to get her into the waiting Land Rover. Her eyes widened, sharp and alert, no questions asked. She knew what this was.

There was no time to look back. No time for second-guessing.

Only movement.

The Land Rover roared to life beneath them as Zeke peeled out of the estate’s hidden drive, rubber screaming against stone.

The narrow road twisted along the cliffs like a serpent’s spine, black sea to the left, a wall of jagged rock to the right.

Rose sat between them, heart pounding in her throat. “Who the hell found us?”

“Topher,” Marisse muttered. “Or someone paid enough to smell blood.”

Headlights flickered behind them.

Zeke checked the mirror. “Tail confirmed. Closing in.”

And then…Gunfire.

A shot pinged off the rear panel, sparks dancing across the taillight.

“Go, go!” Marisse shouted.

Zeke accelerated, the tires catching gravel. Bullets shattered the back window. Glass burst into the cabin like ice. Rose screamed, shielding her face. Marisse ducked over her, shielding her with his body.

They tore down the winding path, headlights swinging across the cliff face.

Marisse reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a handgun, checking the clip. “If they’re trying to stop her, they won’t shoot to kill me.”

Zeke scoffed grimly. “That makes one of us.”

Marisse felt relieved the private wharf came into view. Dark, lit only by deck lights on a sleek white yacht bobbing gently at the pier’s edge. Two crewmen rushed down the gangway as the vehicle screeched to a halt beside a warehouse stack.

Marisse yanked the door open and pulled Rose out.

“Your documents are already on board. Indonesian alias, new biometrics. Everything’s clean. Once you reach Katimaran Island, they’ll take care of you.”

She gripped his arm tightly. “What about you?”

“I can’t go. Not yet.”

Her face contorted in disbelief. “Why not?”

“I must finish this. I must face Topher,” he said firmly. “Make sure he knows you’re gone for good. That you’re not his anymore.”

A crack of gunfire cut through the air behind them.

Zeke turned. “Shit---MOVE!”

Another SUV came screeching down the dock road. Three men jumped out, guns drawn.

“GO!” Marisse shouted, pulling Rose down behind the cargo crates.

Zeke returned fire, covering them. Muzzle flashes lit the night like lightning. Rose clung to Marisse, breath shaking.

They darted down the final stretch of the dock, Rose limping in her heels, Marisse gripping her arm, yelling to the crew to lower the gangplank.

Then…

A shot rang out.

Sharp. Precise.

Rose stumbled.

Her hand slipped from Marisse’s.

And she fell backward into him, dead weight in his arms.

“No---no, no, no…Rose!”

He caught her just before she hit the dock. Her body was limp, her head lolling back against his shoulder.

Zeke rushed over, crouching beside them. “Where’s the hit?”

Marisse’s hands were already drenched.

Rose coughed once, violently. Red froth trailing from her lips.

“Lung,” Zeke said grimly, pulling gauze from his kit. “Left side. Collapsed. She’s bleeding fast.”

“No,” Marisse choked. “You’re gonna be okay, Rose, stay with me…stay---look at me.”

She opened her eyes…barely.

“Why...” she whispered. “Why didn’t you... just leave... with me?”

“I couldn’t,” he breathed. “Not yet. Not when he still breathes. I couldn’t let you keep running for the rest of your life.”

Her smile was broken, but real. “Still... the same stubborn bastard.”

Zeke pressed hard against her side. “She needs a hospital. The chopper is on its way.”

“You hear that, sweetheart?” Marisse said reassuringly, turning back to Rose. “We’re getting you to a hospital.”

Rose’s breathing came shallower. Her chest rose in short bursts.

“Tell me the truth,” she rasped.

“What?”

“Back then... would you have chosen me?”

He cupped her face then gave her a kiss. “Every time.”

She exhaled sharply. “Good.”

“Marisse,” she whispered. The name cracked at the edges like porcelain.

“I’m here,” he said, voice splintering.

She smiled. Not wide. Not bright. But soft, and strangely peaceful. “It was always you, wasn’t it?”

He couldn’t speak.

“I knew it... even back then... I just---” Her voice faltered. “I thought I had more time.”

Tears slipped from his eyes, wordless and violent.

“I would’ve chosen you,” she murmured. “If you’d only asked me... to choose.”

“I’m asking now,” he said, gripping her tighter. “Choose me. Stay. Please, Rose. Just stay.”

But her breath caught.

And then…It didn’t.

11:42 PM.

Her heart gave in to the dark.

And Marisse felt the world collapse inward.

“ROSE!” His voice broke. He shook her gently, then harder. “No…no, please, don’t…”

Zeke pulled him back. “Marisse, she’s gone.”

Silence fell.

Except for the lapping of the waves, the rising tide, and the echoes of everything he had come back to fix… now lost again.

*******

May 22, 2022 – 11:45 PM
Open Sea, 27 Nautical Miles West of Fortune Island
Yacht S.S. Argo – Lower Deck, Crew Quarters

The cabin was dim. Just the soft hum of the engines and the wind clawing at the windows.

Marisse sat hunched in a worn leather chair near the minibar, elbows on his knees, blood on his hands and shirt, crusted and dark. A metal basin sat nearby, water pink with memory, untouched.

The door creaked.

He didn’t look up. Not until the soft clink of glass echoed through the silence.

Jax stood in the corner, calm, otherworldly in posture. He poured from a bottle of single malt scotch found on the minibar and handed it to Marisse without a word.

Marisse took the glass but didn’t drink.

He stared at it.

The silence stretched long, until finally, hoarsely:

“She died… in my arms.”

Jax’s expression tightened.

“I know.”

Marisse’s grip on the glass tightened, veins visible under bloodstained skin.

“Why?” he asked, voice cracking. “I thought I changed everything. Fixed the past. I was supposed to save her. Why did Rose still die?”

Jax stepped closer, eyes solemn.

“Because greater forces have started to interfere,” he said. “Your use of the camera has rippled through multiple junctions in the weave of time. Rose’s death tonight... was a correction. One triggered by the imbalance.”

Marisse’s eyes slowly lifted to meet his.

“Correction?”

“Your attempt to rewrite the past created fractures, alternate branches colliding. The Bureau has detected inconsistencies not just here, but in the lives orbiting you and her. I was sent to retrieve the camera.”

“No,” Marisse said coldly.

“It’s no longer up for debate,” Jax said, stepping closer. “After tonight, your passing will be suspended, pending review. The camera must be returned.”

Marisse laughed, bitter. “You don’t understand. I need it now more than ever. Because if I don't go back and at least attempt to confess what I feel for Rose then this present right here, where Rose died, would never be set right…And she would have not been able to at least hear me say that I love her.”

“The Bureau understands more than you think,” Jax said gently. “We didn’t anticipate the depth of your connection. Your bond with Rose... it goes beyond incident. We believe she’s your soul mate.”

That stopped Marisse cold.

He stared.

“Soulmate?” he repeated, the word foreign on his tongue.

Jax nodded. “Two lives woven so tightly they ripple outward. Most people’s choices impact a handful. Yours and hers? You've caused tidal shifts. The deaths, the rerouted fates…unintended consequences everywhere.”

Marisse rose, shaky, stepping toward his duffel bag at the foot of the bed.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low. “Explain soulmates.”

Jax took the bait, stepping toward the center of the room. “They’re rare. Souls that echo across lifetimes. When they meet, time bends. Bonds form that even fate has trouble untangling. But they also cause… anomalies. Dangerous ones.”

Marisse listened, slowly pulling the duffel bag open behind his back.

“And if we are soulmates?”

“Then keeping you together in the wrong path will collapse more timelines,” Jax said, almost sorrowfully. “You loving her may be the reason others are dying.”

Marisse’s hand found the camera, but he kept it hidden.

“I need her to hear me say it,” he whispered. “If I don’t at least tell her how I feel, this... all of this... will mean nothing.”

He raised the camera in one swift motion.

The shutter clicked.
A white flash.
A fresh Polaroid slid from the bottom.

Jax turned, eyes widening. “Marisse, NO,”

But it was too late.

The photograph fluttered downward catching the warm air and before it touched the floor, Marisse vanished.

Jax shouted, racing to the spot where Marisse had stood, breath shallow.

“Dammit, Marisse… what have you done?”

He picked up the still-warm Polaroid. It was already fading into an image.

*******

May 21, 2012 – 5:32 AM

MV Maverisk’s Rose
Marisse’s Crew Cabin – Lower Bunk

Marisse jolted awake, chest heaving, sweat dampening his shirt. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. The hum of the ship’s engines pressed against his ears, the sharp tang of metal and polish in his nose. Not the alley. Not the blood.

His hands fumbled against the mattress until they found it, the battered Polaroid camera resting where he’d dropped it. He grabbed it, almost clutching it to his chest, and exhaled a ragged breath when he felt the cool weight.

The photo. The camera still works!

Shaking, he flipped it over. Still warm, the image hadn’t fully developed, but the outline was there, ghostly, enough to prove it. The trick had worked. He’d managed to snap the shot before Jax could stop him. That single instant had ripped him backward, tearing him out of her death and hurling him into this moment, before it all went wrong.

Marisse pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes, trembling with something between relief and grief. She was alive. She was here.

He swallowed hard, pulling air into his lungs, trying to steady himself. He remembered too vividly: her breath stuttering out against his cheek, her body slack in his arms. That world had ended. But this one…this one was still in motion.

He sat on the edge of his bunk, staring at the thin strip of light under his door, heartbeat pounding against his ribs.

His hands rested loosely between his legs, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed the storm inside.

She had died in his arms.
He had felt her last breath against his cheek.
And yet, here he was…in a time where she was still alive, where her pulse still beat steady beneath her skin.

His chest tightened at the thought.
He had been given something no man should have, a chance to do it over, to fight for her before the world could take her from him.

He remembered her words from the other life, the one already lost.
“I was already halfway in love with you. But I needed someone to ask me. To demand something of me that I wasn’t sure I deserved. I would’ve chosen you, if you'd just asked me to decide for me.”

The words clung to him like wet cloth.
He stood, slow, deliberate, and reached for the silver chain hanging by his bunk.

“This time,” he murmured, voice low but firm, “I won’t let her walk into the dark alone. This time, I will let her choose which way to go.”

He slid the small medallion of Saint Michael, patron of warriors, under his shirt, buttoned up with trembling hands , and slung his ID lanyard over his neck. His knees still felt weak but Marisse pushed himself upright. The hum of the ship’s power systems thrummed underfoot, steady and grounding him to keep moving forward.

As he stepped into the corridor, the cool air of the morning shift wrapped around him. Somewhere above, gulls cried faintly in the distance, a sound that felt almost like a warning.

Marisse exhaled, steadying himself.
Today, he would find her.
Today, he would tell her.
And God help anyone who tried to take her from him again.

*******