The Final Frequency

Captain Aerin gripped the edge of the console, her knuckles white. The last surge had fried half the circuits, but the machine still hummed—alive, barely. A crackling voice came through the intercom, warped but unmistakable.

“It’s too late, Aerin.”

She slammed her fist down. “Not while I’m breathing, Harrow!”

The other side of the line fell silent. Then: “The past is written. Protect the fragment. If we lose it—”

Static swallowed the rest. Aerin stared at the glowing shard on the table beside her. The fragment pulsed with erratic light, a piece of the watch’s mechanism that Harrow had entrusted to her team. They were supposed to guard it, deliver it to the coordinates he’d sent—but those coordinates had become a crater hours ago.

The bunker door shuddered under the weight of whatever was outside. Aerin grabbed the shard, securing it in her vest. “If you’re right, Harrow, this fragment is the only chance left.”

The door gave way. She didn’t look back. There was no time.

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