Ashfall forced Calethia's head even deeper into the snow, his palms grinding her face against the ice. The cold bit into his hands, his breath came in sharp clouds, and the sound of her laughter was still in his ears.
"Damn it, wake up," he hissed, leaning more of his weight onto her.
Then, all at once, she snapped back. Her hand shot up and clamped onto his wrist like a steel trap. With a quick twist she wrenched his arm backward, making his shoulder jolt with pain.
"Enough!" she spat, shoving him off and rolling onto her side. Her chest heaved, and her eyes, though wide and unsettled, no longer carried the star-fed madness.
Ashfall fell back into the snow, rubbing his wrist and glaring at her. "You're welcome," he muttered, though his voice carried no warmth.
She sat up, brushing frost from her face and hair, and shot him a look that was half confusion, half frustration. "You nearly drowned me in ice."
"And it worked, didn't it?" His lips curved into something that might have been a smile if there had been any humor in it. "You're not laughing anymore."
Calethia opened her mouth, then closed it again. The two of them sat there for a moment, catching their breath, the silence between them filled only by the distant rumble of shifting ruins.
Then the silence broke from a low vibration that rolled through the snow, followed by a faint echo that came from somewhere beyond the destroyed houses. Ashfall felt it in his bones before he heard it with his ears. Whatever had become of the Core Mythbornes was moving closer, each step pulling them in this direction as if something was drawing them here.
Calethia glanced in the same direction, her expression tightening. "We don't have time."
"No," Ashfall agreed, pushing himself to his feet. "We really don't." He offered her a hand, more out of efficiency than kindness, and hauled her up.
They didn't waste words after that. Both knew the clock was against them, and neither had the luxury to argue.
Inside the supermarket, they moved quickly. Ashfall went straight for his weapons, his hands almost trembling as he reclaimed the twin silenced pistols that felt like extensions of his own body. He slid the knife he'd taken earlier into his belt, its weight unfamiliar but grounding.
Calethia retrieved her own knife and pistol, loading the magazine with quick, practiced hands. For a brief second her eyes lingered on the flare gun lying among the supplies, but she said nothing, only slipping it into her pack.
Ashfall's attention fell to the ration packs stacked beside the weapons. Some presumably Calethia's, others from the unconscious man, that kidnapped Calethia. He picked one up, tearing at the edge of the paper. "These aren't all yours."
Calethia shook her head. "No. Someone else has been keeping stock here...probably my kidnapper."
Ashfall smirked faintly. "Then I guess we're looting a thief. Fair trade." He stuffed several into his pack without hesitation.
They moved toward the exit, but Calethia slowed, her gaze sliding to the shadows where Ashfall had left the masked figure unconscious.
"I need to see him," she said quietly.
Ashfall's jaw tightened. "Why? He tried to break you. He doesn't deserve—"
"I need to," she cut in, her tone firm.
Against his better judgment, Ashfall followed. Curiosity's a curse, he thought grimly, but he wanted to know too.
The figure was there, sitting against the wall where Ashfall had dropped him, mask discarded at his side. His hands covered his face, his entire body trembling. He wasn't laughing now. He was utterly silent, staring down at the white snow as though it had revealed something terrifying to him.
"What the hell…" Ashfall muttered.
Calethia crouched cautiously in front of him and reached for his arms, pulling them gently aside.
The moment she saw what was underneath, she gasped and recoiled, stumbling back in shock.
Ashfall's eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, pulling the figure's hands away more forcefully.
Half of the man's face was nothing but black, twisted flesh, the same vile texture that marked the bodies of the Mythbornes. But the other half was still human; pale skin stretched tight with fear, a trembling lip, and, most striking of all, an eye that gleamed unnaturally. Ashfall froze.
Inside that eye was a tattoo; an intricate clock face etched into the iris itself. The hour hand pointed squarely at the three. The same mark as his own, the same curse of being a Timer Agent.
But there was something else: a thin, sharp second hand ticked around the clock, moving in perfect rhythm. A second hand where there should never have been one.
Ashfall felt a chill crawl down his spine. He had seen dozens of Timer tattoos the day he was chosen. They all had the same structure. None had ever carried a second hand.
"What the hell are you?" Ashfall whispered, his voice low and edged with disbelief.
The half-human, half-Madness face only trembled, the clock-eye flickering as though alive.
Calethia's voice cracked when she finally spoke. "This… this isn't like anything we've ever seen. Not a Mythborne. Not fully human. And that…" She pointed to the eye. "That clock... it's impossible."
Ashfall didn't answer right away. He simply stared at the figure, the unsettling truth turning in his mind like rusted gears. Half human. Half monster. And still marked like us. If this is what we're heading toward, then maybe the Madness doesn't kill you outright. Maybe it keeps you alive just long enough to mock you.
The ground trembled again, louder this time, pulling him from his thoughts. The Core Mythbornes—whatever they had become—were almost here.
Ashfall stepped back, holstering his pistols and grabbing Calethia's shoulder. "We can't stay. Whatever answers he has, they're not worth our lives."
Calethia hesitated, her eyes still fixed on the figure, but finally she nodded.
As they turned to leave, Ashfall glanced one last time at the broken man with the stitched mask at his side, the impossible clock ticking in his eye, and the horror of it burned itself into his memory.
"3:17," he muttered under his breath, though he didn't know why. "What the hell does all this mean?"