Pres froze with his key card halfway to the reader. Less than an hour. He had less than an hour to save someone who'd already decided to die.
"You've got to be kidding me," he whispered.
"I don't joke about extinction events, Pres," the system responded coolly. "Hamione's death isn't just about her. Her younger brother is affected. The trauma turns him into someone extremely dangerous in fifteen years. Someone who contributes significantly to the 3005 Terrors. This is a critical alignment point in the timeline."
"It's always about the damn brothers, isn't it?" Pres spoke bitterly, remembering George. If there was anyone he wanted to meet right now, it would be George—just so he could punch him in the face. But he didn't remember meeting George until one year from now, after college graduation. "Why don't you just find a way to eliminate the stupid younger brother instead? Wouldn't that be simpler?"
"That creates an entirely different problem pattern," the system assured him. "And it will complicate things exponentially. Trust me on this one."
Pres looked back toward the school, barely visible in the distance. He'd just walked away from Hamione. Just dismissed her genuine concern like it was nothing.
And now he had to run back and somehow convince a girl he barely knew not to kill herself. With absolutely no idea why she was planning to do it in the first place.
"Can you at least tell me why she jumps?" he asked, already turning around, already starting to walk back toward campus.
Actually, it was something he'd always wanted to know. Mayvel had ensured that the incident was never publicized outside the university. Despite Hamione's wealthy family and their influence, Mayvel had completely censored the press. Money protecting institutional reputation.
"Her boyfriend broke up with her this morning. Publicly. Humiliated her in front of their entire friend group. And she's been struggling with an abusive father for years. The breakup was just the final trigger on top of years of trauma."
"Wait, rich kids suffer too? Huh." Pres felt a bitter laugh escape. "So I just have to somehow undo years of paternal abuse and a public humiliation in under an hour. Any actually helpful advice?"
"Don't let her enter Conbert Hall in the first place. That's where it happens. Keep her out of that building and you easily complete the task."
[TIME REMAINING: 00:50:12]
The countdown began in his vision, red numbers ticking down with every second like a bomb timer.
***
Hamione Giuleńj entered the classroom, her heart already heavy with everything weighing on her. Her best friend Ramah was sitting on the lap of Richard Bergvel, one of the richest kids among the already wealthy student body.
"See? I told you," Ramah whispered to Richard, spotting Hamione in the doorway. "I knew she was coming here. She doesn't understand personal space at all."
"I wonder why you're even friends with such a loser," Richard replied quietly, watching Hamione approach. "She's so needy."
"No wonder she got dumped," Ramah whispered back, quickly faking a smile to make Hamione think they weren't talking about her.
"Hey, Rich," Hamione greeted Richard first, trying to sound normal, then turned to her supposed best friend. "Ramah, can I talk to you for a minute? It's kind of important."
Ramah smiled that fake smile. "Like, right now?"
"Yeah. Actually now." Hamione's voice carried an edge of desperation that Ramah definitely heard but chose to ignore.
It was obvious that something was seriously bothering her. Ramah could see it clearly in Hamione's eyes, the pain written across her face. But Ramah had sacrificed so much to finally get Richard's attention and she'd do anything to keep their relationship going. Including this.
"Girl, come on," Ramah replied with exaggerated patience. "We'll talk after class, okay? I'm kind of busy right now."
She spoke smoothly, dismissively, but Hamione was so desperate for her attention that something slipped out before Ramah could stop it.
"It's always about you, Hami. Always." She was openly rude now, but it felt good saying it. Felt powerful. "Do I really need to drop everything and talk to you this second? Can't you see I'm with my boyfriend?"
Hamione stood there for a moment, absorbing it. Not angry. Not even sad. Just understanding with devastating clarity. Tomorrow, the chancellor would mock her death during assembly, saying she killed herself because her boyfriend didn't return her calls. And the students would laugh. They'd actually laugh. She turned and walked out without another word.
She'd barely left when Pres burst through the door. Ramah and Richard watched him approach with obvious confusion written across their privileged faces.
This was strange. Completely out of character. Pres had never approached anyone voluntarily before, and besides, Richard had just beaten him up minutes ago. Why wasn't he hiding somewhere nursing his wounds?
"Hey," Pres spoke directly to them, slightly breathless.
"Let me guess," Richard interrupted with a mocking smile. "You finally stood up for yourself and reported me to the dean. Is that it? Did the little scholarship kid finally grow some balls?"
There was a completely full green bar hovering above Richard's head, and Pres felt confused seeing it. This rich bastard had made his life miserable for two years straight, and yet he was clean? No threat to the future at all?
Ramah had a small sliver of red. Four percent. Barely noticeable but there.
"Have you guys seen Hamione?" Pres asked, ignoring Richard's taunt completely.
Richard didn't like being ignored. Not by anyone, and especially not by a nobody like Pres Delhurs. His face showed it clearly. Offense. Anger. Disbelief.
"Wait," Ramah asked with obvious arrogance, leaning forward with interest. "Are you two like... together or something?"
"I won't ask a third time," Pres raised his voice, surprising them both with actual authority. "Where is Hamione right now?"
"She literally just left," Ramah replied, taken aback by his tone. "Like ten seconds ago."
Pres turned to Richard, and something dangerous flickered in his eyes. Something that made Richard's confident smile falter slightly.
He knew objectively that Richard wasn't actually stronger than him. Pres had always feared rich kids. Feared what they could do with their money and connections. Feared losing his scholarship spot at Mayvel if he fought back.
"Don't even think about it," the system warned him urgently. "You still need to maintain your position at Mayvel."
"Next time you put a finger on me," Pres said quietly, voice low and threatening, "I'll break it. We clear?"
Then he turned and left without waiting for a response. This was a different Pres. A Pres who'd died once already and had nothing left to fear. No person had the audacity to speak to a Bergvel like that. Ever.
***
[COUNTDOWN: 00:20:34]
The elevator to the Main Hall had just closed its doors. Pres knew with absolute certainty it was carrying Hamione upward. Toward the Main Hall. Toward her death.
Pres immediately pivoted toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. There was significant distance to where the Main Hall stood—across the quad, past the library, a solid three-minute sprint if he pushed himself.
He needed to beat time. Needed to reach her before she entered that hall and made her way to the second floor.
He'd just finished climbing the exterior stairs when Professor Miller appeared out of nowhere and blocked his path. Mr. Miller was the only teacher who'd ever really noticed Pres existed. The only one who seemed to see past his scholarship-kid status.
"Pres!" Professor Miller called out, looking relieved. "I was actually looking for you. Need to discuss your—"
Please, I don't have time for this, Pres thought desperately.