Lucas didn't sleep.
He lay on his bed fully dressed, staring at the crack in the ceiling that looked like a river splitting the plaster in two. The city outside his window breathed in slow, mechanical rhythms. Sirens far away. A car alarm closer. Someone laughing on a balcony across the street like tomorrow was guaranteed.
Every time he closed his eyes, the scene replayed.
Rain. Streetlight. The weightless moment right before his knees gave out.
341 days.
The number pulsed in his mind like a second heartbeat.
At 3:42 a.m., his phone vibrated.
Lucas sat up instantly.
No sound notification. Just a single, sharp buzz. His body reacted before his thoughts did, hand already reaching.
The screen lit up.
No lock screen. No wallpaper.
Just text.
FIRST VIEW COMPLETEFUTURE DIVERGENCE: MINIMAL
Lucas frowned.
"Minimal?" he whispered.
Another line appeared.
OBSERVATION ALONE DOES NOT ALTER OUTCOME
His jaw tightened.
"So what does?" he asked the empty room.
The phone didn't answer right away. The silence stretched just long enough for his pulse to spike.
Then:
CHOICE
The word stayed there, stark and heavy.
Lucas exhaled slowly through his nose. "Choice," he repeated. "Great. That narrows it down to… everything."
He swung his legs off the bed and stood. The floor was cold. Real. Solid. He pressed his toes into it like he needed the confirmation.
He opened his contacts.
Scrolled.
There were names he hadn't spoken to in years. Old coworkers. College acquaintances. Numbers he couldn't remember saving.
He stopped on one.
Maya Lin
They'd dated briefly. Long enough to learn each other's coffee orders. Short enough to pretend the ending didn't hurt.
In the vision, the woman's build had been similar. Height. Frame.
Lucas swallowed.
"Don't be stupid," he muttered.
The hood. The shadow. The way she'd spoken softly.
You're looking for patterns because you're scared, he told himself.
He locked the phone and paced the room.
The message said choice, not guess.
If seeing the future didn't change it, then action had to.
But where did you act when the cause wasn't clear?
At 6:30 a.m., the sky began to lighten. Lucas hadn't moved from the window.
By 7:00, he'd made a decision.
Not a big one. Not a heroic one.
A small one.
The kind that didn't feel like it mattered.
He showered. Put on clean clothes. Picked a jacket he rarely wore. Left the apartment.
Instead of turning right toward the subway station, he turned left.
Toward a café he'd walked past every morning for three years without entering.
Inside, the air smelled like fresh bread and espresso. The place was half empty. A barista with tired eyes glanced up.
"What can I get you?"
Lucas hesitated.
In the vision, he'd been holding his phone on the street.
He looked down at his hand now.
"I'll have a black coffee," he said. "No lid."
The barista raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.
Lucas paid, took the cup, and sat by the window.
It felt ridiculous.
If this was how the universe tested him, it was insulting.
He lifted the cup.
His phone vibrated again.
He nearly dropped the coffee.
The screen lit up on its own.
MICRO-DECISION REGISTEREDFUTURE DIVERGENCE: 0.03%
Lucas stared.
"That's it?" he hissed under his breath. "I change my routine and I get… zero point zero three?"
The text remained, unbothered.
Then another line appeared.
ALL MAJOR OUTCOMES ARE BUILT FROM MINOR PATHS
Lucas leaned back, heart pounding.
"So I have to… what," he said quietly. "Rebuild my entire life one stupid choice at a time?"
No response.
He sipped the coffee. It tasted better than the burnt office stuff. Richer. Real.
He didn't know if that mattered.
But the number mattered.
0.03%.
It wasn't zero.
The café door opened. A man in a suit walked in, talking loudly into a headset about margins and timelines. Lucas watched him, suddenly hyperaware of how everyone around him was choosing something without realizing it.
Every step. Every word. Every delay.
That night on the street hadn't come from nowhere.
It had been built.
The phone buzzed again.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO VIEW ANOTHER FUTURE?
Lucas froze.
"Another," he whispered.
So the first wasn't the only one.
His chest tightened. "What's the cost?"
The reply came immediately.
UNKNOWN
Of course it was.
Lucas closed his eyes.
If he said no, nothing changed.
If he said yes, everything might.
He thought of the rain. The metal flash. The calm voice.
He opened his eyes and tapped YES.
The café dissolved.
This time, the transition hurt.
It felt like pressure behind his eyes, like someone was forcing information into a space that wasn't meant to hold it.
When the world reassembled, he was somewhere else.
A hospital room.
White walls. Machines humming softly. A monitor beeped in slow, patient intervals.
Lucas was lying in a bed.
Thinner.
Palest.
Tubes ran into his arms.
A woman sat beside him, head bowed, hands clasped tight enough that her knuckles were white.
Her face was visible this time.
Lucas recognized her instantly.
Maya.
Her hair was shorter. Her eyes were red, exhausted.
She lifted her head.
"Hey," she said softly. "You're awake."
Lucas tried to speak.
The version of him in the bed managed a weak smile.
"Did I… miss it?" he asked.
Maya shook her head quickly. "No. No, you didn't. The surgery worked. They say you're going to be okay."
Relief flooded her face so fast it hurt to watch.
Lucas felt something twist in his chest.
This wasn't death.
This was survival.
But the room felt heavy. Fragile. Like something that could break if touched the wrong way.
The scene blurred.
Text overlaid the image.
ALTERNATE OUTCOME IDENTIFIEDREQUIRED CONDITIONS: UNMET
The hospital faded.
Lucas was back in the café, gasping, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
People stared.
"You okay, man?" someone asked.
Lucas nodded too quickly. "Yeah. Just—low blood sugar."
It was a lie. A bad one.
His phone buzzed again.
FUTURE VIEW COST: INCREASED WORLD INSTABILITY
Below it, a number ticked upward.
INSTABILITY: 1.2%
Lucas stared.
"So now I'm breaking the world," he murmured.
The phone didn't disagree.
He looked out the café window, watching people cross the street.
In one future, he died in the rain.
In another, he lived in a hospital bed with Maya holding his hand.
Neither was guaranteed.
Both were possible.
And both depended on choices he hadn't made yet.
Lucas stood.
He left the coffee half finished.
Outside, the city felt louder than before, sharper at the edges.
He pulled out his phone and opened Maya's contact again.
His thumb hovered over the call button.
In the vision, she'd been there.
But he didn't know why.
Yet.
Lucas lowered the phone.
Not yet.
If the future was a structure, he needed to understand the blueprint before he started knocking down walls.
He started walking, mind racing.
341 days.
A ticking clock.
And now he knew something worse than death was possible.
He could survive.
At a cost.
Somewhere in the depths of the system watching him, something shifted.
The phone buzzed one last time.
YOU ARE BEGINNING TO INTERFERE
Lucas smiled grimly.
"Good," he said.
Because interference was the point.