The dream changes.
It used to be blood and screaming and my parents begging me not to be late.
Now—
It's quiet.
I'm standing in the middle of an empty street. No cars. No people. No sound except the wind brushing past abandoned buildings.
The sky is gray. Not stormy. Just… tired.
I look down at my hands.
They're clean.
No blood. No shaking.
Perfectly steady.
"That's not right," I murmur.
Something moves ahead of me.
A figure stands at the end of the street.
Tall. Familiar.
Me.
Older. Sharper. Eyes flat like polished glass.
He looks at me without emotion.
"This is what you become," he says.
I wait for fear to hit.
It doesn't.
"…Do I save them?" I ask.
The older me tilts his head. "Yes."
Relief should come with that.
It doesn't.
"And the cost?" I press.
He shrugs. "Eventually."
"Eventually what?"
He steps closer. His footsteps make no sound.
"You stop asking."
—
I wake up before he reaches me.
Morning light fills the room.
My heart isn't racing.
That bothers me.
I sit up, rubbing my face, trying to shake the image of myself with empty eyes.
"A future that doesn't scare me," I whisper.
That's not a good sign.
—
Mika drops her spoon at breakfast.
It clatters loudly against the table.
She flinches.
I don't.
I notice it. I register it. I understand she might be embarrassed.
I just… don't react.
She looks at me strangely.
"You okay?" she asks. "You're being weird again."
"I'm fine," I reply.
True.
And that's the problem.
She watches me for a few seconds, then looks away.
Something in her shoulders slumps.
I see it.
I just don't feel it.
—
Luna finds me that evening without trying.
She's sitting on the railing near the river, coat fluttering in the wind, eyes fixed on the water below.
"You dreamed," she says as I approach.
"Yeah," I answer. "Did you feel it?"
She nods once. "A strong convergence."
I lean beside her. "I saw my future."
Her fingers tighten on the railing. "And?"
"I wasn't afraid."
She turns to me sharply.
"That's bad," she says.
"I figured."
She studies my face like she's checking for cracks. "Tell me what you saw."
I hesitate.
Then I tell her.
About the empty street.About the older version of me.About how calm he was.
When I finish, the wind feels colder.
"That version of you," she says slowly, "doesn't trigger temporal alarms."
I blink. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," she continues, "the system doesn't see him as a threat."
My stomach twists. "Isn't that good?"
"No," she says. "It means he's already been accepted."
"Accepted by what?"
She looks away, jaw tight.
"The curse."
The word hangs heavy.
"If you become that," she adds, "they won't try to stop you anymore."
I swallow. "Because I won't resist."
"Yes."
I stare at the water below.
It reflects the gray sky perfectly.
Calm. Empty.
"What happens to me if I reach that future?" I ask.
She doesn't answer right away.
Then, quietly, "You'll save your family."
Relief flickers.
"But," she continues, "you won't be doing it for them."
I close my eyes.
That's worse.
"I don't want to be that," I say.
She looks at me then. Really looks.
"Then you need anchors," she says.
"Anchors?"
"Things that remind you why the pain matters," she explains. "Why the cost hurts."
I laugh weakly. "I'm running out of those."
Her gaze softens.
"…You don't have to," she says.
I look at her.
At the Executioner sent to erase my bloodline.
At the only person who understands what's happening to me.
"Are you volunteering?" I ask.
Her breath catches.
"That would be a mistake," she says.
"But you're thinking about it."
"Yes."
The admission feels heavier than any threat.
"If you become my anchor," I say slowly, "what happens when the system notices?"
She meets my eyes.
"Then," she says, "I become your weakness."
Silence stretches between us.
The river keeps flowing.
Time moves forward, uncaring.
"Luna," I say.
She waits.
"If I lose everything else," I whisper, "promise me you won't let me become him."
Her jaw tightens. Pain flashes across her face.
"…I can't promise that," she says. "But I can promise this."
"What?"
"If that day comes," she says quietly, "I won't hesitate."
The words should terrify me.
Instead—
They feel like mercy.