The Tockbox smelled like ozone and fresh paint. Despite its sterile look, the place pulsed—like the inside of a living machine. Juno could feel time humming around her, like invisible currents brushing her skin.
"Sit," Milo said.
She didn't. "So what now? You give me a badge and tell me I'm a hero?"
"You're not a hero," the cybernetic woman snapped. "You're a hazard with legs."
"Aw. You're warming up to me."
Milo cleared his throat. "Her name is Commander Idris. She oversees operations from this node. And she's not wrong."
Idris tossed a small metallic object at Juno. She caught it, barely it buzzed in her hand.
"Temporal anchor," Idris said. "Without it, you'll phase out next time you drift. Permanently."
"So… like a leash?"
"Like a parachute. But yeah, also a leash."
Juno clipped it to her belt. "Great. So what's the next step? Training montage? Lecture series on 'how not to destroy the universe'?"
Milo nodded toward the command table. "You're going on your first run."
"What?"
"You touched Year Zero. That kind of ripple creates Rebounds—random distortions in nearby events. We've located one. Minor, but active. You're going to help me contain it."
"Why me?"
"Because it's your fault."
He tapped the table, and a new projection appeared. A street corner. Cracked pavement. A diner sign flashing red.
Then the impossible: two people walking through the same space at the same time phased copies of each other. Each was unaware of the other, like reality had forked… but failed to finish splitting.
"Temporal overlap," Milo said. "A man is stuck reliving the worst day of his life. Over and over. Only… he's now multiplying."
"Like a time tumor."
"Exactly."
Juno stared. "So what's the plan? Shoot the clone? Unplug him?"
"No." Milo's eyes darkened. "We have to figure out the anchor point—the exact second his timeline cracked. Then cut the loop clean."
"And if we don't?"
"He'll keep spawning. And eventually, time won't know which one is real. That's when the world starts to bleed."
Juno swallowed.
Suddenly, the Tockbox's floor shifted. Panels rotated. A corridor opened like a clock unwinding.
Milo handed her a thin device shaped like a tuning fork. "Temporal Divider. It can isolate looped seconds if you use it right."
"Define 'right.'"
"You'll know. Or you'll die."
"Oh, good."
Together, they stepped into the corridor. As they did, the air got colder, denser.
The door behind them sealed.
"Why did you join this madhouse?" Juno asked quietly.
Milo's eyes stayed forward.
"I didn't. I was born during a temporal freeze. My first breath didn't happen for eight days. Clockwork Division claimed me before my parents could name me. I've been catching lost seconds ever since."
Juno stared at him. "And the fifty-two deaths?"
He gave a bitter smile. "Another loop. One I can't fix yet."
Then the corridor flashed and the world blinked.
They stood in front of a diner in 1997.
The air was greasy. The sky was static gray. The same man exited the diner every thirty seconds—again and again, wearing the same coat, muttering the same words. Behind him, the street warped subtly. Each version of him began walking in a slightly different direction.
"Time's bleeding," Milo said. "Let's patch it."
Juno raised the Divider. It hummed in her hand.
"Let's see if I'm any good at this," she muttered.
Time cracked again.