Chapter 17 · The Cleanup Protocol

"Don't move. Not a muscle, or I'll see if your throat leaks as much as that engine did."

Veyra's voice was sliding glass. Cold. Sharp. The barrel of her pulse-rifle was pressed hard into the soft dip of Rowan's collarbone.

Rowan didn't fight it. He couldn't. His legs were lead. Worse, the fragment embedded in his chest was humming—a low, vibrating frequency that made his teeth ache.

Beside him, Mara was a coiled spring. Her knuckles were white on her blade's hilt. She didn't look at Rowan; she was staring at the countdown clock. It hit zero.

"The loop didn't snap," Mara spat. "Why didn't it snap, Veyra?"

Veyra laughed. It was a short, nasty sound. "Because the thirteenth return isn't a door, darling. It's a dead end. You're not resetting anymore. You're just... here. In the wreckage."

Cold sweat broke across Rowan's neck. "That's impossible. The coin—the system—"

"The system is cleaning house, Rowan," Veyra interrupted. She shoved the rifle harder into his skin. "And you? You're the biggest piece of trash in the bin. Anyone carrying reset data is a glitch. And the Protocol doesn't like glitches."

*Screee—!*

A high-pitched shriek tore through the observation deck. Not human.