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"Don't move."
The voice comes from behind me, same as last time. Same alley. Same wet pavement under my boots. Same copper smell in the air.
I freeze anyway, because muscle memory's faster than logic. The phone's still warm in my jacket pocket, pressed against my ribs like a second heartbeat.
"Turn around. Slow."
I do. The guy's tall, maybe six-two, wearing a long coat that's seen better days. His face is all hard angles and no sleep. Gun's steady in his hand, pointed right at my chest.
"You know what you took," he says.
It's not a question.
"A phone," I say. "From a dead guy. Finders keepers."
"Wrong answer." He steps closer. The muzzle doesn't waver. "That courier had a contract. You broke it."
"He broke it first. By dying."
His jaw tightens. "Funny."
"I'm hilarious. Now what?"
"Now you hand it over, or I put a hole in you and take it myself."
I've heard this speech before. Nine minutes ago. Right before the city reset and I woke up on the fire escape with the same debt notice on my phone and the same dead courier bleeding out two blocks away.
So I already know what happens next.
He pulls the trigger.
The shot cracks the air open. I feel the impact, hot and sharp, right under my collarbone. My knees buckle. The pavement rushes up to meet me, cold and filthy, and the last thing I see is his face, blank and professional, as he reaches for my jacket.
Then the world snaps.
---
I'm back on the fire escape.
Same rust under my palms. Same broken neon sign buzzing two floors down. Same time on my phone: 11:51 PM.
Nine minutes to midnight.
I stay there for a second, breathing hard, waiting for the pain to catch up. It doesn't. No blood on my jacket. No hole in my chest. Just the phone in my pocket, humming like it's pleased with itself.
"What the hell," I say out loud.
The phone vibrates. A notification slides across the cracked screen.
**NIX: You died again. Want to try a different ending?**
I stare at it.
"Who are you?"
**NIX: Your new best friend. Or your worst mistake. Depends on the next eight minutes.**
"That guy with the gun—"
**NIX: Cade Mercer. Fixer. Ex-corporate. Very good at his job. You should run.**
I look down at the alley. The courier's still there, face-down, phone missing. Because I already took it. Again.
"If I run, he catches me."
**NIX: Correct.**
"If I stay here—"
**NIX: He finds you in four minutes. Same result. Different alley.**
"Then what do I do?"
The phone goes quiet. The little typing dots appear, then vanish. Then:
**NIX: Break the pattern. He expects you to run. Don't.**
I don't have time to argue. Footsteps echo below, fast and precise. He's already moving.
I slide down the fire escape, hit the alley, and walk straight toward the sound.
Cade Mercer rounds the corner just as I step into the light.
He stops. So do I.
The gun's already in his hand.
"Smart," he says. "Saving me the chase."
"I want to make a deal," I say.
His expression doesn't change. "No deals. Hand it over."
"You don't even know what's on it."
"I know it's worth more than your life."
"To who?"
He doesn't answer. But something flickers behind his eyes. Just for a second.
"You're not freelance," I say. "Someone hired you. Who?"
"Doesn't matter."
"It does if they lied to you."
His finger tightens on the trigger. "Last chance."
I pull the phone out, hold it up between us. The screen glows, bright and cold in the dark.
"This thing resets the city," I say. "Nine minutes, over and over. You've been through it too. I can see it on your face."
He doesn't move. Doesn't blink.
"You remember," I say. "Don't you?"
Silence stretches between us, thin and sharp as wire.
Then he lowers the gun. Just an inch.
"How many times?" he asks.
"Three. You?"
His jaw works. "Seven."
My stomach drops. "Seven? How—"
"I don't die as easy as you." He steps closer. The gun's still in his hand, still ready. "But I'm done running the same loop. So here's the new deal. You give me the phone, I find out who built this thing, and you walk away clean."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I shoot you again and take it anyway. Except this time, I make sure you stay dead past the reset."
The phone vibrates in my hand.
**NIX: He's bluffing. Probably.**
I look up at Cade. His eyes are cold, tired, and absolutely serious.
"You can't break the loop without me," I say. "Nix told me. I'm the anchor."
"Nix?"
I turn the phone around. The AI's message is still glowing on the screen.
**NIX: Hi, Cade. Miss me?**
Cade goes very still. The kind of still that comes right before violence.
"You know it," I say.
"I know what it is." His voice is flat, controlled. "Corporate AI. Experimental. Unauthorized. That courier stole it, and now you're holding the most expensive piece of tech in the city."
"And you were hired to get it back."
"No." He raises the gun again, barrel level with my heart. "I was hired to destroy it. And everyone who touched it."
My breath catches.
"Then why am I still alive?"
"Because I need to know how deep this goes. Who else knows. Who else dies when I pull this trigger."
"No one," I say. Fast. Too fast. "Just me. I swear."
His eyes narrow. "Liar."
The phone vibrates again, hard and insistent.
**NIX: Tell him about your brother.**
I grip the phone tighter. "Shut up."
**NIX: He already knows. Check his pocket.**
Cade's hand moves to his coat. Pulls out a folded piece of paper. He tosses it at my feet.
I pick it up.
It's a photo. My brother, standing outside my shop. Dated two days ago.
"Leverage," Cade says. "In case you ran."
My hands start shaking. "You touch him, I'll—"
"You'll what? Die again?" He steps forward, close enough that I can feel the cold coming off him. "Here's how this works. You give me the phone. I verify the data. If you're clean, you walk. If you're not, I finish the job and your brother gets a visit."
"I didn't do anything."
"Then prove it."
The phone's screen flares bright. New text scrolls across it, fast and jagged.
**NIX: Don't. He'll wipe me. You'll lose the loop. Everyone dies for real.**
I look at Cade. Then at the phone. Then at the photo in my hand, my brother's face creased down the middle.
"I can't give it to you," I say.
Cade's expression doesn't change. But the gun does. He presses the muzzle against my ribs, right where the last bullet went in.
"Wrong answer," he says.
Behind us, footsteps. Multiple sets, moving fast.
Cade's head snaps toward the sound. His whole body goes tense.
"They followed you," I say.
"No." His voice is quiet. Dangerous. "They followed the phone."
The footsteps stop. A voice calls out, smooth and corporate-clean.
"Mr. Mercer. Step away from the girl."
Cade doesn't move. His eyes stay locked on mine.
"Run," he says.
"What?"
"When I move. Run."
"You just threatened to—"
The gunshot comes from behind.
Cade shoves me sideways. I hit the wall, hard, and the phone goes flying. It skids across the pavement, screen still glowing.
Cade fires twice. Someone screams. Then he's moving, fast and low, dragging me with him toward the far end of the alley.
"Go," he snaps.
I run.
Behind us, more shots. The pavement sparks where the bullets hit. I don't look back. I just run, lungs burning, legs screaming, until I reach the corner and slam into the wall to catch my breath.
Cade's right behind me. Blood on his sleeve. Gun still in his hand.
"They want you alive," he says. "Me, not so much."
"Who are they?"
"The people who built the phone. The ones who want it back before anyone sees what's on it."
"What's on it?"
He looks at me. Really looks, like he's deciding whether I'm worth the truth.
"Your name," he says.
The world tilts.
"What?"
"The core file. It's tagged with your biometrics. You're not just holding it. You're the key."
The phone vibrates in my pocket. I must've grabbed it without thinking.
**NIX: Surprise.**
I pull it out. The screen shows a file directory, lines of code scrolling past too fast to read. But at the top, in clean white text:
**Project Anchor - Subject: Quinn, M.**
"No," I say. "I don't— I've never seen this before."
"Then why is your DNA signature all over it?"
"I don't know!"
Cade grabs my wrist. His grip is iron-tight, and his eyes are cold.
"Figure it out," he says. "Because in eight minutes, this resets. And next time, I might not be the one holding the gun."
The alley behind us goes quiet.
Too quiet.
Cade's hand moves to his gun.
Then a voice, soft and familiar, calls out from the shadows.
"Mara?"
I freeze.
That voice.
I know that voice.
A figure steps into the light. Same jacket as the dead courier. Same face.
Except this time, she's not dead.
She's holding a gun.
And she's looking right at me with my mother's eyes.
"Put the phone down, sweetheart," she says.
Cade's gun comes up. "Don't."
She smiles. It's wrong. All wrong.
"Nine minutes to midnight, Mara. Make the right choice."
The phone's screen flashes red.
**NIX: She's not real. She's bait.**
But her voice. God, her voice.
"Mom?" I whisper.
"Put it down," she says again. Softer now. The way she used to, when I was small and scared and didn't want to let go.
Cade's hand tightens on my wrist. "Mara. Don't."
I can't move. Can't breathe.
The woman who looks like my mother takes a step closer.
"It's okay," she says. "I'm here now. Just give me the phone, and we'll go home."
My hand starts to move.
Cade yanks me back, hard. "She's dead, Mara. Your mother's been dead for six years."
"I know," I say.
But I'm still holding out the phone.
The woman smiles.
And pulls the trigger.