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"Put me down."
Cade's grip on my wrist doesn't loosen. We're three resets deep and he's dragging me like I'm cargo.
"Not a chance," he says.
"I can run."
"You trip. Every time."
I yank my arm. He doesn't let go. The alley's the same—dumpster, fire escape, broken brick. Nine minutes till it all snaps back. The courier's body is two blocks behind us now, and the phone's still in my jacket, hot against my ribs.
"I didn't trip," I say. "I stopped."
"Same result." His jaw's tight. "You get shot."
"So do you."
He pulls me around the corner, checks left, then right. His hand's still locked on my wrist. I can feel his pulse through his glove. Fast. Controlled. Like everything else about him.
"Difference is," he says, "I've done this before."
"Done what? Dragged women through alleys?"
His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. "Among other things."
I twist my wrist and this time he lets go. I stumble back a step, catching my breath. My ribs ache where the phone's pressed. Nix has been quiet for two resets now. That's never good.
"Look," I say, "I'm not your job."
"You are exactly my job."
"Then fire yourself."
He stares at me. The streetlight behind him flickers. Seven minutes left, maybe less.
"I can't," he says.
The way he says it makes my stomach drop. Not can't like won't. Can't like something's got him by the throat too.
"Why not?"
He doesn't answer. Just looks past me, and his whole body goes still.
I turn.
There's someone at the mouth of the alley. A woman. Long coat, hair pulled back, hands in her pockets. She's not rushing. She's not pulling a gun. She's just standing there, watching.
"Cade," I say quietly.
"I see her."
"She new?"
"Yeah."
That's bad. Every reset, the hunters come from the same direction, same speed, same guns. If the loop's changing, that means someone else is inside it. Someone who remembers.
The woman takes a step forward. The streetlight catches her face. Older. Forty, maybe fifty. She's got the kind of smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"Mara Quinn," she says.
I freeze.
Cade moves in front of me. Not all the way. Just enough that I'd have to go through him to run.
"You know her?" he asks, low.
"No."
"She knows you."
The woman's still smiling. "You don't remember me. That's fine. You were small."
My throat's tight. "I don't know you."
"Your brother does."
Everything in me goes cold.
"Leave him out of this," I say.
She tilts her head. "He already is. Has been for three years. You're the one who picked up the phone."
Cade's hand moves to his hip. I don't have to look to know he's got a gun there. The woman doesn't react. She just keeps looking at me.
"Who sent you?" Cade asks.
"Same person who sent you," she says. "Difference is, I don't lose track of my targets."
Cade's shoulders tighten. I've seen him angry before—cold, controlled, the kind of anger that doesn't waste words. This is different. This is personal.
"You don't work for them anymore," he says.
The woman shrugs. "People change their minds. So do contracts."
Six minutes. The phone's getting warmer. I slide my hand into my jacket, fingers brushing the edge of the screen. Nix, I think. Wake up. I need you.
Nothing.
"What do you want?" I ask.
"The phone," the woman says. "And you, if you're smart enough to hand it over."
"And if I'm not?"
She doesn't answer. Just reaches into her coat.
Cade moves. Fast. He's got his gun out and leveled before I can blink. The woman stops, hand still inside her coat.
"Don't," Cade says.
She smiles. "You won't shoot me."
"Try me."
"You need me alive. You don't know who else is in the loop."
Five minutes.
I pull the phone out. The screen's black. No jokes, no countdown, no sarcastic commentary. Just dead glass.
"Cade," I say.
He doesn't look back. "What?"
"Phone's dead."
"What do you mean dead?"
"I mean it's off. Nix is gone."
The woman laughs. It's soft, almost kind. That makes it worse.
"It's not gone," she says. "It's listening. It's been listening since the first reset. You think you're the anchor? You're just the bait."
Cade's gun doesn't waver. "Mara. Get behind me."
"I'm not—"
"Now."
The tone leaves no room. I step back. My heel hits the wall. Nowhere left to go.
The woman pulls her hand out. No gun. Just a small black device, square, blinking red.
"Four minutes," she says. "That's how long till the reset. You can shoot me, but you've done that before. Twice. Didn't stop me the next time."
Cade's expression doesn't change. "Then I'll do it three."
"Or," she says, "you can let me finish."
I can see the calculation in Cade's eyes. Shoot now, lose information. Wait, risk losing me.
"Talk," he says.
She presses a button on the device. The phone in my hand flares hot, bright enough that I almost drop it. The screen lights up. Not Nix's usual interface. Something older. Lines of code scrolling fast, white text on black.
"What is that?" I ask.
"The real loop," the woman says. "The one your mother built."
I stop breathing.
Cade's gun dips half an inch. "Her mother's dead."
"Her mother's gone," the woman corrects. "There's a difference."
The phone's burning now. I can smell my jacket starting to singe. I hold it anyway.
"You're lying," I say.
She looks at me, and this time the smile's gone. "I wish I was, Lark."
The name hits me like a fist.
Lark.
No one's called me that since I was six. Since before my mom disappeared. Since before everything fell apart.
Cade turns his head, just a fraction. Enough to see my face.
"Mara?" he says.
I can't answer. My throat won't work.
The woman takes a step forward. Cade swings the gun back, but she's not looking at him. She's looking at me.
"Your mother didn't leave you," she says. "She's in the loop. And if you don't give me that phone, you're going to join her."
Three minutes.
The alley's starting to hum. I can feel it in my teeth, in my bones. The reset's coming early. Something's wrong.
"Cade," I say.
He hears it too. The hum. The shift in the air.
"We need to move," he says.
"Where?" I ask. "It's everywhere."
The woman's still walking toward us. Slow. Steady. Like she's got all the time in the world.
"Give me the phone, Lark," she says. "I'll bring you to her."
Behind us, footsteps. Fast. Multiple.
Cade swears under his breath. "Hunters."
I look back. Three of them, same as always. Guns out. Moving in formation.
We're boxed.
The woman stops five feet away. She holds out her hand. "Last chance."
Two minutes.
I look at the phone. The code's still scrolling. Faster now. I catch fragments. Coordinates. Timestamps. And buried in the noise, a name.
Quinn, M. - Anchor protocol active.
My name. My protocol.
"Mara," Cade says. His voice is low, urgent. "Don't."
I look at him. His gun's still up, but his eyes are on me. There's something in them I haven't seen before. Fear. Not for himself.
For me.
The hunters are twenty feet away. The woman's hand is still out. The phone's burning through my glove.
I do the math.
If I give her the phone, I lose the only thing keeping me alive. If I run, the hunters shoot me. If I stay, the reset hits and we start over.
Unless.
I look at Cade. "You trust me?"
"No," he says.
"Good."
I throw the phone.
Not to the woman. Not to the hunters.
Straight up.
It arcs through the air, spinning, screen flashing. Cade's eyes go wide. The woman lunges. The hunters stop, tracking the phone.
And I run.
Not away. Toward the woman.
I hit her low, shoulder to ribs, and we both go down. She's stronger than she looks. Her elbow catches my jaw and stars explode behind my eyes. I grab her wrist, twist, and she hisses.
The phone comes down.
Cade catches it one-handed. Doesn't even look. Just snatches it out of the air and pivots, gun coming up.
The hunters fire.
I feel the bullet before I hear it. Hot pressure in my side, just below my ribs. The woman shoves me off and rolls. Cade fires twice. One hunter drops. The other two scatter.
One minute.
Cade's at my side. His hand presses against my ribs, hard. It hurts. I try to push him off.
"Stay still," he says.
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding."
"I've bled before."
He's not listening. He's looking at the phone, at the countdown I can't see. His jaw's tight. His hand's still on my side, warm through my jacket.
The woman's on her feet. Blood on her lip. She's smiling again.
"Thirty seconds," she says. "Not enough time to run. Not enough time to fix her."
Cade doesn't look up. "Shut up."
"You've lost her four times already. What's one more?"
His hand tightens on my ribs. I can feel his pulse again. Faster now.
"Cade," I say.
He looks at me.
Ten seconds.
"If I don't wake up," I say, "don't carry me next time."
His mouth moves. Might be a smile. Might be something else.
"Deal," he says.
The woman takes a step forward. Close enough now that I can see her eyes. Gray. Cold.
"Hello again, Lark," she says. "Your mother says"
The reset hits.
Everything snaps white.
And when the alley comes back, I'm on my feet, and Cade's hand is still on my wrist, and the woman is standing exactly where she was.
But this time, she's holding a gun.
And it's pointed at Cade.