Chapter 17 · Three Minutes After the Reset

"Drop the phone."

Emma's voice came from the doorway, flat and cold. Mark froze, half-bent over the desk drawer where he'd just grabbed the burner. The gun in her hand wasn't shaking.

"Emma, listen—"

"I said drop it."

He let the phone clatter onto the desk. Outside, sirens screamed closer. Two blocks, maybe three. The blackout had reset traffic signals across downtown, and every patrol unit in the district was converging on the last known location before the grid went dark.

Which happened to be this building.

"How long have you known?" Emma stepped inside, kicked the door shut behind her. The lock clicked. "About the loops. About Kyle."

"Seventy-two hours," Mark said. He kept his hands visible, palms out. "Same as you."

"Liar." She moved closer. The muzzle stayed level with his chest. "You knew my husband. He called you three weeks before he died. I checked his phone records after you left."

"He called a lot of people."

"He begged you." Her voice cracked on the word. "He begged you to help him expose something and you ran."

Mark's jaw tightened. "He wanted me to go public with evidence I didn't have.