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"Keys are in it." The text came through at 11:52 p.m., and I was already rolling.
I swung the flatbed into the alley behind Mort Street and killed the engine. The Audi was right where the skip trace said it would be—under a busted streetlight, plate half-missing, driver's door hanging open like somebody left in a hurry.
I grabbed my phone. "Nia, I'm on it."
"You got fifteen minutes," she said on the other end. "Cops run this block every hour."
"I know."
"Then don't get cute. Hook it and go."
I hung up and climbed out. The alley smelled like piss and old rain. I walked up to the Audi, checked the VIN against the repo sheet. Matched. I pulled the door wider and leaned in.
That's when I saw the blood.
Not a lot. Just enough to make a dark smear across the passenger seat, still wet enough to catch the light from my phone. I backed out and looked around. Nobody. Just the alley, the dumpster, the broken light.
"What the hell," I said, and my voice came out quieter than I meant.
I checked the time. 11:58.
I should've walked. Should've called Nia and told her the car was dirty. But my sister's face was in my head, and the auction notice that came yesterday, and the number at the bottom with all those zeroes.
I went back to the flatbed and started unspooling the winch cable.
That's when the guy in the black jacket came around the corner.
He didn't say anything. Just looked at me, then at the Audi, then back at me. He had a phone in one hand and something else in the other I couldn't see.
"Wrong car," I said. "I'm repo. You got a problem, call the lender."
"You Mercer?" he asked.
"Yeah."
He smiled. Not a good smile. "Then we got a problem."
I dropped the cable. "I don't know you."
"You don't have to." He stepped closer, and now I could see what was in his other hand. A knife. Small, folding, the kind you carry in your pocket and forget about until you need it. "Who told you to take this car?"
"The bank."
"Bullshit."
"Check the VIN yourself. It's a repo. I don't care what you left in the trunk."
His face changed. "What'd you see?"
"Nothing. I just got here."
"Then you don't need the car."
I looked past him. No one else in the alley. My truck was ten feet behind me, but the cable was still on the ground and he was between me and the driver's door.
"I'm taking the car," I said. "You can wait here or you can walk. I don't care which."
He didn't move. Just stood there with the knife in his hand and that wrong smile still on his face.
Then my phone buzzed.
I looked down. 12:07.
The guy was gone.
I blinked. Looked around. Empty alley. The Audi was still there, door open, blood still wet on the seat. But the guy in the black jacket was just—gone. No footsteps. No sound.
I looked at my phone again. The screen said 11:07.
I stood there for five seconds trying to make my brain work. Then I heard the flatbed engine. Still running. But I'd turned it off. I know I did.
I walked back and looked through the driver's window. Keys in the ignition. Engine on. My jacket on the seat. I opened the door and checked the dash clock.
11:08.
I sat down hard on the step bar and put my head in my hands.
"Okay," I said. "Okay, think."
But I wasn't thinking. I was counting. This was the fourth time this month. Fourth time I'd hit 12:07 and snapped back an hour like somebody cut the tape and spliced it wrong.
And I was the only one who remembered.
I pulled out my phone and called Nia.
"You on it?" she answered.
"Yeah. Question. You ever lose an hour?"
"The hell are you talking about?"
"Like—skip forward and then snap back. Same hour twice."
She was quiet for a second. "You high?"
"No."
"Then stop talking like you are. Hook the car and get back here. You got fifteen minutes before the cops roll through."
"I know. You told me."
"When?"
"Just now. First call."
"Jace, this is the first call. You drunk?"
I hung up.
I sat there in the cab with the engine running and the alley in front of me and my hands shaking just enough that I had to shove them in my pockets.
The Audi was still there. Blood still on the seat. Guy in the black jacket wasn't.
I climbed out and checked my watch. 11:12. I had forty-five minutes before it happened again. Before 12:07 came around and I snapped back and did this whole thing over.
I looked at the Audi. At the blood. At the open door.
"Where'd you go?" I said.
I hooked the car. Took me six minutes. I didn't check the trunk. Didn't look in the back seat. Just hooked the frame and winched it up onto the flatbed and locked it down.
I was pulling the last strap tight when I heard the knock.
I froze.
It came from inside the Audi. Three taps. Slow. Deliberate. Knuckles on glass.
I turned around.
The car was empty. I could see through the windows. No one in the driver's seat. No one in the back.
I walked around to the passenger side. The blood was still there. The door was closed. I hadn't closed it.
I pulled it open.
Nothing inside. Just the blood smear and the smell of cheap cologne and something else underneath. Something metal and wrong.
The radio turned on.
I jerked back and almost tripped over the winch cable. The radio was crackling, spitting static, and then a voice came through.
"You're late."
I stared at the dash. The car wasn't on. The keys were still in my pocket. But the radio was lit up and the voice was coming through clear as anything.
"Who is this?" I said.
The static got louder for a second, then smoothed out. "You know who this is."
"I don't."
"Yeah, you do. You took my car."
I looked at the repo sheet in my hand. Owner's name: Carl Devin. Skip traced to this address three days ago. Last payment missed four months back.
"You Carl?" I asked.
"Used to be."
"What's that mean?"
"Means I'm done. Means you are too, if you don't move."
I looked around. Alley was still empty. No headlights. No footsteps. Just me and the flatbed and the Audi with its radio on and nobody inside.
"Where are you?" I asked.
The voice laughed. It didn't sound human. "Under. Where you're going."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Yeah, you are. You went once already. 12:07, right? You snap back and you think you dodged it, but you didn't. You just bought another hour."
I felt cold all the way down to my feet. "How do you know that?"
"Because I'm the one who pulled you out."
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
The static got louder. The voice kept going. "You died, Jace. Three weeks ago. Under the transit tunnel on Fifth. You remember that?"
I didn't.
"No," the voice said, like it heard me. "You don't. Because I put you back. Sent you up top and turned the clock back and let you walk around like nothing happened. But you're still dead. You just don't know it yet."
I grabbed the radio and yanked it out of the dash. The voice kept talking.
"12:07 tonight, you're going to meet someone. She's got a gun and a file with your name on it. You run, she shoots. You stay, she arrests you. Either way, you're done. Unless you come down."
"Come where?"
"Where you died. Where I'm waiting."
I threw the radio on the ground. It cracked open, wires spilling out, but the voice kept going.
"Clock's ticking, Jace. You got thirty minutes before she kicks in your door."
I backed away from the car. My phone buzzed. I pulled it out. Text from my sister.
Liv: *They moved the auction up. Friday. You got the money?*
I stared at the screen.
Friday was three days away.
I didn't have the money.
I looked back at the Audi. The radio was dead now, just plastic and wires on the asphalt. The blood on the seat looked black under the streetlight.
I heard a car engine. Close. Getting closer.
I looked at my phone. 11:47.
I climbed into the flatbed and started the engine. I was halfway down the alley when I heard the sirens.
I made it six blocks before I had to pull over. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I sat there with the engine idling and the Audi chained up behind me and my sister's text still glowing on my phone.
I opened the browser and typed *Carl Devin missing Brinepoint*.
First result: *Man reported missing after abandoned vehicle found near transit station. Police investigating.*
I clicked it. Photo of Carl. Same guy. Blonde hair, thin face, black jacket.
Same guy who'd been standing in the alley with the knife.
I checked the date on the article.
Three weeks ago.
I looked at the time. 11:58.
I put the truck in gear and started driving. I didn't know where I was going. Just away. Away from the alley, away from the blood, away from the voice on the radio that knew my name.
I made it to the depot at 12:04. I backed the flatbed into the lot and got out. Nia was in the office window, waving me in.
I walked across the lot. My phone buzzed again.
I looked down.
12:07.
The lot was empty.
I spun around. The flatbed was gone. The Audi was gone. Nia was still in the window, but now she was looking at her computer, not at me.
I checked my phone.
11:07.
I walked to the office and pushed the door open. Nia looked up.
"You coming or what?" she said. "You got fifteen minutes before the cops roll Mort Street."
I just stood there.
She frowned. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said. "I'm on it."
I turned and walked back out. Got in the flatbed. Started the engine.
My phone rang.
I looked at the screen. Unknown number.
I answered.
"Jace Mercer?" A woman's voice. Flat. Official.
"Who's this?" I said.
"Investigator Mara Vance, Brinepoint Municipal Audit. I need you to stay where you are. I'm coming to you."
"For what?"
"For a conversation. About Carl Devin. And about what you were doing under Fifth Street three weeks ago."
I felt my stomach drop. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yeah, you do," she said. "And so do I. Don't move."
She hung up.
I sat there with the phone in my hand and the engine running and the alley six blocks away with a car full of blood and a dead guy's voice still rattling around in my head.
I looked at the time.
11:09.
I put the truck in gear and started driving.
I made it halfway to Mort Street when I saw the headlights behind me. Bright. Close. Not backing off.
I checked the mirror. Black sedan. No plates I could see.
It pulled up next to me at the light on Carver. The window rolled down.
The woman driving looked at me. Dark hair pulled back. Sharp face. Gun on her hip, badge clipped to her belt.
"Jace Mercer," she said.
I didn't answer.
"Pull over," she said. "Or I pull you over. Your choice."
"I didn't do anything."
"Then you won't mind talking."
The light turned green. She didn't move. Neither did I.
"Clock's ticking," she said, and her hand dropped to the gun.
I looked at my phone. 11:14.
I had fifty-three minutes before 12:07. Before it all snapped back and I got to do this again.
Or I didn't.
I looked at her. "What do you want?"
"I want to know why your fingerprints are on a door under the transit tunnel. I want to know what you saw down there. And I want to know who told you to go back."
"I've never been under the tunnel."
"Yeah, you have. Three weeks ago. 11:43 p.m. You went in through the service access on Fifth. You came out alone. My partner went in after you. He didn't come out."
I stared at her. "I don't know your partner."
"Then why's his blood on your jacket?"
She pointed at the seat next to me.
I looked down.
My jacket. Same one I'd been wearing. Dark stain on the sleeve I hadn't noticed before. Still damp.
I looked back at her. "That's not—"
"Save it," she said. "We're doing this at the depot or we're doing it in a cell. Your call."
She pulled her gun.
I looked at the clock. 11:16.
I looked at her.
"I need to make a call first," I said.
"No."
"My sister—"
"No." She opened her door and stepped out, gun still pointed at me through the window. "Hands where I can see them. Now."
I put my hands on the wheel.
She walked around to my door and pulled it open. "Out."
I didn't move.
"I said out."
"You don't understand," I said. "At 12:07—"
"I don't care. Out. Now."
I looked at her. At the gun. At the blood on my jacket I didn't remember getting.
I thought about Carl Devin's voice on the radio. *You died, Jace. You just don't know it yet.*
I looked at my phone one more time.
11:17.
"Okay," I said.
I climbed out. She grabbed my arm and spun me around, pushing me against the side of the truck. I felt the cuffs go on, cold and tight.
"Jace Mercer," she said, "you're under arrest for obstruction and suspicion of—"
The radio in her car crackled.
We both stopped.
The voice came through. Same voice. Carl Devin's voice.
"Hey, Mara," it said. "You're early."