No one really knew how to test a temporal anchor.
There wasn't exactly a YouTube tutorial for how to stop your own timeline from collapsing while being hunted by your masked ghost clone. If there was, Jade figured it probably had two views and zero likes.
Still, that didn't stop Ezra from trying.
The safehouse looked like a small lab had exploded across it. Wires tangled on the floor, several monitors blinked with confusing data, and one corner of the room had a chair bolted to the floor with something that looked suspiciously like a brain scanner built by someone with zero regard for safety codes.
"I feel like I should be signing a waiver. Possibly with a lawyer present."
"You're not wrong." Ezra adjusted the controls. "But the legal system hasn't exactly caught up with temporal science."
"That's comforting."
"I aim to please."
Lexie stood nearby, chewing a fingernail like it might give her answers. She'd refused to leave Jade's side since the night before, even when Riley offered her a chance to lay low. That part still surprised Jade.
"So," Lexie finally said. "What exactly is this chair going to do? Other than scramble her brain and make us all sad?"
Riley was sitting on the floor with a screwdriver and a bag of chips. "If it works, it'll isolate a memory that stabilizes her thread. A moment that grounds her across timelines."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then we get scrambled Jade." She popped a chip in her mouth. "But hey. New personality might be fun."
Jade narrowed her eyes. "Pretty bold, talking trash when I'm about to get plugged into the pain chair."
"I've hacked AI with worse attitudes than you."
Noah hadn't said anything yet. He was standing just behind Ezra, arms crossed, face unreadable. Jade caught him glancing at her when he thought she wasn't looking. Not in a romantic, soul-staring way. More like he was watching a fragile bomb and hoping it didn't tick.
"You're thinking too hard."
"I'm always thinking."
"Right. Forgot you're part robot."
He gave the smallest smirk. "Only emotionally."
Ezra clapped her hands. "Alright. Sarcasm hour's over. Let's get her hooked up before the system catches up to us."
Jade sat in the chair.
The metal was cold. The wires felt way too alive. A light above her blinked like it was judging her choices.
Ezra adjusted the headset on her temple and stepped back.
"This might sting."
"Again. Waiver."
"Too late. We're live."
A low hum filled the room as the device powered up.
Jade closed her eyes.
The world didn't disappear. It folded. Memory didn't flash. It drifted in, slow and invasive, like fog rolling under a locked door.
She saw her childhood bedroom. Lexie laughing so hard she fell off her bed during a sleepover. Her dad burning pancakes and pretending it was intentional. Then Noah, standing in the rain, in a memory that hadn't happened yet. His voice echoed through the haze.
You always choose everyone else.
Her breath hitched.
The memories weren't playing. They were pulling. Dragging her somewhere specific.
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't even recent. Just her, alone in the art classroom after hours. Sketching with headphones in. Completely lost in her own head. Not anxious. Not spiraling. Just... Jade.
Back in the real world, the machine beeped once.
Ezra leaned in. "We've got something."
Riley looked up. "Thread resistance just dropped."
"Stability?"
"Thirty-eight percent. Still shaky. But she's tethered to something."
Lexie leaned forward. "Wait, what was the memory?"
Ezra glanced at the monitor. "Art room. Alone. Thursday. Two years ago."
Lexie blinked. "That's it? Not your mom hugging you or your soulmate saying 'I love you'? Just... doodling with a mechanical pencil?"
Jade opened her eyes. "Apparently, that was my peak."
"Relatable." Riley grinned.
Jade sat up slowly as the device powered down. Her head ached. Her body felt like it had gone through a washing machine on emotional trauma setting. But something inside her had settled. Not peace exactly. Just a center. A weight. Like a floor she hadn't realized was missing was suddenly back under her feet.
"So." Jade turned to Ezra. "This anchor thing... is it permanent?"
Ezra shook her head. "Anchors fade if you don't protect them. You'll need more."
"More quiet sketching in abandoned classrooms?" Lexie asked.
"Or relationships. Experiences. Things that remind you who you are, across timelines."
Jade glanced at Noah. "You hear that? I need to get in touch with my feelings. Probably start journaling."
"I'll light a candle."
Jade swung her legs over the side of the chair and stood.
Her balance wobbled. Lexie grabbed her arm before she could fall.
"You okay?"
"Define 'okay.'"
"On a scale from one to 'I think my evil future self is trying to erase me'...?"
Jade smiled. "Let's call it a soft six."