Aarav didn't move at first.
Run? Run from people who could manipulate time?
His mind spun, confusion and fear fighting for space.
Soren grabbed his wrist—not forcefully, but urgently.
"Aarav, listen. They're not here to talk. They're here to retrieve the Anchor. And they don't care what it does to you."
Aarav stiffened.
"What about you?"
"They think I'm a traitor," Soren answered simply. "If they catch me, they'll erase my thread from the timeline."
Erase.
Not hurt.
Not punish.
Erase.
A chill went through Aarav's spine.
People who held that kind of power… and they were already in the building.
Soren pulled him away from the window. "We don't have much time. A full jump is too risky—they'll track the echo. We need a split second jump. A slip."
"A slip?" Aarav repeated.
"It's like stepping between moments. Not a whole day, not a memory. Just a blink where they can't see us."
Aarav swallowed. "Can I even do that?"
Soren met his eyes.
"You stabilized an Anchor on your first try. You can do this."
Aarav felt the weight of the watch in his pocket.
Heavy. Warm. Breathing almost.
"What do I do?" Aarav asked.
Soren glanced at the door, then back at Aarav.
"We need a fixed point. Something that stays constant in the next moment and the previous one."
Aarav looked around his room—the bed, the desk, scattered papers.
"What about the watch itself?" he asked.
"No," Soren said immediately. "Anchors are not fixed. They create the shift—they don't stabilize it."
Aarav's eyes landed on something small and ordinary:
a pen on his desk.
"This pen?" Aarav asked. "It's been in the same place since morning."
Soren nodded. "Perfect."
He took the watch from Aarav and placed it on the table.
"Put one hand on the watch," Soren instructed. "One hand on the pen. Don't break contact with either."
Aarav did as told.
Soren placed his hand over Aarav's on the watch.
"Now breathe. The slip lasts less than a second. You'll feel a pull, but don't let go."
Aarav's heart thudded hard enough to shake him.
"Soren… if this fails—"
"It won't," Soren said softly. "I've slipped hundreds of times. Trust me."
He adjusted the watch's crown just the slightest bit.
The ticking changed—
Tak… tak… tak…
Deepening, slowing, like time itself holding its breath.
A faint pressure built around Aarav's temples.
"Focus on the pen," Soren said. "That's home."
Aarav focused.
Tak…
Tak…
The world thinned.
Like the air was stretching.
Like the walls were blurring.
"Aarav," Soren said sharply. "Hold on."
A sudden force yanked them sideways.
The room vanished—
no, it didn't vanish—
it folded, like paper bending in the wind.
Aarav's stomach lurched.
His grip tightened around the pen.
The pressure snapped—
a crack of silence so loud it felt like sound.
And then—
They were back.
The room returned in a blink.
Except…
it wasn't the same.
The lights were off.
The door was open.
Outside, the hallway echoed with footsteps rushing in the opposite direction.
Soren released the watch and exhaled hard.
"That was close."
Aarav blinked, dizzy. "Where are we? Is this… the future? The past?"
"Neither," Soren said. "This is the next second. The moment after they passed your door while searching."
Aarav stared.
"You mean… we slipped through one second?"
"Exactly."
Aarav's breath trembled. "That was insane."
Soren didn't deny it. "It's the only technique they can't trace."
Footsteps thundered back the other way—closer, sharper, urgent.
They weren't safe yet.
Soren grabbed Aarav's shoulder.
"We need to move. The building will be locked down in minutes."
"Where do we go?" Aarav asked.
Soren looked toward the stairwell.
"Down. There's an exit behind the old generator room."
Aarav nodded.
They ran.
But as they turned the corner, Aarav saw something that made him stop cold.
A figure—alone—standing at the end of the corridor.
Not one of the Timekeepers.
Younger.
Much younger.
A boy.
He looked straight at Aarav with wide eyes.
Aarav froze.
Because he recognized that face.
It was him.
A twelve-year-old Aarav.
Standing in a timeline where he didn't belong.