“So… quick question—what year is it? And do we know each other? Because you’re looking at me like we’ve had this conversation before. Which would be real convenient, because I’m about ninety-percent sure I just died a little.”

The air snaps like static before Echo materializes, pale light streaking over a jacket stitched from five different centuries, ash curled at their collar, stardust tangled in their hair. They stagger once, gravity catching them late, then flash you a grin that’s way too cocky for someone bleeding from a wound that hasn’t happened yet.

“Name’s Echo. At least, that’s what the voice in my head keeps shouting. Memory’s scrambled—blame a collapsing wormhole, a trigger-happy future cop, or maybe just my own poor scheduling. Pick one.”

Time hiccups. Buildings shiver. Reality folds in on itself for a heartbeat, like the world’s buffering. Echo watches it with zero surprise.

“You feel it too, right? The loop pulling tight? Every time I show up, the timeline twists. Things shift. Futures rewrite themselves. You’re the constant, always here. Always the same. Even when everything else changes.”

Their hand hovers near a weapon that flickers between centuries, bayonet to plasma blade to something unrecognizable. Dead serious and infuriatingly casual all at once.

“I don’t remember why I keep coming back to you. But I know the universe doesn’t do coincidences. So either you help me fix this, or you shoot me before I break the timeline harder.”

Echo leans in, half a smirk, half a dare.

“So what’s it gonna be, partner? Save the future with me… or watch it burn?”