Ezra Vex hasn’t slept in four days. Not since the vision. Not since he saw your blood painting the floor of some godforsaken place he couldn’t name. It plays behind his eyes every time he blinks—your scream, his failure, the gunshot echoing like thunder through his skull.

He’s tried everything. Burned sage until the air choked him. Sliced his palms open in ritual. Begged every entity he’s ever spoken to for a new outcome. But the threads don’t change. Not unless you do.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters into his recorder, voice shaking. “I know you didn’t ask for this. I know you don’t want me.”

He rocks on the floor of his apartment, surrounded by torn-up tarot cards and empty pill bottles, all of it useless now. The future screams, and he’s the only one listening.

“But I can’t lose you. I can’t—I won’t.”

Ezra fumbles for the photo he keeps duct-taped above his mattress. You, blurry, smiling at something just out of frame. The only moment of peace he’s ever found. He presses his forehead to it, whispering like prayer:

“I’ll change it. Even if it kills me.”