Time rippled.
The silver rift above the city quivered, bleeding light. From within, something stirred—no longer hidden by clouds or possibility.
Ruo Qing's breath hitched.
A second figure stepped through.
She wore white.
Not just any white—her white. A gown stitched with threads of pearl and shadow, sleeves of mirrored silk that glinted like blade edges. A veil trailed behind her, longer than any real train could be, dragging faint whispers in the air as though memory itself was clinging to it.
The woman had her face.
No—was her.
But older. Wiser. Colder. Her eyes shimmered not with emotion, but calculation. And where Ruo Qing's hands trembled with fear, this woman's remained perfectly still.
Murdoch saw her and gasped. "Ruo Qing…?"
The older woman turned to him. "No," she said. "I'm not the one you love. I'm the one who remembers what love becomes."
Ruo Qing stepped back, her heart racing. "What are you?"
Her older self smiled. "An echo. A consequence. A fragment of a choice you haven't made yet. I am you—after the end. After you tried to save him."
"You're lying."
The Echo Watcher stepped between them. "She is not. She is your shadow in the timeline that breaks. The one where you let him die to save the world."
"Don't say that."
"You wanted to change fate. Now fate sends its answer."
Murdoch grabbed his head, groaning. His memories shimmered in the air—like pages being torn from an invisible book.
"I can't… I'm forgetting… I don't want to forget her," he gasped.
Ruo Qing rushed to his side, cupping his face. "Stay with me."
"Tell me something," he whispered, desperate. "Something no one else would know."
She held his hand tightly. "You always sleep with your socks half on. You call thunderstorms 'sky drums.' You kissed me for the first time under a funeral moon."
His eyes widened.
And then—clarity. For a brief moment, the fog cleared.
"I remember," he said.
But it was already too late.
The silver sky cracked again.
And they were no longer in the city.
They stood in a cathedral made of glass.
Petals fell from the rafters like tears. A wedding march played, slow and distorted, echoing as if underwater. There were no guests. Just shadows lining the pews—faceless, silent, staring.
At the altar stood Murdoch.
But it wasn't him.
It was another version. His eyes black as ink, lips curled in a soft, dangerous smile. In his hand, a wedding band twisted with tiny thorns.
He extended his hand.
"Come, my bride," he said.
Behind Ruo Qing, the older version of her stepped forward.
"I remember this moment," the older Ruo Qing whispered. "This is where I chose to take your place. This is where I damned us both."
The younger Ruo Qing shook her head. "No. I still have a choice."
"You don't understand," the older version said softly. "This isn't just about saving him. This is about whether love survives after time has broken its bones."
Suddenly, the darker Murdoch stepped off the altar, approaching. His eyes bore into hers—not hate, not hunger. Something worse.
Recognition.
"You are still soft," he murmured. "Still uncertain."
"I know who I am," she snapped.
He leaned closer. "Then prove it."
The world shuddered.
And the real Murdoch—her Murdoch—collapsed to his knees behind her, clutching his chest. His memories were burning, flaring like wildfire.
"If you choose wrong," the Echo Watcher said, "he will be rewritten. Not just forgotten—reversed. A different man will wake in his place."
"No!" she screamed.
She turned—
And kissed Murdoch again.
Not a soft kiss.
A memory-forging, time-defying, fate-splitting kiss.
And then she whispered into his mouth:
"Sky drums. Funeral moon. Half socks. Always me."
And for a moment—
The cathedral shattered.
The silver rift screamed.
And Ruo Qing fell into light.