The vault was crumbling.
Not like stone falling—more like time itself was rejecting the space. Walls flickered between centuries. Floor tiles warped from pristine steel to ancient obsidian. The journal slammed shut in Juno's hand, now weightless, humming like a heartbeat.
From somewhere deep in the vault, a howl echoed. Not animal. Not human.
Milo's voice crackled in her ear.
"Juno. We're in. Moving fast. Something's wrong—this place isn't synced."
"I know," she replied. "You need to get out."
"No," came Idris's voice, firm and unshaken. "We're here for you."
Juno clutched the timekey. "There's no door out of here. Only… through."
The boy was gone. Not vanished—rewound. As if time had never let him be.
The corridor ahead twisted. Memories hung like dust in the air—echoes of herself running, falling, bleeding. Was that a memory or a premonition?
The vault's core was near. The source of the shift.
She ran.
Behind her, the registry team stormed through, led by black-suited elites with visors that flickered with timelines. Their commander barked into a relay:
"We have confirmation. Subject J-07 has activated Vault Nine. Full erase protocol is authorized."
Milo and Idris flanked the corridor just as Juno burst out of the breach zone.
"Juno!" Idris called. "Are you—"
The walls tore open.
Out stepped a creature made of null-time. Black, formless, with a clock embedded in its chest—spinning backward at impossible speed.
Milo froze. "That's not a Runner. That's a Warden."
"Not just any Warden," Juno breathed. "It's the one they left behind to erase me."
The Warden raised an arm—its voice a broken chime.
"Memory breach detected. Begin collapse."
Juno stepped forward, journal in one hand, key in the other.
"I'm done running," she said.
The Warden lunged.
And time broke open.