Files played on, compact lives lived again in the Invictus’s common area, all meticulously labeled with subject numbers and time stamps—a system made even more essential with hindsight. Eliot had organic memories left, but after seven alternates with seven lives alongside seven sets of friends in seven sets of universes, they began blending together. Was it Subject Three or Subject Five who named their time machine Icarus? Which one had tilted teeth? The cousin named Maribel? It was such a snarl of details—shared histories, subtle differences—made all the more indistinguishable by Fade-induced amnesia. The early lives were moth-eaten blankets—frayed at the edges, gone where it counted. Holes, gaps, holes. No matter how hard Eliot tried, she couldn’t place herself back in Dr. Ramírez’s lab. Had the examination table really been that cold? What had it felt like, before all those metaphors of his sank in, took root? Before she realized she had to scour dozens of universes to kill her other self?
It was a learning curve—diagonal travel, across universes, along timelines, all over the map. Subject One was already on a CTM crew when Eliot landed in her world. Tailing her—through the streets of 2152 New York, medieval castle corridors, the redwood forests of pre-colonized North America—while staying inside the countersignature scanner’s operating radius had taken far too long. By the time Eliot realized Subject One wasn’t a match, she’d lost months—months the Fade had used to creep from world to world.
Eliot wasn’t just racing against time, but the ruination of it. Every moment spent searching for the catalyst meant the destruction of another. She had to pick up the pace of her observation, which meant that she had to get close to her subject, far closer than the Corps’ MO would ever allow. As long as her alternates were traveling through history in an official capacity, she wouldn’t be able to obtain speedy reads on them without getting arrested by the institution she’d trained her entire life to serve.
And so Eliot was forced to do what every instructor had warned her against: Change the course of history. She suspected the Bureau wouldn’t be too pleased with the idea, either— sowing pivot points, growing fresh universes as casually as garden tomatoes—but this was the apocalypse they were talking about. Best-case scenario: She’d find the catalyst quickly, neutralize the original and any spin-offs. At worst, she was creating more fodder for the Fade.
Altering her alternates’ timelines was a process of trial and error. The natural starting point? Corrupting their final exam Sim. It was Versailles—it was always Versailles: pastel gowns, mercury mirrors, evening gardens in bloom—and with a bit of quick-coding and alt-tech, Eliot was able to project herself into the Sim’s programming. One blown kiss from a Tier Three mark queen and her alternates’ time-traveling futures would be ruined.
But time pushed back, where Subject Two was concerned, self-correcting in the form of Empra, who intervened on her child’s behalf. Her rank in the Corps caused them to overlook the final exam Sim. Back to square one, version two. More months were spent chasing Subject Two through history, trying to avoid Corps detection. An unsustainable pace.
No match found. On to the next life.
Subject Three. Eliot started even further back. Dr. Ramírez had warned her against scanning alternates outside of a present parallel to her own, since doing so might skew the results, leading to unnecessary neutralization or a skipped catalyst. She lingered in Subject Three’s past just long enough to ruin it, sabotaging what would become the Ab Aeterno’s final mission. Altering the nav system and stealing the extra fuel rods meant that Empra’s ship landed a few centuries off course, with no way back to Central and no chance of rescue. Making her own mother a castaway in history was a heartless move: palatable only through necessity. Eliot promised herself she’d rescue the Ab Aeterno once everything got sorted.
The immutability threshold was breached, and this time, when the final exam Sim went awry, the Academy did its part, tossing a protesting Subject Three out on his arse. But he wasn’t as grounded as Eliot had hoped, for wherever time travel existed, so did the black market. Every universe had its own version of Lux, whose sights were always set on Cadet McCarthy. Subject Three was skipping centuries inside an illegal TM within days. It was all Eliot could do to keep up, aligning his present with hers through burning buildings and pirate battles, scavenging scanner percentages whenever Subject Three brushed shoulders with her mid-disaster. The process was even slower this time around. Something had to change….
She had to get closer to the subject. She had to join his crew. The task was harder than it sounded; theirs was a tight-knit group and approaching them led to more suspicion than open arms. Subject Three—their captain—was wary. He remembered Eliot’s face from the Sim, which led to questions she couldn’t really answer. They elected not to take her on board, and so more weeks were lost chasing them through history for the final few percentages. Subject Three was not a match.
Agent Ackerman checked in. As predicted, he wasn’t thrilled with the new universes in Eliot’s wake, but he was even less pleased with her pace. “Hurry it up, history hopper! My superiors in MB+251418881HTP8 are breathing down my neck to get this situation contained and resolved.” Not the best pep talk.
Round four. Eliot did everything over again, but this time, when the present points in their timelines intersected in the den of the Caponian Collective, she resorted to blackmail. They faced off in the vault: Subject Four in a rainbow-bright suit, Eliot palming the Cat’s Eye Emerald. There was a chase—there was always a chase—and after a begrudging agreement, she was part of Subject Four’s crew: bunk, nickname, and all. It seemed she’d worked out a system. The scanner finished its read inside two days: not a match.
Eliot didn’t skip worlds immediately; it didn’t feel right, leaving the Ab Aeterno stranded, making Subject Four’s loss of mother permanent. She stayed just long enough to guide the crew in Empra’s direction. Their universe might be doomed, but they found each other—embracing in the flaming city, hearts made light by the fact that for now, the Ab Aeterno was saved.
The fifth world. A pattern had emerged: strand the Ab Aeterno, sabotage the final exam Sim, intersect the subject’s timeline at present point, blackmail, join crew, take scans, rescue mother. It wasn’t easy, but it felt rhythmic, something Eliot could keep up with. Something that might even outrun the Fade…