The radio's static voice still hangs in the air: "Flip the coin."
Ethan's fingers tremble as he obeys.
The golden disc spins through the air, catching the last sliver of light before the world tears itself apart.
He has time for one thought—this shouldn't be possible—before the ocean beneath him splits open with a sound like shattering glass. Violet light erupts from the widening maw, geometric patterns fracturing reality itself as the whirlpool swallows him whole.
For a moment outside of time, he sees:
—A woman with wine-red hair plunging her gloved hand into a gray-haired girl's chest, golden threads dancing between her fingers.
—A celestial train carving through the cosmos, its headlights blazing like twin suns.
—His father's back retreating into darkness, his final words warped and stretched: "You were the backup plan."
Then—
Impact.
Ethan gasps as his body slams onto cold metal, the breath knocked from his lungs. The coin skitters away across the polished floor, coming to rest against a pair of sleek leather boots.
"Well now," purrs a voice like velvet over steel.
Looking up, Ethan sees her—the woman from his vision. Kafka crouches before him, her wine-red braid slipping over one shoulder as she reaches for the fallen coin.
Ssssst.
The sound of searing flesh fills the air as Kafka jerks her hand back, her glove blackening at the fingertips. Behind her, the glass pod containing the gray-haired girl flares crimson, the Stellaron inside pulsing in time with the coin's sudden glow.
"Gold hair means the first script gets scrapped," Kafka muses, examining her ruined glove with something like delight. "Elio did warn us."
Ethan's mind races. The coin is too far to reach directly—Kafka's threads would intercept him before he got close. His eyes flick to a broken pipe lying near his knee.
Plan formed.
He lunges—not for the coin, but for the pipe—telegraphing the movement deliberately. Silver Wolf's drones whir to life, barrels spinning as they lock onto him.
Kafka's threads lash out—not toward him, but slicing through the pipe, reducing it to molten slag.
Exactly what he'd wanted.
While the threads are occupied, Ethan kicks a loose panel toward Kafka's face. Instinct makes her jerk back, her threads reflexively bisecting the projectile midair—
—giving him the half-second he needs.
He dives. The coin's warmth floods his palm as he catches it mid-roll, tucking it away before rising into a crouch.
Kafka claps slowly, genuine amusement lighting her eyes. "Clever boy. But running toward the Stellaron?" She nods at the searing core in the pod. "That's new."
Silver Wolf yawns. "Can we not adopt Elio's problem?"
Ethan wipes a split lip with the back of his hand, meeting Kafka's gaze. His grip tightens around the coin.
"This isn't part of anyone's script," he says, slipping the coin safely into his pocket. "And it's not for touching."
A beat of silence. Then Kafka's lips curl.
"Mmm. Possessive and polite." She twirls a thread around her finger. "I do love a contradiction."
Silver Wolf rolls her eyes. "Great. Now it's got boundary issues."
Kafka tilts her head, studying him with keen interest. "You must have a name, golden boy."
He hesitates—but only for a moment. "Ethan Sol," he says, the words leaving his mouth before he can reconsider.
"Eeee-than," Kafka said, savoring the sound. "A little dull. Sunny's more on brand."
Her eyes flick to his gold-flecked irises. "Fits the aesthetic."
Silver Wolf snorts, chewing her gum louder. "Nicknaming variables now? Cringe."
Ethan keeps his stance neutral, but his mind races:(Gray-haired girl in a tube. And me—somehow the priority?)
He edges toward the wall, the coin palmed but not flipped. Kafka's threads drape lazily between them like spider silk.
"Running would be rude, Sunny," she teases, tapping her chin. "And boring."
Silver Wolf groans, kicking a sparking console. "Can we not do the creepy banter thing? My ears are bleeding."
Kafka turns toward Stelle's pod, her glove still smoking from the coin's burn. "Now then... where were we?"
With a flick of her wrist, Kafka's threads pierce the pod. The Stellaron core pulses violently as she speaks:
"Wake up, darling—you have a train to catch."
Ethan's vision swims. The coin grows heavier in his hand as Kafka's threads hum a lullaby only he can hear.
"Sleep now, little sunspot," she murmurs, her voice resonating through his bones. "When you wake... the real game begins."
Silver Wolf yawns, watching as Ethan collapses against the wall, his fingers still curled protectively around the coin. "Drama queen."
Darkness swallows him whole.