The next Saturday, Tylor's father, gaunt and unshaven, ordered him to clean the attic—a rare command, given his usual silence. The basement remained off-limits, its heavy lock a mystery Tylor had long stopped questioning. The attic, though, was a labyrinth of forgotten things: moth-eaten quilts, cracked picture frames, and boxes of his mother's old books, their pages yellowed with time. The air was thick with dust, each breath tasting of neglect.
Tylor was sorting through a pile of broken toys when his foot caught on a tarp, revealing a strange, boxy machine. Its metal surface was scarred, dials cracked, wires spilling like veins from its sides. A faded label read "Temporal Prototype," the words barely legible. Tylor's heart pounded, a mix of fear and fascination. He ran to get Kayla, his voice urgent as he dragged her up the creaking attic stairs.
"Look at this," he said, pulling back the tarp fully. The machine hummed faintly, as if alive, its dials glinting in the dim light filtering through a grimy window.
Kayla's eyes widened, her fingers tracing the machine's edges. "Is this… a time machine?" Her voice held a mix of skepticism and awe.
"It's broken," Tylor said, kneeling beside it. "But what if it's not? What if we could go back to when Amaira disappeared?"
Kayla's brow furrowed, but her curiosity won. "Two years ago. The day with the balloon. If it works, we could see what happened."
They found a crumpled manual tucked inside the machine, its pages filled with cryptic diagrams and warnings about "temporal displacement." For hours, they worked, Tylor's hands shaking as he tightened wires, Kayla deciphering the manual's faded instructions. Sparks flew, the attic filled with the scent of burnt metal, and then—a low hum. The dials glowed faintly, casting eerie blue light across their faces.
"It's alive," Kayla whispered, gripping Tylor's arm.
Tylor punched in the date—two years ago, the day Amaira vanished. The attic shimmered, the air crackling like static. The world dissolved into blinding light, and Tylor's stomach lurched as time itself seemed to unravel.