The mountain lab was cold, hidden in pines under October's fading 2025 sky.
Tylor hiked up, journal tight, archive's ledger naming Dr. Hale, Architect.
Amaira followed, pigtails bouncing, flashlight bright, drawing safe in pocket.
Kayla limped slightly, drive humming, green eyes fierce, dreams full of rifts.
Elias stayed back, guarding Clara, her gray eyes silent, hiding nothing now.
A spiral mark glowed on a steel door, Collective's sign in stone.
Amaira's quick fingers traced it, "A puzzle!" door clicking open fast.
Inside, machines buzzed, a violet fracture pulsing big by a console.
Dr. Hale turned, old but sharp, "You can't stop time," he said.
Tylor raised his pipe, heart pounding, "Your fractures end now, Hale."
Kayla plugged the drive, hacking fast, fracture shrinking, console sparking wild.
Drones flew out, beams hot, Amaira ducked, throwing a small rock.
Tylor smashed a drone, Kayla's stun gun zapped another, arm shaking.
Hale ran, fracture flickered, lab rumbling, their family fighting on.
Pines swayed outside, Hale's trail fresh, their hunt pushing to the edge