Nyla knew she shouldn't be alive, Not a chance to breathe in Oxygen.
One second, she was lying on a cold floor, her blood pooling beneath her.
The next, she woke up to sunlight pressing through thin curtains and the soft rattling of her old ceiling fan, the one she hadn't seen in six years.
She shot upright.
This was her room.
Her old room.
The faded posters, the cracked mirror, the cheap desk she'd begged her mom to replace… all of it looked exactly like it did when she was seventeen.
Her breathing turned sharp.
"What… what is this?"
Her phone buzzed beside her.
A phone she hadn't owned in years.
The screen lit up—not with a message, not with a call, but with glowing text that didn't belong to anything human.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]
Nyla froze.
Then another line appeared.
[YOU DIE IN 182 DAYS. AVOID IT.]
Everything inside her went cold.
Before she could react, a rush of pain shot through her head. Memories flickered, blurred faces, running footsteps, a hand grabbing her wrist, the taste of fear but nothing clear enough to understand.
It all slipped away like water through her fingers.
She held her head, gasping. "No—no, I need to remember…"
But she couldn't.
Six years of her life were gone, leaving only scattered emotions and the sharp image of her own death.
Her phone buzzed again.
[TIMELINE UNSTABLE.]
[ANOMALY DETECTED: YOU.]
[INCIDENT LIKELIHOOD: INCREASING.]
"What does that mean?" she whispered.
A sudden crash answered her.
The ceiling light above her snapped, sparks raining down as the entire fixture came loose—falling straight toward her face.
Nyla threw herself off the bed.
The light smashed where she had been sitting, metal and glass shattering across her pillow.
Her heart thudded so hard it hurt.
That… wasn't normal.
It wasn't an accident.
It felt like a warning.
Her phone vibrated again.
[ACCIDENT #1 DETECTED.]
[SEVERITY: LOW.]
[FREQUENCY WILL INCREASE.]
Nyla stared at the message, breath trembling.
Someone had murdered her.
The timeline was trying to push her back toward that same death.
And she had no memory of who to fear.
She swallowed hard.
Six years stolen.
One countdown ticking.
And no one she could trust, not even herself.
If you want, I can continue with