Chapter 230
The first thing I notice is the feeling of weightlessness. My equilibrium shifts, my stomach flipping like I’ve been dropped into the deep, except I’m standing still. A strange pressure builds around me, a static-like hum buzzing against my skin, as if the universe itself is holding its breath.
Then, I feel Cora’s hand slip from mine, followed by Delphinium’s, and my heart lurches.
I open my eyes—and the world around me is moving.
Backwards.
I gasp, struggling to comprehend what I’m seeing.
The battle doesn’t just rewind—it undoes itself in a surreal, disorienting display of reality bending in on itself.
Weapons unfire themselves—projectiles flying back into the barrels they were shot from, energy beams collapsing inward like they had never been released. Guards recoil in reverse, their bodies knitting themselves back together as wounds seal, gasping for air they had lost seconds ago.
Tables flip upright, overturned chairs right themselves, shattered monitors are repaired with eerie precision, and data screens flicker backward through unreadable lines of code.
My breath catches as glass shards lift from the floor, spinning in midair before they slide seamlessly back into the massive observation windows—like a film playing in reverse.
The bodies that had crumpled in combat jerk upright, their fatal blows erased, their breaths restored.
And then—
Arista’s body convulses in midair, and suddenly—she stands, her skull intact, her breath hitching as if she’s been jolted back from the dead. Her expression is frozen in the last second before she fell, her hands clenching reflexively, confusion flashing across her features as if she has no idea that just moments ago, she had been dying.
Cora’s blood vanishes, sucked back into her body in an impossible reversal of injury. Her suit, which had been shredded and stained, stitches itself whole, fabric reweaving as if nothing had ever been wrong. She lets out a shuddering breath, blinking rapidly, clearly feeling the change but not yet understanding it.
The air crackles, the pressure building as time warps and bends around me. It’s all too much. I can barely track the movements as reality rewinds around me, but then I see it—
The toxic green fluid draining from Marina’s cryopod.
My stomach drops.
I throw out a hand, panic flaring in my chest. “Wait!”
And just like that, time stops again.
A ringing silence slams down, heavier than before, like I’ve slammed the universe’s brakes too hard. My breath comes in harsh gasps, the sound unnervingly loud in the absolute stillness.
The world is frozen—locked in an eerie moment of near-completion.
Marina—Delphinium—is still inside the half-drained cryochamber, suspended in the stasis fluid, her body twitching in the final throes of an execution that had just been erased. Her eyes are closed. Her face is slack.
I don’t know if I’m screwing up everything, but I move, stepping away from Cora and Arista, who remain locked in their backward momentum.
I stride toward the computer console, where a scientist is still frozen. His hands hover over the controls, his face twisted in an expression of focus that will never be completed. Without hesitation, I shove him aside, his weight unnaturally stiff like a mannequin.
The console blinks with suspended data, graphs and numbers frozen mid-update. My fingers fly over the controls, rewinding the process manually.
Come on, come on—
A hiss of depressurization echoes through the chamber as the pod releases its locks. The rest of the cryopod fluid sloshes onto the floor, spilling across my boots as Delphinium sags forward—but I’m there.
I catch her, cradling her weight against me, my heart hammering. She’s limp, but warm, her breath shallow but steady. Alive.
My throat tightens with relief as I hug her close, her presence a weight of reality anchoring me to the moment.
Then I shout into the ether, “Okay, you can keep going—backward, I mean!”
The universe listens.
Time snaps back into motion.
Cora, Arista, and Peter rush in reverse, their steps rewinding toward the door. I follow them, my arms locked tightly around Delphinium.
The door swings open in reverse, and we pass through it. Then it shuts behind us, sealing off the surgical theater just as we retreat back down the hall.
The guards, the scientists—everything is undoing itself, erasing the battle before it even happened.
Lights that had flickered and sparked from combat stabilized. The sirens that had blared a moment ago un-sound, sucking the panic from the air like it had never existed.
We keep moving.
I hold Delphinium’s unconscious form to my chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of her heart. She’s real. She’s here.
Cora, Arista, and Peter continue shuffling backwards, their movements eerily fluid, like puppets being guided by strings in reverse.
The second I reach it, I slam the elevator button, and the doors slide open.
We step inside, and time continues rewinding until we’re descending instead of ascending—but I know the moment we reach a safe distance, I need to stop.
I take a deep breath and whisper, “Pause.”
The elevator glides to a smooth halt.
Everything is still.
I exhale, my entire body trembling, and lower Delphinium carefully to the elevator floor. She doesn’t stir, but she’s breathing.
I move quickly, stepping over to Cora and Peter, pressing my hands to their shoulders.
A small pulse of energy surges through them.
Their eyes snap open.
Cora blinks rapidly, looking around, her face twisting in disbelief. “Phoebe—what’s wrong?”
Then she sees her. Her sister, lying safe and whole on the elevator floor.
Cora sucks in a breath, her hand flying to her mouth, her body staggering slightly as if she’s been hit with something physically tangible.
She blinks again and again, her lips parting as if she wants to say something but can’t find the words.
Peter stares, his whole body frozen in disbelief. “What the hell?” he whispers. Then he rushes forward, his medical instincts kicking in as he checks Delphinium’s vitals.
She’s breathing, her heart is steady, but she doesn’t stir.
Cora’s voice shakes. “How…how is this possible?”
I step back, numb, staring at the digital panel above the elevator doors.
The numbers are flickering, caught halfway between floors—as if the elevator itself is frozen in time.
A shudder rolls through me.
“Grandma,” I murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you know any other Heirs that can control time?”
Cora tears her gaze away from Delphinium to stare at me—really stare at me.
Her expression shifts, her mouth parting slightly, her brows knitting together.
She doesn’t answer.
But she doesn’t have to.
Because I already know—whatever just happened, it’s uncharted territory.
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