‎Dr. Thorne, his wild hair even more dishevelled, gestured frantically at the complex diagrams scrawled across his whiteboards. "They're not just some shadowy group of rich guys, Max," he reiterated, his voice hoarse from hours of non-stop exposition. "The Chronos Syndicate has access to technology that makes what you see here look like a child's toy. They manipulate probabilities on a global scale. They have agents everywhere. And now, they know about you."‎‎Max sat on the rickety stool, the Chronos Shard still wrapped in canvas, resting on the table between him and Bucky. He felt its familiar hum, a steady pulse against his palm. "How do they know?" he asked, his voice low, still processing the monumental revelations from earlier.‎‎"The Shard," Thorne said, stopping his pacing to point a trembling finger at the wrapped object. "It's not just an inert object, Max. When it activates, when someone truly connects with it, it sends out a ripple. A temporal signature. They have detect

He saw a loose cable hanging from an overhead light fixture, swaying slightly. He saw a stack of heavy cardboard boxes precariously balanced on a high shelf. He saw a fire extinguisher mounted on a pillar just a few feet away.The Enforcer was almost on him, a hand reaching for his throat, his visor glowing faintly. Max closed his eyes for a split second, a desperate prayer forming in his mind. *Just one chance. Give me one chance.*He opened his eyes. The world was still slow, but he felt a strange clarity, a sudden, almost supernatural understanding of the chaotic elements around him. He knew, instinctively, what to do.He ducked under the Enforcer's outstretched arm, a move that felt impossibly fast even to him, a sudden surge of agility. As he did, he grabbed the fire extinguisher from the pillar. He didn't aim for the Enforcer, but for the floor directly in front of him, a seemingly pointless act.He slammed the extinguisher down, hard. The old, rusty pin snapped with a sharp cra

"And get ourselves killed?" Bucky countered, his voice firm. "We don't even know who 'them' is, Luna. We're talking about a shadowy organization that can make people disappear, who can bend time. We need to be smart. Max is our best shot at that.""Smart?" Luna scoffed. "My best friend is in a coma, Bucky! My other best friend is dead! What's smart about letting them get away with it?" Her voice was raw with pain, her grief twisting into a dangerous recklessness. "I'm not going to sit around and wait for Max to 'feel' his way out of this! I'm going to do something!"She turned to leave, but Bucky stepped in front of her. "Luna, stop. Max is trying to learn how to fight them. This isn't about revenge right now. It's about survival. For all of us.""And what if his 'feelings' aren't enough?" she challenged, her eyes welling up. "What if he can't stop them? What then, Bucky? What then?"The despair in her voice was palpable. Bucky put a hand on her shoulder. "Then we fight with everythin

The Chronos Shard pulsed softly on the table, a low, rhythmic thrum that had become the soundtrack to Max’s waking hours. He was in his small, temporary office, the one Bucky had set up in the back of the warehouse that was still being repaired. The air smelled faintly of dust and disinfectant. Max picked up the Shard, its cool surface a familiar weight in his palm. He was trying to listen to it, to understand its whispers, but all he got was a jumble of feelings, like trying to catch smoke.Then, it hit him. Not a whisper, but a flash. A memory, so vivid it felt real. Anastasia. Her laugh, light and free, echoing in a sun-drenched park. Her hand in his, warm and soft. They were sitting on a bench, sharing an ice cream. She looked at him, her eyes sparkling, a genuine smile on her face. Max felt a pang in his chest, a mix of longing and sorrow. He remembered that day. It was real.Another flash. They were dancing, close, in a dimly lit club. Her head on his shoulder, the scent of her

The bartender shrugged, used to the drunken ramblings of heartbroken men. "Revenge is a cold meal, amigo. Best eaten never."Ronald ignored him. His mind was clear, despite the alcohol. He knew who was in that inn. Tommy and Bobby Becker. The ones who had orchestrated the attack on the mansion. The ones who had taken Sarah from him. He had followed them all the way down here, a ghost in their shadows. Max had sent out men to find them, but Ronald wasn't waiting. This was his revenge. His justice.He watched the inn, patiently. He knew they were getting restless. Tommy, especially. He could feel it. They would make a mistake. They would drop their guard. And when they did, Ronald would be there. He would make them suffer, just like he was suffering. Sarah. Her name echoed in his mind, a constant, agonizing reminder. He would avenge her.***Back in Max's office, the visions were relentless. He had tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, Anastasia's face appeared, shifting be