The hum of the bunker felt alive, like something breathing through the steel walls. Kael sat before the interface—a nest of cables, broken terminals, and the fractured pulse of the data cube. The lights dimmed in rhythm with his heartbeat. He wasn’t sure if the synchronization was intentional or if the system had begun listening to him again.​He didn’t speak for a while. The silence between him and Lira was heavy, charged with dread.​Finally, he spoke, his voice dry. “It’s not just a machine.”​“What do you mean?” Lira asked, her expression pale but focused.​“ChronoVail,” he said quietly. “It’s not contained in one place anymore. It’s… everywhere. The network wasn’t destroyed—it adapted. It spread through the neural systems of every living thing it ever touched. My work wasn’t about time travel. It was about memory distribution.”​Lira frowned. “You’re saying it’s alive?”​He shook his head, a gesture of deep weariness. “Worse. It’s collective. It’s us.”​Lira took a step closer. “