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At 1676971801.002, the universe didn't just take her; it traded her. Arthur felt a violent, invisible vacuum pull at his chest. He realized his mistake too late. The law of conservation applied to time just as it did to energy. To pull someone out of a moment, someone else had to take their place.

He had spent three years building the rig sitting in his garage. It was a chaotic mess of copper coils, liquid cooling tubes, and overclocked processors that hummed with a low, bone-shaking frequency. Arthur wasn't trying to build a time machine to visit the dinosaurs or see the future. He just wanted that one fraction of a second back. He pulled the lever. 1676971801.002

He reached out a hand, his fingers tingling with static. He was a ghost in his own past. Elena paused, shivering slightly as if a cold draft had just swept through the sealed room. She looked up from her screen, looking directly toward him. "Arthur?" she whispered into the empty air. Then, the clock flipped. At 1676971801