Burned.
Cracked.
Frozen at 2:17.
The man staggered back, gripping the counter for balance.
“No…” he whispered.
He knew that watch.
He remembered the weight of it.
Because it wasn’t just any watch.
It was Michael’s.
“I saw him die,” the man said, more to himself than to her. “I was there.”
The girl didn’t blink.
“He said you left.”
The words cut deeper than the fire ever had.
“That’s not true,” the man snapped, but his voice broke halfway through. “I tried—”
“He said you ran.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
The man’s chest tightened as memories forced their way back—heat, smoke, collapsing beams… and a choice he never admitted out loud.
“…That’s impossible,” he said weakly. “He’s dead.”
The girl finally looked into his eyes.
Not with anger.
Not with fear.
With something worse.
Certainty.
“He’s not.”
The man’s breath stopped again.
“He couldn’t come himself,” she continued softly. “So he sent me.”
A pause.
Then—
“He’s been waiting.”
The lights above flickered.
Just for a second.
But long enough.
The man looked back down at the broken watch in his hand.
Still frozen.
2:17.
The exact moment the building collapsed.
The exact moment he ran.
Slowly, his fingers tightened around it.
“Where is he?” he asked.
The girl smiled faintly.
And for the first time—
It felt wrong.
“Somewhere you already remember.”
CUT TO BLACK.
