PART 2: THE MINUTE THAT WOULD NOT PASS

```[ZUKIE – PERSONAL LOG

02:17 AM

UNSENT]```

`I am writing this instead of sleeping.`

`Sleep would imply continuity.`

Zukie sits on the edge of her bed, shoes still on, coat folded with unnecessary precision beside her. The room is dark except for the thin blue glow of her phone, which she hasn’t unlocked in several minutes.

Her breathing is shallow. Measured. Counted.

In.

Two.

Three.

Out!!!

She presses her thumb into the mattress, grounding herself in the texture—the slight tear in the fabric near the seam, the grit of something long-forgotten.

The apartment clock on her wall reads 02:17.

It has read 02:17 since she came home.

She swallows.

```[INTERNAL NOTE – ZUKIE]

Trauma can distort time perception.

But clocks don’t share hallucinations.```

She stands abruptly, the movement sharp enough to make her dizzy. Walks to the clock. Puts her ear near it.

Tick.

Tick.

Regular!!!

She steps back.

Checks her phone.

02:17 AM.

No notifications.

No missed calls.

No system alerts.

Her skin prickles anyway, like she’s missed something important by seconds she can’t access.

````[CUT – POLICE DATABASE

AUTO-QUERY

02:17:09 AM]````

`UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS ATTEMPT DETECTED`

`NODE: ARCHIVAL / DEEP`

``USER: ████████``

``STATUS: DENIED``

Zukie doesn’t see this.

Not yet.

She sits again. Opens her notebook. Pen uncaps with a soft click that feels too loud.

She writes:Elias Morren did not die alone.

The pen hesitates.!!

She adds:He may not have died at all.

Her hand trembles. She presses harder, grounding herself in the pressure until the paper dents.

•

```[TRANSCRIPT FRAGMENT – UNKNOWN ORIGIN]```

``INTERVIEW ROOM A``

``TIMESTAMP: 11:39 PM``

INTERROGATOR:Say it again!!??

ELIAS MORREN:I told you. I already lived this minute.

INTERROGATOR:You’re saying you’ve been here before!!??

(Pause. Breathing audible.)

ELIAS:No,I’m saying I never left.!!!!

Zukie jerks upright.

Her notebook slides off her lap, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Her heart is racing now, uncontrolled.

Zukie: …What the hell was that!!??

She scans the room.

Nothing.

No sound. No screens active.

Her phone lights up.

A single notification.

```[METROPOLITAN POLICE DATABASE]

AUTO-SYNC COMPLETE```

Zukie’s fingers hover before she unlocks it.

Her reflection in the screen looks… delayed. Like it finishes blinking a fraction too late.

She unlocks.

A new file sits in her drafts.

``SOURCE: UNKNOWN

TITLE: 441-S / SUPPLEMENTAL``

She never created it.

Her pulse thuds in her ears.

Zukie: No. No, no—

She opens it anyway.

``SUPPLEMENTAL RECORD – CASE 441-S

ACCESS LEVEL: ABOVE CLEARANCE

VIEWONLY

SUBJECT: Elias Morren

STATUS: TEMPORALLY UNRESOLVED``

Zukie’s breath leaves her in a slow, involuntary exhale.

Zukie:That’s not a status.

She scrolls.

The text doesn’t move smoothly. It lags, like

it’s waiting for her eyes to catch up.

``[INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT–PARTIAL]``

INTERROGATOR:Why did you poison yourself, Elias?

ELIAS:I didn’t.!!!

INTERROGATOR:

The glass—

ELIAS: —was already there.

(Long silence.)

INTERROGATOR:Already where?

ELIAS:On the table.

On the report.

On the timeline.

(Breathing accelerates.)

ELIAS:You think I drank it.

But I remember placing it after.!!!

Zukie’s fingers curl tightly around the phone.

Her mind races, assembling possibilities—contamination, fabrication, stress-induced hallucination—but none of them explain the timing.

Zukie:Who is interrogating him?

She scrolls up.

Every reference to the interrogator is blacked out.

Not redacted.

Missing.

```[POV FRACTURE – ELIAS]```

The room smells like antiseptic and old paper.

Elias’s hands are on the table.

They’re steady.

That’s how he knows something is wrong.

He should be shaking.

He looks at the clock on the wall.

11:39 PM.

It has been 11:39 PM for a very long time.

He speaks carefully now, like choosing the wrong word might reset something.

ELIAS:She’s close, isn’t she?

Silence.

ELIAS:The one who notices things.

The lights hum.

He smiles faintly.

Not relief.

Recognition.

```[ZUKIE – PRESENT]```

Zukie’s stomach twists.

She feels it then—not fear exactly, but a pressure, like time itself has leaned closer to inspect her.

Her phone vibrates.

Once.

A new line appears at the bottom of the supplemental file.

ADDENDUM:Observer interference detected.

Her mouth goes dry.

Zukie:Observer!!??

She laughs softly, once. The sound cracks halfway through.

Zukie:I’m not—

The word human almost comes out.

She stops herself.

Her apartment clock ticks.

Once.

Twice.

Then—

Stops!!!!

```[SYSTEM LOG – BLACK MERIDIAN NODE

ACTIVE]

ANCHOR POINT SHIFTING

OBSERVER: ZUKIE

STATUS: UNREGISTERED```

Zukie doesn’t see the log.

She feels it.

A subtle vertigo. Like standing up too fast, except she hasn’t moved.

Her phone screen dims.

Before it goes dark, one final line renders.

ELIAS MORREN:If you come back to the apartment tomorrow,don’t knock!!

You already didn’t.

Zukie’s phone shuts off.

The room is silent.

The clock does not resume ticking.

She sits very still, aware—suddenly, terribly—that time around her is no longer flowing forward.

It is waiting.

•

END OF PART 2

•

Next in Part 3:

|

•• Zukie returns to Apartment 9C—and arrives before herself

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