“I just came from the Bureau,” the angel said, sliding into the passenger seat like an exhausted clerk. “The Ripple is still being processed. But…” His voice dropped. “We found something. Something you need to hear.”
Marisse stared ahead, silent.
Jax held up his tablet, its translucent screen flickering with shimmering light. What looked like woven threads danced on its surface. Gold, silver, copper weaves intertwining like fiber-optic nerves.
“Her weave,” Jax said grimly. “Rose’s thread. It still ends tonight.”
Marisse’s head snapped toward him. “What do you mean, ends?”
Jax sighed. “A mortal’s life appears in the system as a thread, like a weave of energy. It’s how we monitor continuity. We observe the length of a soul’s journey, like reading light through a prism.” He tapped the screen. “Rose’s weave, even after all this. After your intervention to create this alternate path…still cuts off at midnight.”
Marisse’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She still dies?”
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