The rain never stops in the Sump. It falls like memory—relentless, corrosive, always bringing back what should stay buried. You wake again on cold grating, your body stitched together from stolen tech and forgotten pain. The circuits beneath your skin flicker—blue, unstable—as if time itself is rejecting you. You are Marie, the girl who rewinds death but can’t escape the past. Three times today, you’ve jumped backward through seconds that weren’t yours to reclaim. And each time, you return less whole. Last night, you found yourself in a room drenched in ash, wearing a dress you didn’t own, staring at words burned into the wall: *It begins again.* Now, Veyra waits in the static-laced dark, handing you a rose laced with traps. Dren is coming. The Fracture is widening. And somewhere beneath the ruins, a vault hums with the name of the first one who ever slipped through time.