Prologue

Eli stood just beyond the three-point line, the ball in his left hand, dribbling in a steady rhythm. His defender hovered a foot back, waiting, eyes locked on Eli’s every move. The scoreboard flashed: 3rd Quarter, 10.3 seconds left. North Edgecombe 47, Oak Hill Academy 51.

Everything slowed when Eli was on the court. He could see the sweat bead and fall from his defender’s brow, landing on the polished hardwood. He waved off his teammate, who started toward him to set a screen. Eli didn’t need it. He could take this guy on his own—no extra defenders to force the ball out of his hands.

As the clock hit nine seconds, Eli shifted his right foot slightly, a quick feint. His defender reacted, sliding his left foot back just enough to open the smallest gap. The moment the heel touched the court, Eli struck.

He crossed hard to his right, his hips selling the move, then whipped the ball back to his left. The defender lunged, guarding air, as Eli blew past him with two strong dribbles. Near the free-throw line, he stopped on a dime, rising into a jump shot. The ball rolled off his fingertips, arching smoothly through the air.

The buzzer blared as the net snapped. End of the quarter. Oak Hill 51, North Edgecombe 49.

Jogging off the court, Eli glanced up into the stands. His parents were in their usual spot at the top of the bleachers. His mom, Emma, clapped with her trademark confident smile, while his dad, Arthur, sat next to her, nodding slowly. Eli winked up at them, and his dad broke into a wide grin. 

As he sat down, he saw one of the scouts for Duke sitting a few rows from his parents. He knew everyone wanted to know where he was going to school next year. Everywhere he went, someone had an opinion about where he should go. Coaches pitching their programs, fans telling him what they’d do in his shoes, reporters asking for a decision. He didn’t want to let anyone down—but how could he make everyone happy?

His parents had been patient, but even he could see the weariness in their eyes during the last few trips. His dad’s half-suppressed sighs when another recruiter called. His mom’s polite but clipped responses when asked for the hundredth time if Eli was leaning toward UNC.

As the 4th quarter started, Eli knew he had to be perfect now. North Edgecombe didn’t get this kind of exposure often. ESPN cameras panned across the packed gym, they were here to watch Eli, the #1 recruit in the country against the #1 team in the country. But this wasn’t just for him. A win tonight could put his teammates on scouts’ radars, maybe get them offers they wouldn’t have otherwise. Losing wasn’t an option—not tonight. 

The fourth quarter was a grind. Oak Hill never trailed, but their lead stayed tight, never more than six. With less than a minute left, Oak Hill had the ball and was bleeding the clock, up by four.

Eli crouched low, watching their point guard call the play. When the ball moved, Eli recognized it immediately. He’d seen it in film study. Timing his move perfectly, he darted into the passing lane and intercepted the ball. The gym erupted as Eli sprinted to the rim and threw down a thunderous dunk. North Edgecombe was within two.

The crowd roared as the timeout was called, Eli’s coach rallying the team into a press. When the ball was inbounded, Eli shadowed the flow of the play, waiting. His teammates trapped Oak Hill’s guard in the corner, forcing a rushed pass to the middle. Eli sprang into action, intercepting the pass—or rather forcing the guard to panic, chucking it into the stands. Another timeout.

Standing in the huddle, Eli watched his coach furiously draw up the final play. His eyes drifted to the stands, locking onto his parents. Emma stood, clapping with the crowd, while Arthur stayed seated, his eyes steady on Eli. A faint nod from his dad, and Eli returned it, their unspoken conversation spanning years.

You got this.

I got this.

Coach’s voice pulled him back. “Okay, Eli, you’re coming off a pick, top of the key. It’s your isolation. Take your man off the dribble. Let’s run the clock out and send this to overtime.”

Eli’s eyes locked on his coach’s. “We’re not going to overtime,” he said firmly. “I’m ending this now.”

The team erupted around him, shouting encouragement and slapping his back. His coach, half-grinning, shook his head. “Fine. When you hit this shot, I’m telling everyone I drew it up exactly like this.”

As Eli jogged to the court, one teammate whispered, “Bro, do you practice your one-liners?”

Eli shrugged. “Of course. Every night, motivational quote book in hand. Want to borrow it?”

The teammate squinted, unsure if Eli was joking. Eli just winked and took his position.

The ball was inbounded, and Eli sprinted along the baseline, weaving through two solid picks from his big men. He popped out at the top of the key, catching the ball on a crisp bounce pass.

The clock ticked down: 8 seconds. 7 seconds.

Eli jabbed hard with his right foot, ripping the ball to his left. His defender bit, chasing Eli’s right hip. Eli took two powerful dribbles and stepped back, just outside the arc. Everything around him slowed.

Rising for the shot, the world fell silent. The gym faded away, replaced by memories of the driveway. Hundreds, thousands of shots just like this—alone, with teammates, or one-on-one with his dad or mom.

The ball left his fingertips, spinning perfectly. Eli’s form stayed in the air a second longer, his arm extended as the buzzer sounded.

The crowd held its breath.

The ball hit the net cleanly, ripping through with a satisfying snap. For a split second, there was nothing—no noise, no movement. Then chaos erupted.

His teammates tackled him to the floor as the fans stormed the court. Hands pulled him up, slapping his back as they carried him off the hardwood. Eli’s gaze lifted to the stands, finding his parents once more.

Emma’s smile was radiant, clapping like she knew the ending all along. Arthur stood, hands on his hips, his grin wider than Eli had ever seen.

In that moment, Eli felt it deep in his chest. He was exactly where he belonged.

Chapter 1

The hum of the floor buffer echoed faintly through the empty halls of Calderwood University’s athletic complex. It was the kind of sound that could make a man feel like the last person on Earth—steady, dull, and unrelenting.

Eli Thompson guided the machine with one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. He moved down the long corridor of trophy cases, as he passed the trophies lining the hallway, his reflection flashed briefly in the glass. He turned his head quickly, eyes flicking away.

In one of the cases, a photograph of his father smiled back at him—Arthur Thompson, frozen mid-roar as he lifted the Calderwood Division II Championship Trophy over his head.

Arthur Thompson, MVP, 1998.

Eli’s gaze lingered too long this time. The hollow feeling in his chest stirred like an old injury that never quite healed. He exhaled through his nose, gripping the buffer’s handle tighter and pushing forward, noticing the glass smudged with fingerprints from visitors who’d lingered too long earlier in the day. Their faint outlines remained, as if mocking him, waiting for someone to come along and wipe them clean.

His shift had started at 10 p.m., like it did every night. The building had emptied hours ago, leaving Eli to work alone. It was better this way—no small talk, no pitying looks, no one who knew his name. Calderwood University’s custodial crew had hired him on as a night shift worker this past summer, his dad’s old teammate Mike Reynolds dropping a word to the facilities manager.

“Just a little something to get you started, kid,” Mike had said, patting him on the shoulder.

By the time Eli wheeled his cleaning cart out of the gym, the air outside had turned cool. He pulled his hoodie tighter around his shoulders and made his way across campus. Calderwood University’s campus looked beautiful under the pale glow of streetlights—ancient brick buildings, ivy-covered walls, walkways lined with old oaks. The physics building loomed ahead, its windows glowing faintly like a beacon.

Eli had only been at Calderwood for about 6 months, but it didn’t take long to figure out that the physics students were… different. Every week, they seemed to cause some kind of minor catastrophe. A blackout. A fire alarm. Once, he’d found half the lab coated in foam, like they’d tried to recreate a marshmallow explosion and failed spectacularly.

Tonight was no different. As soon as he opened the building’s front door, the faint smell of burnt plastic hit him, followed by a distant crash and a string of muffled curses. Eli sighed.

“This better not be an all-night type of clean up.”

He pushed his cart toward the lab, bracing himself for whatever mess they’d made this time. When he reached the door, the chaos inside didn’t disappoint. Smoke hung low in the air, curling like ghostly fingers. A twisted hunk of metal that had once been something scientific lay smoldering on a table. Wires dangled from the ceiling like streamers after a bad party. And in the middle of it all stood Liam, the self-proclaimed genius of the group, holding a fire extinguisher upside-down.

“Seriously?” Eli said, leaning against the doorframe. “You guys trying to invent time travel or just blow up the building?”

Six heads snapped toward him in unison. Liam grinned sheepishly and flipped the extinguisher right-side-up. “Technically, we were stabilizing a quantum field generator.”

Eli raised an eyebrow. “Looks like it worked great.”

“Minor setback,” Liam replied, waving him off. “Totally normal.”

“Normal for who?” Eli muttered, pushing his cart into the room. “Next time, warn me before you guys tear a hole in the universe. I’ll bring popcorn.”

As Eli started sweeping up debris, Sarah stepped over, hands on her hips. Her dark hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail, and her sharp eyes flicked to the mop in his hand.

“You know,” she said dryly, “you’re here so often we should just put you on the payroll. What do you say? Official physics department custodian?”

Liam snorted. “Nah, make him part of the team. He’s already more useful than Raj and Nina combined.”

“Hey!” Raj protested from across the room, where he was fiddling with the charred remains of the machine. Nina elbowed him but didn’t bother defending herself.

“Agreed,” Kelly murmured from her usual perch behind a laptop. The room went silent for a beat as everyone stared at her, shocked. Kelly rarely said more than a few words in any given day.

“Wait, Kelly agrees?” Marcus said, clutching his chest dramatically. “I think that means it’s official. Welcome to the team, Custodian Supreme.”

Eli rolled his eyes, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Great. Where do I pick up my lab coat?”

“You’d look good in one,” Marcus said, studying him. Then he tilted his head, his expression shifting. “You know, I have been thinking you look familiar.”

Eli stiffened slightly, his hands tightening on the broom handle. “Don’t think so.”

“Yeah,” Marcus pressed, narrowing his eyes. “I’m sure I’ve seen you before.”

“Yeah, in here, every time we blow something up!” Raj said. 

“Probably just recognizing the height,” Sam interrupted with a grin. “Us tall guys, man. What are you, six-four? If we’re not playing basketball, people act like it’s some kind of crime against humanity.”

The joke landed, but the atmosphere shifted. Eli froze, his jaw tightening as he focused on the floor.

Sarah noticed immediately and jumped in, her tone breezy. “Or maybe he’s an undercover spy sent by MIT to sabotage us. You know, using his height to sneak into ventilation shafts.”

Sam snorted. “Ventilation shafts?”

Sarah elbowed him lightly. “I don’t know, I am tired and need to stop watching stupid spy movies.” 

Eli, eager to deflect the attention, leaned on the broom handle and asked, “You’re all crazy smart. Like, ‘should-be-inventing-teleporters’ smart. So why are you at Calderwood? Why not MIT or somewhere with shiny labs and fancy grants?”

Marcus, perched on a stool near the table, grinned. “You think we’re not fancy enough for MIT? I’ll have you know this lab has three oscilloscopes, thank you very much.”

“And one of them actually works,” Sam added, deadpan.

Sarah smirked and leaned against the desk, crossing her arms. “Eli’s got a point, though. Calderwood’s not exactly the Ivy League. Doesn’t it bother you guys that we’re missing out on, like, golden hallways and robot butlers?”

“Yeah,” Liam said, tossing a wrench onto the cluttered workbench. “I cry myself to sleep every night over it.” He shot Eli a look. “For the record, some of us could have gone to MIT. But we chose this.” Kelly just raised her hand behind her laptop and put it back down. 

“Why?” Eli asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sarah straightened, her tone turning more serious. “Because Calderwood lets us do things those other places wouldn’t.”

“Like blow out the power grid?” Eli teased.

“Exactly,” Sarah replied with a laugh. “But seriously, it’s because of Professor Barlow. He’s… unconventional.”

“Unconventional how?” Eli asked.

“He’s weird,” Marcus interjected, spinning a screwdriver in his hand. “But the good kind of weird. Like Doc Brown from Back to the Future. You know, without the time-traveling DeLorean. Yet.”

“Barlow’s the reason we’re here,” Sarah explained. “Most places—MIT, Stanford, whatever—they’d tell us to focus on things with ‘practical applications.’ Stuff that gets grants or tech patents. But Barlow? He doesn’t care about any of that. He just wants us to push boundaries.”

Sam chimed in from the corner, where he was untangling a mess of cables. “Yeah, ‘push boundaries’ is one way to say it. He basically handed us the keys to the lab and said, ‘Go nuts.’”

“Exactly,” Sarah said, gesturing toward Sam. “That’s why Liam’s obsessed with him.”

Eli frowned, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “I figured Liam was just obsessed with himself.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Not untrue,” Nina muttered, not looking up from her soldering iron. Raj and Sam just pointed at Nina as to say, “She is correct, but also she said it.”

Liam grinned and pointed a finger at her. “Hey, I heard that. But for the record, I’m also obsessed with Barlow’s theories. He wrote this paper a few years ago about resonant frequencies and the multiverse. Blew my mind.”

“Uh-huh,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes. “It’s basically Liam’s Bible.”

Eli tilted his head. “And you? You think Barlow’s onto something?”

Sarah hesitated, her fingers drumming lightly on the desk. “I think… it’s interesting. His ideas are wild, sure, but there’s something about them that feels possible. Like he’s seeing something no one else can.”

“Or he’s insane,” Marcus offered helpfully.

“That too,” Sarah said, smirking.

Eli nodded slowly. “That’s… kind of cool. Reckless, but cool.”

“Reckless is kind of our brand,” Marcus said with a shrug.

“Pretty much,” Sam agreed, untangling the last cable and tossing it onto the table. “And honestly, if the choice is between shiny labs and this chaos, I’d pick this every time.”

Eli couldn’t help but smile. As strange as they were, this group had something rare—a shared passion that tied them together. It was something he hadn’t realized he missed.

When the lab was finally clean—or as clean as it could get—Eli wheeled his cart to the door. Before stepping out, he turned back to the group, his voice dry. “Try not to burn the place down tomorrow, huh?”

“No promises,” Liam called after him, already elbow-deep in another project. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. He was halfway across the quad when he heard it: the sharp, rhythmic beep of a truck backing up in the distance.

The sound cut through the quiet, its shrill pitch settling deep in Eli’s chest.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The faint beeping of monitors broke the silence. The fluorescent lights above burned too bright, blurring at the edges. Eli’s body felt heavy, foreign, like it wasn’t quite his anymore.

“Eli?”

The voice was familiar—Miles. His father’s best friend. Eli turned his head slowly, wincing as pain flared down his back. Miles was sitting beside the bed, his usually sharp features drawn and tired.

“Welcome back, kid,” Miles said, his voice soft.

Eli tried to speak, but his throat felt like sandpaper. “What…?”

“You’ve been out for a couple days,” Miles explained, hesitating before continuing. “You were in an accident. A bad one.”

Eli blinked, the words struggling to sink in. His memories came back in fragments: rain on the windshield, headlights, the sickening crunch of metal.

“My parents,” he rasped.

Miles’s expression shattered, and Eli knew the answer before he said it.

“I’m so sorry, Eli. They didn’t make it.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from his lungs. He stared at the ceiling, his vision blurring as hot tears slid down his face. The sound of the monitors beeped steadily, cruelly indifferent to the storm raging inside him.

Eli shook off the memory as he stepped into his apartment, his movements mechanical. The space was small, barely more than a box, with peeling wallpaper and secondhand furniture. He set his keys on the counter and grabbed a slice of leftover pizza from the fridge, tossing it into the microwave.

The low hum of the appliance filled the silence, grounding him. When it beeped, he grabbed the plate and sat on the couch, flicking on the PlayStation with a practiced motion.

The screen flared to life, bathing the room in blue light. His login screen appeared, and he stared at it for a moment. Two accounts greeted him: one with a name that felt like it belonged to someone else—EliSwish_15—and the other, the one he used now, where no one knew him: QuietPhoenix23.

The friends list was empty. All but one.

TheDungeonMaster_81. Miles.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Miles: Did you see the TikTok I sent earlier? Funniest thing you’ll see all week.

Miles: How are you holding up, kid? Don’t ghost me.

Eli picked up the phone, his thumb hovering over the screen.

After the accident, Eli’s phone had buzzed constantly. At first, it was friends, teammates, and coaches, their messages full of sympathy and encouragement.

“Let us know if you need anything, man.”

“You’ll be back stronger than ever.”

“We’re all here for you, Swish.”

Then came the reporters.

“A once-in-a-generation talent, left broken.”

“From Legend to Limping.”

“Eli Thompson: From Buzzer-Beater to Backwater.”

They swarmed the funeral, cameras flashing as Eli sat in the front row, his casted leg propped up on a chair. The pastor’s words about his parents were barely audible over the whispers and clicking shutters.

Miles had been the one to stand between him and the media, his broad shoulders shielding Eli as they left the church.

“Ignore them,” Miles had said. “They don’t deserve your story.”

But ignoring them hadn’t stopped the headlines.

Eli blinked, the screen of his phone coming back into focus. He typed out a quick reply.

Eli: Shift was fine. Heating up some pizza. Hopping on PlayStation. You getting on?

He set the phone down and logged into his new account. The lobby music filled the room, cheerful and empty.

This was his routine: work, eat, play, sleep. And if he didn’t think too much about it, it was enough. Enough to keep him from thinking about the last two years at least. 

As the months passed Eli had grown used to the chaos of the physics lab. He leaned against the doorframe, mop in hand, and watched as the group buzzed around a large, ominous-looking machine in the center of the room.

It seemed like every time Eli walked into the lab the conversations were more chaotic than the experiment that just blew up. As usual the conversation in the lab had veered into chaos again, as it always seemed to when Marcus was involved.

“Okay, so hear me out,” Marcus said, dramatically sweeping a hand toward the smoldering remnants of their experiment. “If this thing actually does what it’s supposed to, we’re basically opening a portal to another dimension, right? You know what that makes me think of?”

“Let me guess,” Sarah said without looking up from her tablet. “Something nerdy.”

Marcus grinned. “Obviously. I’m talking Planes of Existence. You know, like in D&D. Imagine if we actually end up in, like, the Shadowfell. Or better yet, Sigil. Eli, you’d love it—”

“The City of Doors,” Eli said without missing a beat, his voice calm as he swept debris into his dustpan. “Ruled by the Lady of Pain. Kind of chaotic-neutral, depending on who you ask.”

The room went dead silent.

Marcus froze, his jaw hanging open like someone had just disarmed him mid-monologue. “Wait. Hold up. You know about Sigil?”

Eli shrugged, dumping the dustpan into the trash. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Marcus repeated, his voice rising. “Dude, you just casually dropped a Lady of Pain reference like it was nothing. That’s hardcore D&D lore!”

Sam, who had been leaning against a counter, tilted his head. “You play D&D, Eli?”

Eli’s broom paused mid-sweep. His expression softened, the faintest flicker of a smile crossing his face. “Used to. Every weekend, actually.”

“No way,” Marcus said, practically bouncing. “What was your character? Were you a fighter? Paladin? Oh, wait—don’t tell me. A rogue, right?”

“Bard,” Eli said simply.

Marcus’s jaw dropped further. “Wait, wait, wait. Back up, you played a bard? What was his name?”

Eli chuckled, leaning on his broom. “Varandor the Bold. Half-elf sorcerer. Big on melodramatic speeches, terrible at picking spells.”

Sam squinted, intrigued. “Wait, like... how terrible?”

Eli shrugged. “If there was a ‘wrong’ spell for the situation, I probably cast it. Fireball in a crowded room? Check. Sleep spell on an already unconscious enemy? Check. And don’t forget the speeches,” Eli added, smirking. “Varandor didn’t fight without delivering a stirring monologue about heroism or destiny first.”

Sam grinned. “So, basically, you were the guy at the table. The one who drives everyone nuts but somehow saves the day?”

“Pretty much,” Eli said. “Though if you ask my dad, he’d tell you I almost got the party killed more times than he could count.”

“Wait, you played D&D with your dad?” Sam blurted out. 

“Every Saturday,” Eli said, leaning on his broom. “Him, his best friend Miles, and a few of Miles’s buddies. Always at Miles’s house. My dad was the Dungeon Master.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “He ran the most ridiculous campaigns—classic save-the-world stuff, but with the most unhinged NPCs you’ve ever seen. He was really good at it, though. Knew how to keep everyone engaged.”

Marcus whistled, clearly impressed. “Man, I would kill to play with someone who actually knows how to DM. Our campaigns always fall apart because Raj won’t stop trying to steal from every shopkeeper we meet.”

“I don’t try,” Raj called from the other side of the room. “I succeed.”

Marcus ignored him. “So, what happened? Why’d you stop playing?”

Eli’s grip tightened slightly on the broom handle, the humor in his expression fading. “Just... life,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter. “Things got busy, I guess.”

The room fell into an awkward silence, but Marcus, thankfully, didn’t push. “Well, for what it’s worth, you’re always welcome at our table. If we survive this experiment, anyway.”

Eli snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The tension dissolved, and the group returned to their usual banter, but Eli’s mind lingered on the memory of those Saturday nights. The warmth of the room at Miles’s house, the sound of dice clattering on the table, and his dad’s voice, weaving stories out of nothing.

Late one Thursday night, Eli had spent most of the first couple hours cleaning up after a home game. Calderwood got smoked by 50, but that didn’t stop the fans from making the stands a disaster. When Eli finished up, he almost went back to his apartment, but thought he would check on the physics lab. 

As Eli walked into the building he could already hear the group knee deep into tonight’s mishap. 

He opened the door to Sarah calling from across the room, her eyes glued to a tablet. “Okay, Marcus, double-check the input voltage, we’re not blowing another breaker tonight.”

“I did double-check it,” Marcus shot back, crouched beside a tangled mess of wires. “It’s fine.”

“You said that last time,” Sarah retorted. “And then half the lab ended up looking like a fireworks display.”

“Need me to grab the fire extinguisher?” Eli asked dryly.

“Not yet,” Sarah said, giving Liam a warning glare. “But don’t go far.”

The laughter of the group blended into a different sound—his mom’s laugh, bright and clear. The memory came unbidden, sharp and vivid.

He was on the court, ball in hand, the clock ticking down. His dad stood on the sidelines, arms crossed, watching him with that steady, assessing look he always had. His mom was in the stands, hands cupped around her mouth as she cheered.

“You’ve got this, Eli!” she called. “Show them what you’re made of!”

His dad’s voice followed, calm but firm. “Focus, Eli. Stay in the moment.”

The sharp snap of wires brought Eli back to the present. He blinked, the memory fading like mist, and found himself standing in the middle of the lab

“That was Liam’s fault,” Marcus said, pointing an accusing finger. “He’s the one who insisted on overclocking the oscillator.”

“Which worked, by the way,” Liam said from behind a cluttered workstation. “For about ten seconds, but that’s progress.”

“Progress toward what?” Raj muttered as he handed a wrench to Nina. “Electrocution?”

“No one’s getting electrocuted,” Liam said, waving him off. “This time, everything’s dialed in perfectly. We’re generating a stable quantum field.”

Eli stepped further into the room, raising an eyebrow. “Stable enough that I don’t need to call the fire department?”

“Relax, Janitor Supreme,” Liam said with a grin. “This is the culmination of months of work. We’re about to change the game.”

“Or break it,” Sarah muttered under her breath.

 “And what game are we changing?” Eli asked, his voice casual as he pushed his mop toward the far side of the room.

“Glad you asked,” Liam said, perking up. “You’re standing in the presence of the first-ever prototype for localized quantum entanglement generation.” He gestured dramatically toward the machine. “This beauty can link particles across space and time.”

Eli gave him a blank look. “In English?”

Sarah sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’re trying to create a stable wormhole.”

Eli paused, leaning on the mop. “Like… sci-fi wormholes? Jumping between places?”

“Exactly,” Liam said, beaming. “Teleportation. Instantaneous travel across vast distances. You could go from here to the other side of the planet in the blink of an eye.”

“If it works,” Sarah added, shooting Liam a pointed look. “Which it hasn’t yet.”

“It will,” Liam said confidently. “We’ve worked out all the kinks. This is the run that’s going to change everything.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Raj asked, arms crossed. “Because I don’t think I have the stomach for another ‘learning opportunity.’”

“Don’t be such a pessimist,” Liam replied, waving him off. “Great discoveries require great risks.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Nina muttered. “You’re not the one fixing the wires every time this thing melts down.”

“Speaking of wires,” Sarah cut in, pointing toward Marcus. “Did you reconnect the auxiliary output to the regulator?”

“Almost,” Marcus said, fumbling with the cables. “But if someone would let me breathe for five seconds—”

“Hey, tall guy!” Liam called out, interrupting. “Can you grab the spare cables from the top shelf? We’re running low.”

Eli sighed but set down the mop, heading toward the shelf. As he handed over the cables, he caught himself watching the group. There was something strangely familiar about their dynamic—the way they bickered like siblings but still worked seamlessly together.

It reminded him of his old team. The way his teammates used to yell at each other on the court but always had each other’s backs when it counted. A pang of something sharp and hollow settled in his chest, and he turned away quickly, focusing on the cables.

“Uh, is it supposed to hum like that?” he asked, glancing at the machine as it began to emit a low, vibrating sound.

“Yes,” Liam said, adjusting a dial. “That’s the entanglement field stabilizing.”

“It’s fine,” Sarah said, though she was watching the screen of her tablet like a hawk. “As long as the power stays consistent—”

Eli raised an eyebrow. “And what happens if it doesn’t work?”

“Best case?” Sarah said. “The field collapses, and we lose power to half the building.”

“And worst case?”

“Let’s not think about that,” Liam said, his grin widening.

Sarah sighed and shot Eli an apologetic glance. “This is why I double-check everything. Liam’s idea of preparation is plugging things in and hoping for the best.”

“Hey, it’s called taking risks,” Liam replied. “That’s how science works.”

“That’s how lawsuits work,” Marcus muttered.

Kelly cleared her throat, her fingers still flying over the keyboard. “The sync’s ready, but the system’s detecting instability in the containment field.”

“See?” Sarah gestured toward the console. “What did I say?”

Liam waved her off, leaning over Kelly’s shoulder to look at the screen. “It’s just noise. Once we fire it up, the system will self-correct.”

“Famous last words,” Marcus said under his breath.

Eli stepped further into the room, watching the glowing machine in the center. The humming noise it emitted seemed to resonate in his chest, growing louder with each passing second. “You sure this thing is safe?”

“Totally,” Liam said.

“Probably,” Marcus added with a smirk.

“Statistically, yes,” Kelly murmured without looking up.

Eli crossed his arms, his skepticism mounting. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

“Relax,” Liam said, flashing him a grin. “You’re about to witness history. This is going to work.”

“It has to,” Sarah muttered, her voice quieter. She stared at the machine, her expression tense. “If it doesn’t, we’ve wasted months of work—and funding we’re never getting back.”

The group fell silent as Kelly hit a final key. The hum of the machine deepened, vibrating low and steady like a giant heartbeat. The glowing core pulsed with a rhythmic light, its greenish hue casting sharp, eerie shadows on the walls. Eli took a step back instinctively, his gut twisting in warning. Something about the way the air seemed to thrum around him set his teeth on edge.

“Field’s stabilizing,” Kelly reported, her voice clipped and tense. “Energy levels at seventy percent.”

Eli’s eyes darted to the machine. The core was alive now, shimmering like molten glass trapped in a web of wires and steel. Its light glinted off the sweat on Liam’s forehead as he stood, hands poised over the controls, a manic grin spreading across his face.

“Boost it to eighty,” Liam said.

Sarah’s head snapped up. “No. Seventy’s the threshold. Any higher, and we risk—”

“Just trust me,” Liam interrupted, his hand already moving toward the lever on the console.

“Don’t you dare—” Sarah started, her voice rising with urgency, but it was too late.

The lever clicked into place with a metallic thunk, and the machine roared to life. The hum shifted into a low, guttural drone that rattled Eli’s bones. The core flared, flooding the room with a searing, green-white light that made him squint against its intensity. Shadows flickered wildly across the walls like ghostly figures caught in a storm.

“Energy levels climbing—fast!” Kelly shouted over the noise. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, her face illuminated by the sickly glow of the monitor. “We’re at ninety percent! Feedback’s spiking!”

“Containment field destabilizing!” Kelly’s voice cracked with panic. “The feedback loop’s overloading!”

The smell hit Eli next—a sharp, acrid tang of burning wires mixed with the metallic scent of heated steel. It filled his nose and throat, making it hard to breathe. Sparks erupted from a nearby console, showering the floor in orange and white embers.

“I told you this would happen!” Sarah snapped, frantically typing on her own console. Her hands trembled as she barked commands into the keyboard. “Liam, shut it down! Now!”

Liam didn’t move. He stared at the core, transfixed by the swirling energy within it. The pulsing light had turned erratic, flashing faster and brighter, the colors shifting wildly from green to yellow to an ominous red.

“Guys,” Eli shouted, his voice tight with alarm. “This thing doesn’t look stable—”

The machine screamed, a piercing whine that shot through the air like a knife, making Eli clap his hands over his ears. The floor beneath him shuddered, and the vibrations traveled up through his legs, shaking him to his core. Lights overhead flickered and dimmed as the power in the room struggled to keep up with the machine’s demands.

A loud crack split the air, deafening and sharp, as if a massive tree had been snapped in half. The core pulsed violently, and arcs of blue electricity shot out from its surface, striking the walls and equipment. The acrid smell of ozone filled the room, sharp and biting.

“Shut it down!” Sarah screamed, her voice barely audible over the chaos.

“The power is shut down!” Kelly shouted back, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “It’s pulling power from someplace else!”

Eli stumbled backward, his instincts screaming at him to run, but his legs felt heavy, rooted to the vibrating floor. His eyes stayed locked on the core, now a swirling storm of light and shadow, spinning faster and faster, growing brighter with each pulse.

The last thing he saw was the core flaring brighter than the sun, a blinding white-hot burst that swallowed the room. The heat was unbearable, feeling as his skin was going to burn off, the light burned into his retinas, even as he squeezed his eyes shut.

As the blinding light from the experiment engulfed him, another memory surged forward, sharp and inescapable.

Rain streaked the windshield, each drop illuminated by the car’s headlights as they snaked around the curves of the road. The wipers worked overtime, swiping at the rain hammering against the glass. Inside, the warmth of his parents’ voices filled the small space, a contrast to the storm outside.

“You’re going to have to pick eventually, you know,” his dad said, his voice calm but edged with impatience. His hands gripped the steering wheel firmly, his gaze fixed on the slick road ahead. “Putting this off doesn’t help anyone, Eli. Least of all you.”

Eli leaned back in his seat, staring at the raindrops racing each other across the window. “I know, Dad. I just… I’m thinking about it, okay?”

His mom, sitting in the passenger seat, glanced back at him with her usual calm smile. “It doesn’t matter where you play, sweetheart,” Emma said gently. “You’ll do great no matter school you pick. Pick a school that feels right for you.”

“Your mom’s right,” his dad said after a beat, letting out a long sigh. His grip on the wheel relaxed slightly. “I just want you to go where you want to go. Be where you want to be. That’s all, Eli.”

Eli looked away from the window and met his dad’s eyes in the rearview mirror. The sincerity in his voice hit him harder than he expected. “I know, Dad. Thanks.”

“You know,” Arthur began, glancing at Eli in the rearview mirror, his tone casual but teasing, “what about Calderwood? You know they could use you.”

Eli met his mom’s eyes, and she rolled hers, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter.

“Dad,” Eli said, dragging out the word like it was a chore, “they haven’t won more than ten games since you left there. Are they even still Division II?”

“That hurts,” Arthur replied, clutching his chest with mock offense. “I’ll have you know, we used to be the pride of the conference.”

Emma snorted, covering her mouth as laughter bubbled up. “Used to be. Arthur, that was twenty years ago. Let it go.”

Eli couldn’t help but laugh, the sound joining his mom’s. Arthur gave an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head like a man wronged. “No respect for history,” he muttered, but his lips twitched with a grin. “Fine, go to a small school like UNC and live in your mother’s shadow.” Arthur mumbled to loud enough so they both could hear it. Another round of laughter broke out and this time Arthur couldn’t help but join in. 

The car felt like a bubble of light and joy in the middle of the storm.

Then the headlights appeared—blinding and fast, cutting through the rain as the car rounded a bend in the road.

“Arthur!” Emma’s scream cut through the laughter, raw with panic.

“Hold on!” Arthur shouted, his voice sharp as his hands gripped the wheel.

The tires skidded on the slick pavement, the car jerking sideways as the rain hammered down. The light grew impossibly bright, and the deafening sound of metal folding tore through the night.

And then…. nothing.