"Ava, open the gate—time to go home."
"Extraction link active," Ava said. "Ship docking in three. Playback ready."
Colette's fingers hovered over the capsule release. Her mouth was dry. She didn't say anything else.
"Play chapel feed," she ordered.
Light on the capsule wall slid into panels. The chapel feed filled the air with dust and glass—ruined pews, a collapsed altar, rain threading through a broken stained window. Baylor Cole stood at the center like a statue that had been carrying a storm.
"Colette," he said on the chapel audio. His voice didn't tremble. It had always been that way—flat and dangerous. "You walked into my city and pretended to reform me. What do you want now? Mercy? A medal?"
"I want the timeline intact," she said. She was kneeling three meters away, hands bloody. She was smiling when she spoke, which made the words colder. "You vanish, or the Bureau loses more than a building."
Baylor laughed. "You still think you can bargain. You saved a monster and called it a job well done. People will remember who you really are."
"You mean Kristina's feed and Sebastian's speeches? They already remembered." Colette spat the name. Her tone had the tiny edge of someone who'd already won the verbal skirmish. "I'm here for the contract. Then I get retired, money in a vault, and a real bed."
"You won't get a bed," Baylor said. "I won't let you
