By Wednesday morning, Boston had officially lost its collective mind.
The crack in the sky—now impossible to ignore—hung over the city like a scar. Not quite storm, not quite aurora. It stretched wide across the horizon, glowing faintly, occasionally flickering as if the world's graphics card was glitching.
And worse: clocks everywhere were broken.
Digital, analog, atomic—didn't matter. Some ran backwards. Others spun like roulette wheels. Mara's phone stubbornly insisted it was still Tuesday morning, despite the fact that her half-empty fridge told a different story.
She shoved aside a carton of milk (already spoiled) and muttered, "So much for meal prep."
Outside, sirens wailed. The news anchors on Tv broadcasts that looped and reset without warning—offered nothing useful. One channel had an expert explaining quantum anomalies. Another claimed it was divine punishment. A third, her personal favourite, featured a man selling "protective helmets" made of tin foil and bicycle parts.
Mara switched it off before her brain melted.
She grabbed her jacket and headed outside. The streets looked like something out of a disaster film—half-empty, half-chaotic. Some people were still clinging to normalcy, marching off to work in stiff suits like time itself hadn't fractured. Others were panicking in alleys, shouting about portals and prophecies.
And then there were the opportunists: street vendors hawking glow sticks, cheap "End of the World Souvenirs," and bottled water for triple the price. Humanity, Mara thought dryly, could monetize literally anything.
"Excuse me, miss!" one man called, waving a silver trinket at her. "Authentic sky-crack charm, guaranteed to ward off—"
She waved him off. "Buddy, if jewelry could fix this, we'd all be fine already."
The man scowled and moved on to his next victim.
Mara kept walking, her boots crunching on litter-strewn pavement. She wasn't sure where she was going—she just knew she couldn't stay cooped up in her apartment watching the world unravel.
By the time she reached Copley Square, a crowd had gathered. Dozens of people stood frozen, staring upward, their faces bathed in ghostly silver light. Mara followed their gaze.
The crack was pulsing again. Wider. Brighter.
And for the first time, she saw something move inside it.
Not a plane. Not lightning. Something darker—like shadows swimming beneath glass. The crack rippled, and for a second, Mara swore she saw a hand press against it from the other side. Long fingers. Too many joints.
She blinked, and it was gone.
A shiver crept down her spine. She hugged her jacket tighter and muttered under her breath, "Nope. No thank you. Cancel the apocalypse, please."
The crowd began to murmur nervously. Some dropped to their knees in prayer. Others lifted their phones, trying to record. Mara, in her usual way, cracked a smile she didn't feel.
"Great," she said out loud. "Sky's broken, monsters might be moving in, and I didn't even get breakfast. Figures."
A voice answered beside her.
"You think this is funny?"
Mara turned. A tall man in his thirties stood there, his face shadowed by the crack's glow. He wore a battered leather jacket and carried a duffel bag that looked far too heavy to be normal luggage. His eyes were sharp, watchful—like he'd been waiting for this moment his entire life.
Mara raised a brow. "Not funny. Just… absurd. And absurdity deserves commentary."
He didn't smile. "This isn't absurd. This is the beginning."
"Oh, good," Mara said, rolling her eyes. "Another prophet."
"I'm not a prophet." His gaze flicked upward. "But I've seen this before."
That made her pause. She studied him more carefully now. He didn't look crazy—not exactly. More like someone running on pure adrenaline. And the way he held that duffel bag…
"Name?" she asked.
"Jonah."
"Mara."
"Dr. Mara Okoye?"
She stiffened. "Do I know you?"
"No," Jonah said. "But I know you."
Her stomach dropped. Not the answer she wanted.
Before she could press him further, the ground shook. Not much—just enough to rattle windows, send a few pigeons screeching into the air. But it came from the crack. As if the sky itself had growled.
The crowd scattered, shrieking. Mara instinctively stepped back, shielding her head as light flared above them. Jonah grabbed her arm.
"You need to come with me," he said, urgent now.
Mara yanked free. "Excuse me? I don't even know you!"
"You will," he said. "Soon. And if you want to survive what's coming, you'll listen."
Above them, the crack widened with a sound like breaking glass. And this time, when Mara looked up, she didn't just see shadows.
She saw an eye.
Huge. Black. Unblinking. Watching the city like a child peering into a snow globe.
The crowd screamed. Mara felt her stomach twist. Jonah's grip found her arm again—firmer this time, almost desperate.
"Move," he ordered.
Mara hesitated, sarcasm caught in her throat. But when the eye blinked—when the silver light spilled down like a spotlight searching for prey—she realized that for once, jokes wouldn't save her.
She ran.