The backyard of Tylor's Victorian home glowed faintly under the October moon, the new fracture—a jagged tear in reality—pulsing with violet light that cast eerie shadows across the oak tree's golden leaves. Tylor stood at its edge, Elena's journal clutched in one hand, its warning about the Chronos Collective's residual fracture energy echoing in his mind. Amaira hovered close, her pigtails tied with ribbons, her flashlight trembling as it illuminated the fracture's shimmering surface, her drawing of their family tucked safely in her pocket. Kayla knelt beside a scavenged drive, its screen displaying Nexus data—outpost locations and Clara Vey's name—her green eyes sharp with the weight of her fracture-linked dreams, now stirring with visions of this very rift. The night was still, their altered 2025 fragile, the Collective's reach a shadow they couldn't outrun.
"It's growing," Kayla said, her voice low, studying the fracture's edges, which flickered with glimpses of 2045—the Hub's ruins, a fleeting shadow of the Chronarch. Her mother Sarah Vey's betrayal of the Collective, and her aunt Clara's cold ambition, fueled her resolve. "The Nexus overload must've triggered it. If we don't close it, it could unravel this timeline."
Amaira's small hand gripped Tylor's, her hazel eyes wide but brave. "Like when I disappeared?" she asked, the red balloon of her abductions—her brother's guilt—lingering in her voice. Tylor's chest tightened, the memory of failing her two years ago sharp. "Not this time, Mai," he said, his voice firm, brushing her hair. "We'll fix it."
The fracture hummed, a low pulse that drew Tylor's attention to the oak's roots, where the grass shimmered unnaturally. He dug with a scavenged pipe, unearthing a buried device—a sleek, disc-shaped Collective failsafe, its spiral symbol glowing, wired to the fracture's energy. Kayla's drive beeped, recognizing it. "It's a temporal anchor," she said, her fingers racing across the screen. "The Collective hid these to stabilize new fractures. If we destroy it, the fracture might collapse—but it could also widen it."
Amaira knelt, her flashlight catching a faint inscription on the disc: Nexus Protocol: Vey Directive. "It's from her," she said, meaning Clara, her puzzle-solving instinct sharp. "She's trying to hurt us." Her voice trembled, but her eyes met Tylor's, trusting him to lead.
Tylor's jaw clenched, his mother Elena's sacrifice in the Hub and his father Daniel's prison warning—They don't forgive—driving him. Lila's death, a wound still raw, pushed him to act. "We can't let Clara win," he said, gripping the pipe. He hesitated, the fracture's vision of 2045 showing the Chronarch's silhouette—his defeated future self—flickering, as if time wasn't done with him.
Kayla's dreams surged, her hand shaking as she touched the disc. "I see it," she whispered, her voice distant. "Clara's at another outpost, powering these anchors. If we break this, she'll know where we are." Her eyes met Tylor's, fierce. "But we have to try."
Before they could act, the fracture flared, its violet light surging, and a drone—Collective-made, sleeker than the Nexus's—emerged, its red eye locking onto Amaira. Tylor swung the pipe, smashing its hull, sparks flying, but another appeared, its beam grazing Kayla's arm. She gasped, dropping the drive, but Amaira darted forward, grabbing it, her small frame dodging a beam. "Got it!" she cried, tossing it to Kayla.
Kayla caught it, rerouting the disc's energy with a scavenged tool, her voice urgent. "Overloading it—now!" Tylor slammed the pipe into the disc, its glow fracturing, the fracture's hum spiking. The ground shook, the violet light collapsing inward, sealing the rift—but not before a final vision flashed: Clara Vey in a lab, smiling, a new fracture forming behind her.
The backyard stilled, the oak's leaves rustling in the moonlight. Amaira clung to Tylor, her flashlight dimming, her voice small. "Is it gone?" Kayla checked the drive, its outpost list intact. "For now," she said, her arm bloodied but her eyes blazing. "Clara's still out there. We need to find her."
Tylor held Amaira close, Elena's journal heavy in his hand, their family—forged in the Hub, tempered by Lila's loss—unbroken. The fracture was sealed, but Clara's network waited, its call a challenge they'd answer. With Kayla's fire and Amaira's courage, Tylor knew they'd hunt the Collective, protecting their fragile 2025, no matter what time demanded.