At 4:07 p.m. the sky stuttered. For one second the sunset froze, then rewound, and the same orange cloud slid back over the same rooftop twice. Milo blinked. He'd seen the seam. Then pale words scrolled up along the horizon: WORLD_07 - scheduled for deletion in 71 hours. His phone buzzed. The screen showed the exact same words.

Milo figures the words came from somewhere, so he chases them. The text was scrolling toward the old radio tower on Hartley Hill. He grabs his bike and pedals hard, the sky flickering above him every few minutes like a video stuck on a bad loop.

Halfway up the hill a girl steps out from behind a tree. She's about Milo's age, wearing a headset, and she looks annoyed. 'You're not supposed to see the seams,' she says. 'How are you seeing the seams?' She grabs his wrist. 'Come on. We don't have long.'

Wren leads him to a hatch in the hillside. Inside is a small room with one chair and one screen. 'This is the admin seat,' she says. 'I can't use it, I'm marked as old data. But you're fresh. Sit. You might be the only one who can stop the delete.'