The machine in the basement is just a chair, a screen, and a thin needle of cold blue light. Mara built it from her dad's old notes after the funerals. Seven times this week she has watched her brother Eli die. Every loop ends the same way: the river behind the highway takes him before she can shout his name. Tonight the screen shows a glowing thread for each day. One thread is Saturday afternoon. She can cut it like a loose stitch. Her hand hovers over the light.

Before Mara touches anything, footsteps thump down the basement stairs. It's Eli, alive, holding a flashlight. 'I heard the humming again,' he says. He stares at the chair and the screen and the threads of light. 'Mara. What is this thing? And why does it have my name on it?'

Mara makes a choice. She won't hide the machine from him anymore. 'Sit in the chair,' she says. 'I'll show you the loops. You need to see how you die, so we can stop it together.' Eli swallows hard, then climbs into the chair. The needle of light swings toward him.

The screen replays the river over and over for Eli. He watches himself die seven ways and goes very quiet. Then he points at one loop the others missed. In that version, he's not falling. He's jumping in after something. 'Mara,' he whispers, 'in that one, I'm trying to save you. You're in the water first.' They stare at each other. Then Eli reaches over and shuts the machine off. 'No more loops,' he says. 'We just both stay away from that river. Together.' And they do.