Bloom sat cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through her phone with the half-aware focus of someone more lost in thought than engaged in the glowing screen. Across the room, I was perched in front of my computer, immersed in a video game, my fingers hammering the keyboard with the rhythm of battle. It had been a week since we returned from Brazil, but the memories of that trip lingered like the fading echoes of a nightmare we couldn't quite forget.

The doorbell rang. The sharp, intrusive chime cut through the house like a warning. Mom answered it, her voice carrying faintly to our room.

"Can I help you?" she asked, a tinge of apprehension in her tone.

"Yes, ma'am. My name is Agent Coleman," the man replied, his voice cool and authoritative. "I'm with the FBI. I need to speak with Jamie and Bloom."

I froze mid-game. "Jamie and Bloom?" I mouthed to Bloom, who set her phone down, her brows furrowing.

"Are they in trouble?" Mom asked, her voice higher now.

I stood and crept toward the door, curiosity outweighing caution. As I stepped into the hallway, I saw him—a man in a dark suit, his tie too neat, his expression too neutral. His presence felt like a storm cloud waiting to break.

"Hello, young lady," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scanned my face. "Are you Jamie or Bloom?"

"Jamie," I replied, my voice cautious.

"Agent Coleman, FBI," he said, holding out a badge for a fleeting moment. "I'm sorry to intrude, but we need your help."

Bloom appeared behind me, her gaze sharp and wary. "What kind of help?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

"You must be Bloom," Coleman said with a faint nod, his gaze flicking between us. "You two are uniquely qualified to assist us with something... unprecedented."

"Unprecedented how?" I asked, suspicion lacing my words.

His jaw tightened, as though he didn't want to say it aloud. "You're familiar with the machine, aren't you? The one that... changed you."

I felt my stomach drop. The machine. The cursed contraption that started this whole thing. The machine that had rewritten the very fabric of our lives, turning us into someone we hadn't chosen to be.

"Oh, great," I muttered, my voice dripping with dread.

Coleman continued, his expression grim. "We've discovered evidence suggesting there are more of these machines. Several, in fact, scattered in places we're only beginning to uncover. And they've started activating."

Bloom's face turned pale. "Activating? What does that mean?"

"It means other children are being affected, just like you two," he said. "Lives are being upended. Futures rewritten. And we have no idea who's behind it or why."

"So you want us to help you find them?" I asked, my voice tinged with disbelief.

"Yes... and no," Coleman said. His eyes darkened, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something—fear? "We need your insight, your memories, anything that can help us track these machines before they fall into the wrong hands. But there's more to it than that."

"What do you mean?" Bloom asked, stepping closer, her voice low and tight.

He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as though expecting someone—or something—to be there. "The machine you encountered wasn't just a prototype. It was a beacon. Whoever activated it knew you were there. They wanted you to find it."

"What?" I whispered, my blood turning cold.

Coleman's gaze sharpened. "Do you remember Louis? The man who kidnapped you both?"

Bloom stiffened beside me. The name alone was enough to bring back a flood of memories—his cold eyes, the metallic clinking of chains, the smug smirk he wore even as he was led away in handcuffs. Louis had been the one behind the machine, orchestrating its horrifying purpose, and though he was now in prison, the damage he'd done remained.

"Yeah, we remember," Bloom said, her voice ice.

"Well, Louis may be locked up, but his network isn't. He had people—people who believed in what he was doing, people who were willing to take over where he left off. We suspect they've continued his work, building more machines, spreading them, and targeting children."

A chill swept over me. "So, this is his doing? Even from prison?"

Coleman nodded grimly. "Louis may not be pulling the strings directly, but his associates are still out there, and they're organized. They're using his methods, his technology, and now that we've traced some of these machines, we're finding patterns. These aren't random incidents. They're calculated."

The room fell into a suffocating silence. My mind raced, dredging up memories of the machine's cold metal surface, its ominous hum, the blinding flash of light that changed everything.

"But why us?" Bloom finally asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Coleman's expression hardened. "That's what we're trying to figure out. But for now, you're the only ones who've survived it. You've been through it and come out the other side. That makes you invaluable."

Outside, a car engine rumbled softly, and a shadow moved across the window. Bloom glanced at me, her eyes filled with unspoken questions, and I knew mine mirrored hers. Whatever this was, it was far from over.

"Will you help us?" Coleman asked, his tone almost pleading now.

I looked at Bloom, and she looked at me. The weight of the past week, the strangeness of our new lives, and the looming uncertainty of what lay ahead pressed down on us. Finally, I nodded, the words leaving my lips before I could second-guess them.

"We don't have a choice, do we?"