Chapter 26
Alina
As the days passed, I shadowed Jack James from a distance, lingering just long enough for him to sense me—or wonder how I kept finding him in the crowd.
“This man is the weakest I’ve ever met,” I muttered, watching him across the cafeteria.
He sat alone, as always, hunched over his tray, shrinking into himself like he hoped to disappear.
“I bet he’s still a virgin. He lives entirely in his head.
And that hair—God, it’s flying in every direction. He looks completely unhinged.”
Still, I couldn’t deny it—if I wanted answers or had any hope of locating the Sun and Moon Daggers, this eccentric man was my only lead. Jack’s grasp of time travel was unparalleled, no matter how erratic he seemed. He was a key I couldn’t afford to lose.
I “accidentally” ran into him one afternoon outside the bookstore. He looked worse than usual—clothes wrinkled, hair even wilder than before, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused.
“Jack,” I said, feigning concern, “you don’t look so good. What’s going on?”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” he muttered, already inching away.
I reached for his arm. He flinched at my touch.
“Tell me what’s wrong.” I locked eyes with him, and for the first time, I saw it clearly—desperation. Not fear. Not madness. Desperation.
His hands shook as he yanked at his hair. Then, without another word, he spun around and stormed off across campus. I followed.
Eventually, he collapsed onto a metal bench in a park, his whole body twitching with nervous energy.
“What is it, Jack?” I asked, my voice quieter now, touched with something almost like genuine worry. “What has you like this?”
He groaned, dragging both hands down his face like he was trying to wipe away reality.
“Today’s the day,” he whispered, barely audible. “I present my research—the culmination of every drop of blood, sweat, and sleepless night I’ve poured into time travel.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said with a bright, rehearsed smile.
“Is it?” His expression darkened. “I hope it’s received well. I hope it marks the beginning of the prestige I’ve always dreamed of. I want to be respected, not just some thirty-two-year-old loser living off Top Ramen and Chinese takeout because he’s too obsessed to cook a decent meal.”
I stayed silent, letting him spiral uninterrupted.
“For years, I’ve envisioned headlines with my name—Jack James Proposes Brilliant New Concept on Time Travel.
” He waved a hand before his face like he was conjuring the words from thin air.
“But I was supposed to give the presentation in room 15B—the small, familiar one I’ve practiced dozens of times. Only now, it’s suddenly… unavailable.”
He let out a noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper.
I raised a brow, amused despite myself. “So? What’s the big deal?”
He rocked forward on the bench, eyes wide with alarm.
“The auditorium. They moved me to the damn auditorium. It’s too big.
Too… echoey. I’m afraid I’ll stand up there and my mind will go blank—completely void.
My thoughts, research, everything I’ve worked for will get swallowed up in that hollow space like it’s falling into a black hole. ”
I stared at him, barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes. This man, whose knowledge I needed more than anything, was unnerved by a change of venue. Pathetic. He was one frayed nerve away from a breakdown. Still, I had to play nice.
I conjured the softest voice I could muster and touched his shoulder. “I’m sure your dissertation will be a success.”
He blinked and turned his head toward me, as if seeing me for the first time. “You’re just saying that. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
And then, true to form, he stood and vanished down the path like he’d never been there.
I headed to my Anthro 101 class, my mind still tangled in thoughts of Jack James. As class ended, Professor Jones stepped forward and raised his voice.
“Everyone! Quick announcement,” Professor Jones said with theatrical flair. “At 4:30 P.M., in the Jacobson Hall auditorium, a grad student—Jack James—is presenting his dissertation on time travel.”
He paused, his lips twitching with amusement, before he added, “Check it out if you want a good laugh. Class dismissed.”
This was my opportunity to observe others’ reactions and learn what they thought of Jack James beyond whispers and pity.
“That Jack James,” Rick Marshall scoffed in the hallway, loudly enough to draw a few chuckles. “What a total loser.”
Monique, his ever-attached girlfriend, rolled her eyes dramatically. “Can you believe he thinks his theories are legit? Might be fun to hear him embarrass himself.” She wrapped her arm around Rick’s and pulled him toward the exit.
I followed at a distance, slipping through the flow of bodies until Jacobson Hall loomed ahead.
Inside, I found a seat in the far back corner of the auditorium.
Jack was already onstage, pacing like a man on the edge of collapse.
His steps were uneven, and every few strides he’d stop, scanning the dim room as though staring into a black hole—hoping, perhaps, it would open and swallow him whole.
A few students shuffled in, snickering under their breath as they claimed seats in the back. I remained silent, watchful.
The front rows were occupied by professors, scientists, and a handful of well-dressed officials—none of whom looked particularly eager to be there. Their expressions were stony and unreadable.
Dr. Tim Wong, the department chair, sat in the second row. His sour expression and pointed goatee gave him the look of a disgruntled billy goat. He checked his watch, sighed, and then glanced toward the exit—only to catch me staring directly at him.
I didn’t blink. I didn’t smile. I held his gaze, daring him to mock Jack and make this harder than it already was.
Then I turned my attention to Jack. He was whispering something under his breath—repeating lines, perhaps, or clinging to fragments of a speech he’d rehearsed a thousand times in the safety of his room.
Finally, he stepped to the podium, placed his hands on either side, and began.
“In 1905,” he said, voice steady but quiet, “Albert Einstein proposed the theory of special relativity. This theory suggests that photons can travel through space at a constant pace of three hundred thousand kilometers per second. Not only is this speed difficult to achieve—it is, by current understanding, impossible to surpass.”
He paused.
“Yet,” Jack continued, eyes burning with a flicker of defiance, “across the cosmos… particles are accelerating.”
“We all know the theory of special relativity, Mr. James,” Professor Rubenfield said flatly, her deep voice booming through the auditorium. Her broad shoulders and no-nonsense scowl made her look more like a linebacker than a lecturer.
“Right, right,” Jack stammered, wiping sweat from his brow as it streamed down his face in steady rivulets. “Understood. I’m just… building to my point.”
“Well, get on with it then,” she said, flicking her hand as if swatting away a gnat.
From the front row, Dr. Wong glanced at his watch again, his sigh loud enough to be heard several rows back.
Jack cleared his throat, his voice cracking slightly.
“In 1915, Einstein proposed the theory of general relativity—the idea that gravity bends the fabric of space and time, and that time moves slower or faster depending on speed and mass. This process is known as special relativistic time dilation.”
He rushed the sentence like it burned on his tongue, then forced a strained smile in Rubenfield’s direction. “I know you already know that, Professor. Just bear with me.”
Her lips compressed into a straight line.
Dr. Wong snorted.
A few students snickered from the back.
Even I, seated in the shadows, felt a secondhand wave of humiliation so intense it made my skin crawl. I almost pitied him. Almost.
“So, given these two theories,” Jack continued, voice thinning, “I began studying solar eclipses—”
A venom-laced voice interrupted.
“Wait, I’m confused,” said the woman beside Professor Rubenfield, her voice biting. Her thick glasses magnified the icy gleam in her eyes as she leaned forward, locking Jack in place with a gaze that felt like a spotlight. “You’ve gone from Einstein to… solar eclipses?”
Each syllable struck like a nail into Jack’s already crumbling composure.
He swallowed hard, tugged at his collar. His mouth opened, but the woman jabbed a finger at him before he could speak.
“You better get your facts straight before wasting our time with this nonsense.”
“Give me a chance to explain!” Jack burst out, his face flushed with desperation. “The legend of Eclipsarum Obscura: The Celestial Convergence—it’s been passed down for centuries. Surely someone here has heard of it.”
“That’s just some bullshit myth,” someone scoffed from the back.
“But it’s not!” Jack cried. He wiped his glistening forehead with a handkerchief—only to drop it onto the podium with shaking hands.
His voice rose, trembling but passionate.
“Eclipsarum Obscura is a cosmic phenomenon triggered when two massive black holes collide in the outermost reaches of the universe. As these celestial giants converge, they create a gravitational ballet—an event so powerful it warps the fabric of space and time.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd, but Jack pressed on.
“During this convergence, a unique alignment occurs—one that opens a temporal rift. It’s said that children born under this rare event are marked by the cosmos itself—chosen. They are gifted with a celestial birthright that ties them to the temporal currents unleashed by the black hole collision.”
Someone let out a loud, mocking guffaw. “You’re joking, right?”