Lena Voss hunched over in the Nevada bunker's data lab. The air was stale. Her laptop churned through rift data. She hadn't slept in two days fueled by her daily 6 can dose of Redbull. Her glasses reflected the purple glow of her screen. Kai's #PurpleLightning posts gnawed at her. His healed scar, that purple mist curling over smooth skin, stuck in her mind. He was the anomaly. Her maps screamed it. The rifts were outrunning her.
A new dataset blinked onto her screen. It came from a Tulsa rift. The rift had spit goblins before sealing itself. Its energy signature spiked in her graphs. Lena squinted. The spike wasn't raw chaos. It pulsed at specific frequencies. They were rhythmic, like a cosmic metronome. She cross-checked Ohio and Nevada rifts. The pattern held. Each rift vibrated at distinct bands. They suggested order. They whispered mathematics beyond her astrophysics PhD.
"Multi-dimensional," she muttered. Her heart kicked. The frequencies weren't static. They aligned with equations she'd skimmed in theoretical journals. Wormholes. Extra dimensions. String theory. Her expertise capped at black holes and stellar orbits. String theory was a nerd's fever dream. She needed Milo.
Milo Kekoa, her assistant at Mauna Kea, was a 26-year-old string theory gremlin. He was all wiry limbs, chipped glasses, and a mouth that never stopped. He'd minored in string theory at Caltech. He'd yammered about vibrating strings and hidden dimensions while spilling coffee on her telescope logs. She'd ignored him then. Now, his obnoxious brain was her only shot. She opened a secure line on her burner laptop. She pinged Milo's encrypted chat.
"StarMapper: Awake? Need your galaxy-sized ego."
His reply popped up in three seconds. "Holy shit! She's alive! News here is you got hitched and ditched us. Isn't it past your bedtime? What's cooking? Alien invasion?"
Lena's fingers flew. "Rifts. Frequencies. Structured vibrations. Multi-dimensional math. Your string theory fetish might save us. Can you model this?"
Milo's response was a novella. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Rifts doing the cosmic cha-cha? Structured vibes? You're speaking my love language, Voss. Send the data. I'll make those frequencies sing. Or scream. Depends on my coffee intake."
Lena's jaw tightened. Sending data risked Veilwatch's surveillance. Mara's goons tracked her every keystroke. She needed Milo here, not in Hawaii. She needed his sarcastic chaos in the bunker. She closed the chat. She stood. Her boots clicked on the concrete. She marched to Mara's office.
Mara Solis leaned back in her chair. The command room was a fortress of monitors and steel. Her dark eyes dissected Lena. Her healer's hands, capable of knitting flesh or firing a gun, rested on the desk. Lena stood tall. She gripped her tablet. Her data was her shield.
"You look like death, Voss," Mara said. Her voice was velvet over a blade. "What's worth dragging me from my coffee?"
Lena didn't blink. "The rifts aren't just energy spikes. They're emitting frequencies. Precise, structured vibrations. I've mapped them from Ohio, Tulsa, Nevada. They point to multi-dimensional mathematics. Wormhole-like structures. I'm not a string theorist. I need an expert."
Mara's brow lifted. "String theory? That's fringe. Except nothing surprises me now. Go ahead."
Lena tapped her tablet. A graph bloomed. It showed pulsing frequency bands. "These rifts aren't random tears. Their energy vibrates at specific intervals. It's like they're tuned to extra dimensions. String theory says reality's built from one-dimensional strings. They vibrate at different frequencies. Those vibrations shape particles, forces, even dimensions. Most dimensions are curled up, smaller than atoms. These rift frequencies could be strings resonating across those dimensions. They might stabilize wormholes. Kai's threads, his multi-spectral powers, match these bands. He's amplifying them somehow. His powers could unlock the rifts' structure."
Mara's lips curled. Her eyes gleamed with hunger. "You're saying the anomaly could manipulate these rifts? Not just kill their monsters?"
Lena nodded. She masked her dread. "Possibly. I can't solve the math alone. My assistant, Milo Kekoa, minored in string theory. He's at Mauna Kea. He can model these frequencies. He can test if the rifts are wormholes. If I'm right, you'll have a blueprint to the nature of these rifts. You'll have what you covet."
Mara leaned forward. Her voice was a low challenge. "Why your assistant? Why not a specialist? I could pull a string theory PhD from MIT or CERN. Someone with credentials."
Lena's grip on her tablet tightened. She'd anticipated this. "A specialist would be trouble. They're high-profile, tied to institutions. They'd ask questions. They'd leak to journals or rivals. Veilwatch's secrecy would be at risk. Milo's a nobody. He's off the radar. He's loyal to me, not some academic clique. He's worked my data for years. He knows my methods, my maps. He's already halfway to the answer. Plus, he's a pain in the ass but motivated. He'll dive into this like it's a sci-fi convention. A specialist would drag their feet. They'd demand grants or glory. Milo's here to geek out and get it done."
Mara leaned forward. Her voice was a low purr. "You're playing a dangerous game, Voss. I could snatch your assistant. Lock him in a cell."
Lena's spine stiffened. "You could. Milo's a civilian. He's loyal to me. Scare him, and he'll troll you with bad code and worse attitude. His brain's the prize. Let me recruit him. He'll come willingly. He'll work faster here, with me."
Mara's gaze bored into her. The room's hum grew louder. Finally, Mara nodded. "Convince him. I'll send a jet. He's here by dawn, or my team drags him in. Don't disappoint me."
Lena gave a curt nod. She turned. Her pulse hammered. She'd bought Milo time. She'd bought a chance.
In the data lab, Lena reopened the secure line. Milo's chat blinked. She typed fast. "StarMapper: Need you in Nevada. Rifts are critical. Your string theory obsession is our edge. Veilwatch will fly you out. Say yes."
Milo's reply was instant. "Nevada? With the Men in Black wannabes? Oh, I'm so in. But, like, do I get a cool codename? Also, these frequencies. They're basically the universe's mixtape, right? Spill the deets."
Lena's lips twitched. She typed. "No codename. Rifts might be wormholes. Stabilized by extra-dimensional vibrations. String theory says ten or eleven dimensions exist. Most are curled at Planck-scale. Strings vibrate to make reality. Particles, gravity, everything. These rift frequencies could be strings resonating across dimensions. Kai's threads match them. He's a conductor. Model how they interact."
Milo's response was a geeky explosion. "Hold up. You're saying rifts are wormholes jazzed up by cosmic strings? And Kai's, what, the universe's DJ? Holy Planck, Voss. String theory's my jam. Ten dimensions, maybe eleven if you're feeling spicy. Tiny curled-up spaces vibrating like a galactic orchestra. Each rift's frequency is a note. Kai's threads are remixing the whole damn symphony. I'll model this faster than you can say 'Calabi-Yau manifold.' Packing my lucky Star Wars socks. Nevada, here comes your VIP."
Lena closed the chat. Her mind spun. Milo's models could crack the rifts. They could confirm Kai as the catalyst. She glanced at her burner phone. Kai hadn't replied. His healed arm, his fragile spark, weighed on her. He was running. Mara's net was closing. Riley was hunting.
In a Veilwatch van, Riley adjusted her thread-woven gauntlets. Her mission burned clear. Track the anomaly in Beatty. Mara's voice crackled in her earpiece. "He's near, Riley. His power is unmatched. Bring him in." Riley's loyalty held. Kai's face from Ohio flickered. His threads had saved her. She shoved it down. The van cut through the desert. Beatty's lights loomed.