The sky split in silence, and time fractured like glass under pressure.
Ruo Qing was dragged into the arms of the "groom"—not by choice, but by the overwhelming pull of his presence.
He wasn't like Murdoch.
Not cold like a vampire. Not distant like a time-watcher.
His power was inevitable—like the gravity of destiny itself.
She fell.
And before she vanished completely, her final glimpse was of the two Murdochs—both charging toward her, both screaming her name—both swallowed whole by the edge of the time rift.
"RUO QING!"
Then: darkness.
Or something more unreal than darkness. A place without color, without edge, without sound.
The crack between timelines.
He stood before her.
The groom.
He removed the silver wedding half-mask from his face.
And her heart stopped.
The features were almost Murdoch's—but twisted. Sculpted with a dream's precision and a nightmare's elegance. Golden eyes burned with memory and possibility. His voice came soft, velvet wrapped in knives.
"You came back," he said.
Ruo Qing staggered back. "Who are you?"
"I'm the one you made a promise to," he said, smiling faintly. "You just never had time to say the words."
"You're not Murdoch."
"No," he nodded. "But Murdoch isn't what you think, either."
Her heartbeat trembled.
"Then who are you?"
He took a step forward. The air around him seemed to warp, like time bent to accommodate him.
"I am what Murdoch becomes," he said. "In the timeline where you let him go… and he becomes something more."
"That's not possible."
"Do you remember the wedding?" he asked.
He waved his hand.
A vision shimmered into life: the mirrored aisle, the silver altar, her in black lace, light bending in impossible angles.
He stood at the altar.
Not Murdoch.
Him.
"You thought it was a nightmare," he said gently. "It wasn't. It was a real timeline. One that you chose… to forget."
He touched her forehead.
And it all came rushing back.
The kiss.
The vow.
"I do."
And in another world, Murdoch died for her.
She nearly collapsed.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why would I ever choose you?"
He touched her hand and placed it against his chest.
"Because you loved Murdoch too much," he said. "So much… you couldn't let him die. So you picked a version of him that wouldn't."
He looked down at her, eyes darkening with sorrow.
"I'm what you chose to survive."
"I am him—but not him."