The call came at midnight—Rico's timing as impeccable in this timeline as the last. I untangled myself from a mess of cables and half-written arrangements, remnants of my attempt to reconstruct a beat that wouldn't be "discovered" for another decade.
"Marcus, my man," Rico's voice crackled through the phone's speaker. "Tell me you're not sleeping on what's happening at The Apex right now."
My heart stuttered. The Apex—where, in my first life, Jay-Z had spotted the producer who'd reshape the industry's sound. Tonight wasn't supposed to happen for another month. The timeline was accelerating.
"Talk to me," I said, already pulling on my boots.
"Remember that kid from Atlanta you told me to watch for? Just showed up with his crew. They're running a cypher that's about to turn into a revolution."
I pressed my forehead against the cool wall of my bedroom. That kid would become a legend, but not tonight—not in the original timeline. My presence was already causing ripples I couldn't control.
Mother's door creaked open as I slipped into the hallway. "Marcus?" She stood silhouetted in her doorway, worry lines deeper in the half-light.
"Industry thing," I whispered. "With Rico. Important."
She crossed her arms—a gesture I knew preceded either permission or prohibition. "Important enough to risk everything we've built?"
The question carried more weight than she knew. One wrong move tonight could unravel months of careful planning. But the opportunity...
"Trust me," I said, the words heavy with double meaning. "This is one of those moments we've been working toward."
Her expression shifted—that subtle change that, in either timeline, meant she was choosing faith over fear. "Take your father's jacket. The leather one."
I froze halfway through pocketing my keys. In my first life, I'd lost that jacket at The Apex on a night very much like this one. Its disappearance had sparked the argument that drove a wedge between Rico and my mother for months.
"The brown bomber?" I asked, though I knew exactly which jacket she meant.
"You look like him in it," she said softly. "But you wear it better. You know why?"
"Why?"
"Because you come back."
The moment hung between us, fragile as a first take. Then Rico's voice burst from my phone: "Marcus! You coming or what?"
"Go," Mother said, already turning back to her room. "Just remember—"
"—success means nothing if you lose yourself getting there," I finished with her, the mantra familiar across both lifetimes.
The streets blurred past as I ran, Rico's directions unnecessary thanks to memories of a future that was rapidly rewriting itself. The jacket hugged my shoulders, carrying the weight of two timelines' worth of expectations.
Near The Apex, the bass line pulsed through the concrete, a rhythm that would define an era—if I played this right. Devon materialized from the shadows, his presence another deviation from the timeline I knew.
"Thought I'd find you here," he said, falling into step beside me. "Rico said you'd come."
I studied him sideways, this boy who'd become a legend in one timeline and a cautionary tale in another. "You ready for what's inside?"
His laugh carried the confidence of youth—the real kind, not my borrowed variety. "Question is, they ready for us?"
Us. The word echoed in my head as we rounded the final corner. In my first life, I'd walked this path alone. But maybe that had been the problem all along.
The Apex's doors loomed before us, vibrating with possibility. I touched my father's jacket, thinking of Mother's words. Of second chances. Of ripples becoming waves.
"Remember," I said to Devon, though I was really reminding myself, "tonight isn't about being the best."
He raised an eyebrow, another gesture that would become iconic in music videos yet to be filmed. "No?"
"It's about becoming what's next."
We pushed through the doors together, into a future that was both memory and mystery. The cypher was in full swing, talent spinning lyrics that would be quoted for years—or wouldn't, depending on what happened next.
Rico spotted us from his corner perch, his expression shifting from relief to calculation as he noted Devon's presence. One timeline dissolved while another crystallized, and I felt the weight of the moment settle into my bones.
The music shifted, a familiar beat with an unfamiliar variation. The future wasn't just changing—it was syncopating, finding a new rhythm in the space between what was and what could be.
I watched Devon step toward the circle, his confidence radiating like heat waves. In my pocket, my phone vibrated with a text from Mother: "Make it count."
Oh, I would. Just not the way anyone expected.