March 10, 2025, 3:17 PM, Highway 101 near San Francisco

The world came back in fragments—screeching tires, the bitter tang of gasoline, and a throbbing ache that felt like someone had driven a spike through James Carter's skull. He blinked against the blinding afternoon sun, his hands instinctively gripping the steering wheel of his parked Tesla, though he couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. Smoke curled up from the asphalt ahead, where a black SUV lay crumpled against the guardrail, its hood crumpled like a discarded soda can. Sparks danced across the wreckage.

His parents' car.

"Mom! Dad!" James's voice cracked as he shoved the door open and stumbled out, legs wobbly beneath him. The air was thick with heat and the faint crackle of fire licking at the undercarriage. He took a step forward, then froze as a cold, mechanical voice sliced through his mind like a scalpel.