The night school classroom glows with its familiar pearlescent light, but the air feels heavy, charged with Helana’s distress. She collapses into her mother’s arms, her voice breaking. “Mom, this is horrible! I’m so scared—really scared. I can’t do this. I screwed up, big time. I’m sorry. People want to kill me. They almost killed Roxana today—almost killed us all. Why?” Her mother, Mom, holds her tightly, her presence a warm anchor. “My sweet child, I don’t know why this burden’s on you, so young. But there’s more happening than you realize—more than any of us realized.”

“What do you mean?” Helana asks, pulling back, her eyes searching. Mom’s voice softens, heavy with uncertainty. “Remember your Earth history studies? Mid-21st century, the war, the depopulation event that nearly ended humanity? You saw your sisters—Ella, Roxana, Eileen—as key to saving the survivors. Something’s changed.” Helana’s voice trembles. “Changed how?” Mom replies, “Great waves are rippling through the temporal fields, stronger than ever. That history’s blurring—events once fixed are spreading across centuries, uncertain. Their future, our past, is in flux. What happened may be un-happening, altering everything, even here.”

“How can that happen in such a dense domain?” Helana asks. “It’d take a star’s energy to shift something that big. Is it possible?” Mom explains, “For level 3 beings like you, or level 5 like us, it’s impossible. But for level 10 entities, one with the One Infinite Creator, it might be. They could modify the core dream without energy. We’ve never seen a level 10 being—only legends speak of them.” Helana’s brow furrows. “Core dream?”

Mom hesitates. “It’s a theory—an idea. The One Infinite Creator may create like we dream, with a core dream from which all existence emerges. High-level beings could change reality by altering this dream, the Mind of God.” Helana, skeptical, asks, “So God’s dreaming this up?” Mom smiles faintly. “Not asleep, maybe daydreaming. It’s an analogy. We lower beings can’t fully grasp it.”

Helana’s voice is small. “Did I cause these changes by getting stuck in level 3? What are these levels?” Mom reassures her, “Your arrival on Earth didn’t cause it, but it may have opened a door for those who could. We believe you were chosen—not an accident, but part of a plan. Or perhaps entities waited for someone to open that door, and you were that someone.” She continues, “Levels come from ancient texts in our domain, referring to dimensions of existence. Earth has four—three space, one time—called level 3 for reasons lost to us. Here, we have three space and three time dimensions, called level 5. That’s our understanding.”

Helana says, “I’m confused. What door did I open?” Mom replies, “It’ll take time to unravel. Here, we create domains like your birthday beach with a few thousand minds. If we tire of it, it fades. These domains sustain life, but the Creator wants more—every possible life form to exist. Randomness, chaos, uncertainty are woven into the universe, letting life manifest infinitely. Not even the Creator knows how it’ll unfold.”

Mom pauses. “Our level 5 domains lack the inertia for life to thrive over billions of years. Earth’s dense, stable domain—level 3—gives life that time. Earth is a birthplace of life. Without it, we wouldn’t exist. You, me—we evolved there. Your sisters—Ella, Roxana, Eileen—are our ancestors. That’s why you’re drawn to them, why you love them.” Helana’s eyes widen. “Stop—my brain’s numb.”

Mom softens. “Okay. Here’s what matters: powerful forces of Darkness and Light clash over Earth. You and your sisters are warriors for Light. That’s why you’re special—and why the Darkness wants you dead. Your knowledge threatens them, forbidden knowledge they’ll destroy at any cost.” Helana asks, “Dark? Light? Who are they?” Mom explains, “Light beings cherish Earth’s life, like humans, and protect it. Dark entities seek to destroy and control it. It’s simplistic, but enough for now.”

“How do we fight the Darkness?” Helana asks. Mom replies, “You’re not alone. From level 5, we glimpse the Angelic realm, where your army of entities fights for you. When Eileen shot that man, it likely wasn’t her—an Angel acted through her. Tell her not to feel guilty; she’s a soldier for Earth, not a killer.” Mom warns, “Be discreet. The more who know, the more Dark forces notice. Your future’s unclear—too fuzzy to see without risking worse. Be strong, careful, and hide this knowledge. Careless use could kill you and your sisters, endangering Earth’s future.”

In the safe house’s dim bedroom, dawn’s light creeps through the blinds. The girls huddle on cots, the air thick with exhaustion. Roxana, her rosary beads still in hand, looks at Helana, who’s just stirred. “You were mumbling in your sleep—wars, angels, secret knowledge. Night school?” Helana rubs her eyes. “Yeah. It’s fuzzy. Mom dumped a ton of data on me. It’ll take time to process. I need to talk to Beaker—things are worse than we thought. How’s Eileen?”

Ella glances at Eileen’s still form. “Asleep. She seems peaceful, doesn’t remember yet.” Helana says, “Tell her to go to night school when she wakes. Mom can help.” Eileen, her voice faint, sits up. “I’m awake. Tired, anxious, confused. It really happened, didn’t it?” Helana asks gently, “What do you remember?”

Eileen says, “It’s blurry. You guys turned, stared at him, and he fell. Everything slowed. A gun slid toward me. He got up, aimed at Roxana, and time stopped. Suddenly, I had the gun, knew I had a second before someone died. I did what I learned at arcade shooters—center mass, tight grip, squeeze. Boom, boom, boom. He went down.” She shudders. “I felt nothing—no emotion. Just said, ‘I’m sorry,’ in my head, like I had to but pitied him. He didn’t know what he was doing. Then I blacked out until we were here. Where are we?”

Ella replies, “Beaker’s safe house. He thought home wasn’t safe. Secret agents are outside.” Eileen asks, “Are we living here now? What about our parents?” Ella says, “No decisions yet. Our parents don’t know everything. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.” Eileen’s voice is small. “I’m glad you’re here. I feel safe with you.” Roxana squeezes her hand. “You make us feel safe. You saved my life—saved us all.” Eileen smiles faintly. “I feel warm, loved. I’m sleeping again. Rest, guys. Tomorrow’s gonna be weird.”

At sunrise, Commander Beaker paces the safe house’s living room, phone pressed to his ear, his voice rising in heated debates about budgets, manpower, and covert security. Helana shuffles downstairs, her hair a tangled mess, still in yesterday’s clothes. “Commander Beaker, sir, we need to talk.” He hangs up. “Yes, ma’am. What’s on your mind?”

Helana’s voice is steady despite her disheveled appearance. “We’re at war. A secret, invisible war, and we’re in the middle. There’s more at stake than we knew—changes that could reshape Earth’s future. The Darkness wants us dead because our knowledge threatens their plans.” Beaker’s face hardens. “I feared that. Your arrival wasn’t just a teenage mistake.” Helana says, “My mom said the forces of Light used my coming as a doorway—a coincidence—to advance their agenda.”

Beaker asks, “What are these agendas? Spiritual or physical?” Helana replies, “Both. Physical, spiritual, Angelic. The Darkness wants to control Earth and planets like it. We’re fighting to protect Earth, where life begins. It’s vital to the One Infinite Creator. This is forbidden knowledge—top secret.” Beaker nods. “Absolutely. This stays here. The girls should know as little as possible. My Navy colleagues wouldn’t believe it.”

Helana asks, “Is this town safe for us?” Beaker replies, “I’ve been arguing that all morning. Some want you on a Pacific boat or to end the program. But your presence could stabilize the timeline. Staying here, living normally, minimizes disruption.” Helana nods. “Mom said that too. But we’re not normal. Kids at school saw yesterday’s attack. That’s a problem.” She adds, “Are agents watching us constantly?” Beaker confirms, “Yes. Enhanced security’s necessary. The ‘gay couple’ moving into your block’s empty house? Agents. Avoid them, don’t tip them off. Keep it secret.” Helana grins. “I won’t even look at them. Teenagers ignore old people anyway.”

By noon, the safe house buzzes with tension as the girls’ parents meet Beaker and Mrs. Danvers, Eileen’s mother and a police officer, who’s armed with a preliminary report. The girls, subdued, listen from the couch. Mrs. Danvers, her voice clipped, says, “We initially thought the girls were targeted. The gunman ran straight for them. But our investigation suggests it was a coincidence—their table was in line with the entrance he used.”

She continues, “He was troubled, his computer showing plans to mimic recent mass shootings. We’ve urged the media to limit details to prevent copycats, but they’ve already said too much. Counselors are available for the girls and witnesses to address PTSD. Thankfully, agents stopped the attack, and the only loss was the gunman.” Roxana asks, “Do we have school today? Oh, it’s Sunday.” Beaker says, “No school. But go Monday, act normal. Routine helps recovery. Thank you, Mrs. Danvers, for the police support.”

The girls grab their bags, heading to Ella’s mom’s car. Mrs. Danvers stops them. “Alisha, can I have Eileen for a bit? I need to talk to her—and you, Beaker. Bob, get over here,” she calls to her husband. In a quiet corner, Mrs. Danvers’ voice turns steely. “This is an official investigation, but I’ll keep it friendly since you’re family. Things don’t add up. Beaker, why’s the Navy in our town, far from Annapolis? Why are FBI agents everywhere? A safe house? What’s going on? You’re treating me like I can’t handle it. That stops now.”

Beaker, apologetic, says, “It’s classified. I’m sorry.” Mrs. Danvers snaps, “Classified? It’s national security, but you discuss it with my husband and my 14-year-old daughter? That’s nonsense.” Beaker explains, “Your husband’s ex-military, under a security oath. You’re not. Eileen stumbled into this, cooperating for elite training worth thousands. Agents protect the girls at great cost. That’s all I can say.”

Mrs. Danvers turns to her husband. “Bob, what’s your role?” He replies, pained, “Like he said, security oath. I’ve pieced things together, like you. Keeping you in the dark kills me, but I have no choice.” She says, “Fine, you’re useless,” and faces Eileen. “What really happened at the mall?” Eileen says, her voice small, “You investigated it. You know.” Mrs. Danvers insists, “No, I don’t. The FBI sanitized everything. No surveillance, no phone videos until today—all scrubbed. You girls weren’t in them, like you weren’t there. That’s suspicious. Tell me.”

Eileen pleads, “Mom, I don’t want you sick again. You know enough.” Mrs. Danvers’ voice rises. “Don’t dodge me, Eileen!” Eileen cries, “Mom!” tears welling. Mr. Danvers intervenes, “Honey, stop,” as three stern agents enter. Mrs. Danvers softens. “I’m sorry, Eileen. But I’ll be sicker if I don’t understand. Two witnesses—your classmates—said the FBI agent arrived after the gunman was down. They said a blond girl shot him. Eileen, was it you?”

Eileen nods, tears falling. “It was me. The FBI said it’s better if they took credit, to avoid media hounding me.” Mrs. Danvers asks, “Where’d you get a gun? A 40-cal, police issue. Were you carrying? Did you take mine?” Eileen says, “No, Mom, never. He tripped, dropped a gun, and it slid to me. When he aimed at Roxana, I shot.” Mrs. Danvers, incredulous, says, “Three shots, tight pattern, in chaos? I’m not that good. Where’d you learn?” Eileen replies, “The arcade. Those shooter games simulate recoil. I learned there.”

Mrs. Danvers exhales, shaken. “I’m proud of you, and terrified. This ends now. Beaker, I want my daughters—both—out of this program.” Beaker frowns. “You can remove them; I can’t stop you. But this is bigger than the Navy, bigger than the government. If it spirals, your daughters could be taken to a secret facility, and you might never see them. Work with us. I’ll try to get you clearance. Eileen must stay—it’s more critical than you know.”

At Ella’s house, Sunday evening is a rare oasis of calm. The living room smells of pizza and warm apple pie, the TV humming with a rented comedy. Ella lounges on the couch, her sisters sprawled around her, safe for now.