"Speak," Hazel snapped. "What are you consulting me for? Divorce? Drafting a will?"


Max stared at her. "..."


Can't I consult on something normal, like tax evasion?


"Ms. Lane, about this morning on the bus... it was a misunderstanding. I didn't know you were Lily’s -"


"Oh, so if Lily didn’t know me, it would have been okay?"


"I didn't mean that! I meant—"


"Enough! My time is money. Literally. If Lily hadn't asked me to do this... let's just say a client's character is usually a standard for whether I take a case."


Hazel reached out and slapped a button on her desk. A digital timer facing Max blinked to life.


She... she actually charges by the second!


Fine! For Lily, I'll endure it.


Max glanced at the plaque on her desk: Consultation Fee: $500/hr. His eye twitched. Robbery. Pure daylight robbery.


He decided to skip the pleasantries to save cash.


"After I met Lily yesterday, I realized someone was following her."


"What did you say?" Hazel's mask of indifference cracked.


"Someone was tracking us. They followed us all the way to the studio apartment," Max said, keeping his face dead serious. "I only spotted the tail after I met up with Lily. That's why I think she's the target."


Hazel stared at him with laser focus, like she was trying to drill into his brain to see if the 'Liar' light was blinking.


"There were hundreds of people on the street," she said, her voice dripping with skepticism. "How could you possibly know you were being followed?"


"Well..." Max stalled, his brain scrambling for a backstory that didn't sound insane. "My dad. He was a scout in the army. Retired now. He taught me a few things. You know, counter-surveillance instincts. It runs in the family."


Okay, so the part about his dad being a scout was true. The rest? Total garbage.


Hazel looked at him like he'd just claimed to be Batman.


Counter-surveillance instincts? Her expression seemed to say. You sell insurance, buddy. You're not Jason Bourne. Stop trying to act like a generic action movie hero.


Still, Max looked so solemn that Hazel hesitated. She couldn't quite tell if he was delusional or if this was a legitimate warning.


"There were two of you," she pointed out. "How do you know the stalker was after Lily and not you?"


"I haven't even been in Sutton for six months," Max argued. "My social circle is literally just my coworkers and a couple of college friends. I haven't gotten into any fights. The odds of me having a nemesis are pretty low. But last night, Lily mentioned you're an attorney, so I started thinking..."


Max trailed off, but Hazel connected the dots instantly.


She frowned. "You're suggesting that whoever this is, they're trying to get to me?"


"Or maybe another member of your family made some enemies," Max said, spreading his hands. "I'm just listing possibilities."


Hazel tapped her chin, thinking. "Can you prove any of this?"


"I can't. I just came here to warn you," Max said. "And honestly, to see if you had any suspects in mind. The guy tracking us looked like a pro. He definitely had some kind of military or investigative training."


Hazel's eyes narrowed. She was scrutinizing him now, really sizing him up. And why wouldn't she? Here was a strange man—one she already had a bad impression of—claiming her sister was being hunted by professional hitmen, and now he was helpfully offering to profile the suspects.


Most people wouldn't be grateful. They'd be dialing 911.


"So," Hazel said slowly. "You not only spotted a tail on a crowded street, but you also deduced his skill level just by looking at him? Are you sure your dad was just a scout? He wasn't a Navy SEAL? Captain America, maybe?"


"I... well..." Max let out a dry, awkward laugh.


Yeah, even he had to admit his story sounded thin. But what was he supposed to do? Tell her he was a time traveler who'd already seen the future? That would go over well.


"Look, I just wanted to help Lily. That's it," Max said, standing up. "If you don't believe me, there's nothing I can do."


He needed to get out of there. After the misunderstanding this morning, Hazel clearly thought he was a creep. Acting too eager to help was only going to make him look creepier.


First impressions were a killer.


Besides, he could practically hear the invisible meter running. This woman's billable hours were terrifying. She probably charged more per minute than a heart surgeon. Max felt his wallet dying a slow, painful death with every second he stayed in this luxury office.


"Wait!"


Max had just reached the door when Hazel called out. He froze.


Behind him, he heard a chair scrape and the click-clack of high heels.


Did she buy it? Max wondered, hope rising. Did she finally believe me?


He turned around and saw Hazel bending down to pick up a shopping bag from the floor.


Max's blood ran cold. Oh no.


"You forgot your..." Hazel started to hand him the bag, but then she looked inside.


She paused. "Huh?"




"Aaaagh! Why? Why does the universe hate me?!"


Max collapsed onto a park bench, burying his face in his hands and letting out a groan so loud it scared a flock of pigeons into the sky.


Max could feel the world's malice pressing down on him. He wasn't even sure how he'd managed to flee the law firm. He'd basically covered his face and ran.


But he'd seen Hazel's expression. That look of absolute disgust. If he'd stayed five seconds longer, she would have called the cops.


He could picture it perfectly. If the timeline didn't change and he still got framed for murder, the first person lining up to testify against him would be Hazel. No question.


Congratulations, a video game voice mocked in his head. Relationship with Target NPC has downgraded to 'Hostile.' You are now the Number One Suspect.


Max wanted to scream.


"It's not right! This whole world is glitching!" He spiraled into deep self-doubt.


Maybe it was a coincidence. But it was way too many coincidences. It felt like every time he tried to change his fate, the universe slapped him back down.


He sighed deeply. The path to getting Hazel's help was now thoroughly blocked. He'd burned that bridge, then nuked the ashes. He was on his own.


Max glanced around, making sure the coast was clear, then carefully pulled The Hustle out of his jacket pocket.


His eyes widened.


The ink on the cover... it was fading!


He checked his watch. 11:58 AM.


It's happening, he thought. It really is a daily update.


As soon as the minute hand crossed noon, the book transformed completely.


"Justice Delayed?" Max read the new title, confused.


"Delayed," he muttered. "So... does that mean justice is coming, or that it missed the bus?"