The shot cracked through the cold night air, a sound like glass shattering in a storm. Time collapsed. Oona saw the flash, the nickel gleam of the revolver, the desperate fury twisting Enid’s face. Her father stood motionless in the neon glow, right in the line of fire. His chin trembled beneath salt-spattered stubble. Oona’s own small body convulsed, a useless gasp caught in her throat. Then, a blur of motion. Julian, moving with a speed Oona hadn’t known he possessed, launched himself from behind the stall’s dented steel. He tackled her father hard, knocking him sideways. The second bullet bit into the cedar support pillar of the food stall with a dry thwack. A thin red gouge traced Julian’s exposed collarbone, slicking the skin beneath his collar. He grunted through locked teeth, keeping both hands pinned to her father's jacket until they rolled clear. Two uniformed officers, reacting with trained precision, tackled Enid to the pier’s damp planks. The revolver skittered across the wet wood, sliding under the syrup dispenser. Enid thrashed, a wild, cornered animal, screaming epithets that shredded the market’s usual din. “You fools! You think this is over? You think you can escape me?” Her voice, raw and hoarse, echoed with a bitter defeat that was almost more terrifying than her rage. Boombox, who had been curled at Oona’s feet, let out a piercing, angry chitter. He launched himself at the flailing matriarch, a small, furry missile of fury, nipping at her ankles before a patrolman gently scooped him away. Her father clutched Julian, ashen and trembling. “Julian… you,” he rasped, staring at the fresh streak staining the cream-colored cotton. “You saved me.” Julian, wincing slightly, merely shrugged. “Someone had to. Wouldn’t want you ruining Oona’s perfect night.” A faint smile, tinged with a weariness beyond his years, touched his lips. Detective Reyes stepped up to the thrashing matriarch. “Matriarch Carlow. You’re under arrest for attempted murder, embezzlement, fraud, and a litany of other charges. Your empire is finished.” Enid spat. “You have nothing! Nothing that ties *me* to anything!” Reyes merely gestured. “The ledgers, Madam. And the testimony of several… *associates*.” Her gaze flickered to the syndicate boss, Solon, who stood a few paces away, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips. The police quickly cuffed Enid’s hands behind her back, the metallic click a stark punctuation to the end of her tyrannical reign. As they hoisted her to her feet, her eyes, filled with a bottomless, venomous hatred, found Oona. “You little viper,” she hissed, her voice barely audible above the din. “You think you’ve won? You’ll inherit nothing! You’ll be beggars!” Oona met her gaze, a quiet, resolute calm settling over her. “We have everything we need, Grandmother.” Enid was led away, her curses fading into the damp Port Oram night. The boardwalk emptied out, until only the slap of tide against the pilings and a dwindling siren remained. Her father sank down beside Oona, wiping damp cheeks on his sleeve. “Oona… my clever girl,” he choked out, dropping to his knees to embrace her tightly. “You saved us. You truly did.” He held her at arm’s length, searching her face. “But Enid… she’s right. We lost everything to her debts, didn’t we? The house, the savings…” His voice trailed off, thick with despair. “This stall… it’s all we have left.” Oona looked at him, then at Julian, who stood a little apart, silently watching them. Cormac had always been too trusting, too transparent in his emotions. He was about to break. It was time for the final, bittersweet truth. “No, Dad,” Oona said softly, placing her small palm against his damp cheek. “This stall… is ours. All of it.” He blinked, squinting down at her. “What do you mean, ‘ours’? It’s just us. And it’s… nothing. It barely broke even after all Enid’s… machinations.” He glanced over at Julian. Julian’s brow furrowed, a silent question in his gaze. Oona knew he didn’t understand either. This was a secret Oona had never known, a quiet, unassuming act of selfless love that had transpired years ago, long before her rebirth. He drew a ragged breath, pressing a knuckle to his nose. “No, Oona. The cart… it’s yours and Julian’s. Legally. I transferred the deed and the equipment into a trust for both of you years back. When you were just a baby, Oona. Julian, you were… what, seven? I figured if anything ever happened to Maeve and me, you both would at least have something solid, something Enid couldn’t touch directly. She always went after *my* assets, never thought to look at what I’d given away to the kids. It was a long shot, a desperate gamble.” He gave a watery laugh, a sound devoid of humor. “I just never thought it would save us from her.” Oona stared, her adult mind reeling. Her kind, naive father. He had truly thought ahead, in his own simple, loving way. He had surrendered every claim to his livelihood, not to duck Enid's grasp, but to protect his daughter and the boy beside her. He had shielded them years in advance without calculating an ounce of profit. Because of that trust, Enid’s piled debts could not seize the cedar planks beneath their feet. Couldn’t touch *them*. They were bankrupt. Completely. But they were also completely, utterly free. [SYSTEM: Primary Objective: Parents’ emotional and legal ties severed from Matriarch Enid Carlow by Winter 1994. COMPLETE.] [SYSTEM: Timeline Drastically Altered: Cormac Carlow’s life secured. Suicide averted.] [SYSTEM: All future frequency broadcasts terminating. Mission fulfilled. Farewell, Oona Carlow.] The phantom radio static, a constant companion in Oona’s ears since her rebirth, flickered once, like a dying ember. Then, it faded entirely. The buzzing, the faint, melancholic echoes of tomorrow’s news, were gone. Nothing remained but the genuine, unmediated night. Her shoulders dropped as the tension left her small ribcage. The old debts were void. Her father threw his arms around Julian, murmuring broken thanks into the boy's shoulder. Maeve gathered both children against her wool cardigan. The chill of the Port Oram night air still carried the scent of brine and fried dough. Oona looked at Julian, truly looked at him. His arm still bore the faint, healing scar from the knife, his collarbone now a fresh, angry red. But his eyes, usually shadowed, held a new, quiet strength. He was here. He had saved her father. He was her protector, her anchor. And now, he was her partner, in business and in life. Oona pulled a warm citrus pastry from the cooling tray. The glaze caught the remaining neon glow, shimmering like spun moonlight. She snapped the pastry in two, handing the larger half to Julian. Boombox, sensing the moment, nudged her leg, demanding his share. She tore a small piece for him, watching him happily crunch on the sweet dough. She took a bite, the familiar taste of sweet citrus and warm pastry filling her senses. The world felt… clear. Unburdened. The fight was over. They had years ahead to earn their keep across the boardwalk planks, under the smoky sky of Port Oram. The boardwalk, once a battleground, now felt like home. The harbor wind blew through the stall, untangled from the hiss of dying frequencies.

Frequencies of Tomorrow