Chapter 32 : Countdown
The signs appeared in small details.
Wells spent more time in his private office—doors closed, security feeds disabled, the isolation of someone preparing for something they didn't want observed. His public persona remained unchanged—the measured genius, the supportive mentor—but I'd learned to read the edges where the mask didn't quite fit.
Day one hundred forty brought the first clear indicator.
Grodd activity. Cisco mentioned it during a routine briefing—increased sensor readings from the sewers, patterns suggesting agitation rather than dormancy. The genetically enhanced gorilla that Wells had created and supposedly contained was stirring.
Timeline marker, I thought. Grodd becomes active before the endgame. Wells is preparing his contingencies.
Day one hundred forty-two brought another.
The particle accelerator underwent "diagnostic testing"—power cycles, containment checks, procedures that seemed routine but felt deliberate. I watched Wells oversee the work with the attention of someone verifying a crucial piece of equipment.
Because to him, that's exactly what it was.
The accelerator wasn't just a scientific installation. It was the mechanism that had created the Flash—the Speed Force connection that Thawne needed to return to his own time. Whatever he was planning would involve this facility, this technology, this carefully maintained apparatus.
[TIMELINE ANALYSIS: ACTIVE] [PATTERN MATCH: 94.7%] [PROJECTED CONFRONTATION: 14-21 DAYS]
The system's assessment matched my own calculations. Two weeks, maybe three, before everything came to a head.
Eddie Thawne had that long to live.
Unless I changed something.
The internal debate consumed my nights.
I sat in my apartment, staring at the notes I'd compiled—timeline projections, intervention scenarios, probability assessments for various approaches. The options branched into possibilities I couldn't fully predict.
Warn the team early.
The most direct approach. Tell Barry everything—Wells' true identity, Thawne's origins, the murder of Nora Allen that had started this entire chain of events. With foreknowledge, they could prepare. Could potentially capture Thawne before he executed his plan.
But early warning changed everything. Butterfly effects cascading through events I couldn't model. Maybe the team defeats Thawne cleanly. Maybe they fail without the emotional stakes that drove them in the original timeline. Maybe my warning makes things catastrophically worse.
Too many variables. Too much uncertainty.
Let it play out.
Do nothing. Allow events to unfold as they had in the show I remembered. Wells reveals himself. Barry confronts him. Eddie shoots himself to erase Thawne from existence. The singularity opens. Ronnie dies closing it.
Clean resolution. Thawne eliminated. Timeline preserved.
Except Eddie dies for no reason other than being Thawne's ancestor. An innocent man sacrificed to prevent a monster from ever being born.
That felt wrong. Worse than wrong—it felt like the kind of calculation I'd promised myself I wouldn't make. Using people as acceptable losses for larger strategic goals.
Intervene at the critical moment.
The middle path. Let events proceed until the confrontation, then act at the precise moment when intervention could save Eddie without derailing the overall resolution.
Harder to execute. Required perfect timing, perfect positioning, perfect knowledge of how the scene would unfold.
But possible. Maybe.
[STRATEGIC ASSESSMENT: OPTION 3 PREFERRED] [WARNING: TIMING CRITICAL] [FAILURE CONSEQUENCES: SEVERE]
The system offered no comfort, only analysis. I was genuinely on my own for this decision.
Cisco caught me in the equipment room again.
His expression was different this time—less friendly, more analytical. The look of someone who'd been running calculations and didn't like where they pointed.
"Harry. Got a minute?"
"Sure."
He closed the door behind him. The gesture felt deliberate.
"I've been running the Harvest analysis again," he said, pulling up a tablet display. "Trying to identify any patterns we might have missed."
"Find anything?"
"Maybe." He scrolled through data I recognized—my own activity logs, STAR Labs access records, surveillance timestamps. "The attacks stopped during the Firestorm crisis. Makes sense—everyone was focused on Ronnie. But they also stop every time you're consistently at STAR Labs. And start again when you're not."
My heart rate increased slightly. I kept my face still.
"Correlation isn't causation," I said.
"No." Cisco met my eyes directly. "But it's interesting."
The silence stretched between us. He wasn't accusing—not yet. Just sharing an observation, watching my reaction, gathering data the way a scientist should.
"What are you suggesting?" I asked.
"I'm not suggesting anything." He pocketed the tablet. "Just... noticed something weird. Thought you should know."
"Appreciate the heads up."
He nodded slowly, expression unreadable. "I'll keep digging. If there's a connection, we'll find it eventually. If there isn't..." He shrugged. "Then it's just coincidence and I'm being paranoid."
"Paranoia keeps people alive in this line of work."
"Yeah." He opened the door. "It does."
He left without looking back. The door closed behind him with a quiet click that felt like a countdown timer activating.
The fuse is lit. How long until it burns down?
I didn't have an answer. But I had a new deadline—whatever I was planning for the Thawne confrontation needed to happen before Cisco's suspicion crystallized into certainty.
That night, I played chess online.
The games were supposed to be distraction—something to occupy my conscious mind while my subconscious processed the impossible calculations of timeline manipulation. Instead, they became exercises in failure.
Three losses in a row. Stupid mistakes. Missed opportunities. The kind of errors I never would have made when my mind was clear.
I closed the laptop and stared at the ceiling.
Eddie Thawne's face kept appearing in my thoughts. Not the cheerful detective I'd met briefly at the precinct, but the man I'd seen die on television in another life. Shooting himself to prevent Thawne's birth. Collapsing while Iris screamed his name.
He doesn't deserve that ending. He's a good man who happened to have the wrong ancestor.
The thought crystallized into something like resolution.
I would save Eddie Thawne. Not because it was strategically optimal—it probably wasn't—but because it was right. Because I had the power and the knowledge to prevent a decent person from dying, and choosing not to would make me as bad as the villains I hunted.
Some lines you don't cross. Even for the greater good.
Sleep didn't come for hours. When it did, the dreams were filled with gunfire and collapsing timelines.
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