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Archer’s meeting with the mesmerizing Prime Minister had surpassed all expectations. With the triumphant Battle of Cheron, Earth had gained the unwavering support of the Vulcans, Andorians, and Tellerites, who were now sending their formidable ships to aid in a final assault against the cunning Romulans. The fleet of Enterprises, armed with the newly acquired drone ships, was ready for action, yet it seemed that Earth might have the luxury of sitting this one out. As Archer left his successful meeting with the admiral, a glimmer of optimism filled his being. He knew, however, that the ultimate confirmation of this newfound hope lay in the fate of Lt. D’Arcy.

Descending to C-Deck in the lift, Archer couldn’t help but imagine a scenario where the MACO’s had retreated, the doors swung open effortlessly, and the brilliant smile of Dr. Phlox greeted him. His heart sank as he arrived to discover the two steadfast guards still stationed, their weapons locked and loaded. The prolonged delay only intensified his worry. He resigned himself to sit on the floor, his back against the wall, waiting in silence. “Fight, Dani,” he whispered to himself, “fight and come back to me.”

Meanwhile, as Dr. Phlox diligently attended to Lt. D’Arcy’s needs, Danaë’s mind wandered to another realm, a place suspended in time. She envisioned herself strolling through the picturesque vineyards of Chateau Picard, the air serene and still. As she savored the taste of succulent grapes, a sweet melody softly seeped into her consciousness. A hauntingly gorgeous voice resonated, singing a melody that seemed to caress her very soul.

“Sleep in my arms now,
All your pain is passed.
Sleep, for you have traveled far,
Now you are home, at last.
Go as you came here,
Time to say goodbye.
Light, soft as a melody,
Safe in a lullaby.”

The voice seemed familiar, yet just out of reach. Troubled by the melody’s origin, Danaë sought refuge inside the house, hoping to escape the haunting tunes. As her hand grasped the doorknob, the charmed chimes of the clock tower in the center of La Barre filled the air, echoing eleven stately tolls. But she had seen it read ten o’clock before entering the house. Perplexed by the discrepancy, she dismissed it and ventured inside.

Every corner of the house enveloped her in a comforting nostalgia. Her childhood bedroom held the cherished mementos exactly where she had lovingly placed them years ago. Her gaze fell upon her treasured wooden doll nestled upon her pillow, alongside the nutcracker gifted to her by Q. Yet, something astounded her. The painted uniform of the nutcracker mirrored those worn by the crew of the NX-01, complete with the four familiar pips of Captain Jonathan Archer and even a beagle pup clasped in its arms. How had she not noticed this as a child? Confusion creased her brow. If she were truly here, her father must be present as well, and she needed answers.

As she gently set the doll beside the others, the haunting voice once again graced her ears. It beckoned her from the living room. Determined, she followed the ethereal sound, only to discover an empty room adorned with a plethora of clocks, each displaying the time of ten o’clock. The lieutenant’s gaze shifted to the wall, where a timepiece bearing the first eight known planets caught her attention—an unfamiliar addition to her surroundings. Beside her bed, a rocket ship-shaped digital clock awaited her gaze, counting down the time she had never possessed. Each clock, in unison, chimed ten o’clock.

Perplexed and troubled by these inexplicable appearances, Lt. D’Arcy retraced her steps to the living room. The clocks had vanished, save for one—a delicate pocket watch resting on the coffee table. Its open face revealed the familiar star pendant necklace given to her by Archer on Risa, shimmering with breathtaking gold and rainbow hues. As she held the necklace close, words began to etch themselves onto the table’s surface, an otherworldly hand etching the message: “By the clock.” The significance eluded her, yet she felt a distant understanding.

“By the clock,” she repeated, mulling over the cryptic phrase. Her hazel eyes landed upon the nutcracker, propped up against the cushions, seeming to observe her with intent. “By the clock. By the clock. By the clo…” Her mother’s voice suddenly called to her, an unmistakable beckoning from behind a door at the far end of the room. It promised a release, a reunion with her mother in a world untainted by sorrow. The allure was undeniable, yet an inkling of wrongness pricked at her senses.

“Rest for a while, now,
All your work is done.
Rest here in my waiting arms,
Now that your race is run…”

“No!” she exclaimed, her mind ablaze with comprehension. The message before her gleamed with clarity and urgency. “My race isn’t over yet. I have to return!” Determined, she cried out, “I have to find Jon! By the clock!”

In a burst of determination, she flung open the door of the ancestral home, only to discover herself transported to a vibrant San Francisco street, teeming with life under the cover of night. She glanced at her wrist, only to discover her watch devoid of life. Had she missed her chance? Was it too late to reach him? Her desperate gaze fell upon a nearby street sign, revealing her close proximity to the clock tower. Danaë mustered whatever remained of her strength and began to run, her legs burdened by an unseen weight. Every step felt torturous, but she persevered. Jonathan was waiting for her; she had made a promise. The destination seemed distant, the path infinite.

“Jonathan!” she screamed into the night, her plea carried by hope. “I’m coming, Jonathan! Wait for me!”

Suddenly, she rounded a corner and caught sight of…

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