A single line glowed brighter than the rest, pointing to the old railway depot on the edge of town. Bud’s heart hammered. He grabbed his battered bike, shoved the tracker into his jacket pocket, and raced toward the depot, the wind tugging at his red hair. At the depot, the air was thick with the smell of rust and oil. Bud placed the tracker on a cracked stone slab near the abandoned platform. The device emitted a low hum, and the map projected a vortex of swirling colors onto the slab—a time portal .