Two days had passed since the girl in the woods.
Two days of pretending everything was normal. Of nodding through tea, enduring his mother's suspicion, and trying not to look like a man haunted by someone who technically didn't exist.
Evan Parish had learned how to act composed from the cradle. But ever since that girl appeared—clad in strange cloth and stranger words—he hadn't been quite right.
He hadn't slept properly. Not since she'd said things no one should say. Not since she'd looked at him like he was the anomaly.
And now, Evan was doing the one thing he never did: sneaking.
Dressed plainly, no coat with the family crest, no horse this time, he set off just after breakfast. He told his mother he was going to check on the fencing past the northern ridge. Technically not a lie—he just wouldn't be doing it.
Instead, he headed back toward Hughes. The place where logic twisted and the trees leaned too closely, as if eavesdropping on people who wandered too far.
The forest was thicker today. Wetter. Like it had rained somewhere nearby even though the sky stayed stubbornly clear.
Evan followed the faint trail, pausing where he'd found the frayed red cloth. His hand drifted to the pocket where it still sat, next to the broken shard of her strange black device.
He crouched, scanning the ground for any new signs—more footprints, scuff marks, broken branches—
CRACK.
Something snapped to his left.
He stood quickly, muscles tensing. "Who's there?"
No answer. Just a flutter of birds taking off like they knew better.
Another step forward.
Then—WHUMP.
He didn't see her until it was too late.
Zin—grumpy, dirty, her hair tied up with what looked like a shoelace—came barreling out from behind a slope of tangled roots and ran directly into him.
They both went down.
Evan hit the ground with a grunt, the wind knocked clean out of his chest. Zin landed on top of him—one boot wedged awkwardly between his knee and his pride.
"Bloody hell!" Evan gasped.
"Oh my God, not again?" Zin shouted, scrambling off him. "Is there a magnetic field around you or something?"
He blinked up at her, stunned. "You again."
"You again!" she snapped, pointing at him like he'd personally time-warped her here. "Is this your forest? Do you own this dimension? Do you even have your own personal bubble?"
"I don't know what that is," Evan coughed, sitting up and brushing dirt off his sleeves. "But I do know you have terrible spatial awareness."
"Excuse me?" she gawked.
"You ran into me."
"You were just standing there like a Victorian statue!"
"I am a Victorian statue," he said, deadpan.
That shut her up.
For a second.
She narrowed her eyes. "Wait… you followed me."
"I did not," he said quickly—too quickly. "I was—out walking."
"Oh, please. That's the historical equivalent of 'I was in the neighborhood.'"
"I live in this neighborhood!"
They stared at each other, both breathing heavily, leaves in their hair, pride crumpled somewhere underfoot.
Zin was the first to break.
She laughed.
It started as a snort, which she tried to smother with her hand, but then she just gave up and laughed properly.
"I'm sorry," she said, wheezing. "I just—it's too much. The last time I bumped into you, you nearly trampled me with a horse. This time, I body-slammed you with my entire existence."
Evan sighed, brushing off a pine needle. "So we're even?"
Zin stood, holding out a hand. "Truce?"
He looked at her for a beat, then took it.
Her grip was warm. Firm. Like she belonged nowhere near 1872 but was surviving it anyway.
"You still haven't told me your name," he said, dusting himself off.
"Yeah, I have a habit of not giving personal information to guys who ride horses like battering rams."
Evan raised a brow. "Fair."
He didn't flinch. In fact, he studied her even more carefully.
"And you?" she asked, shifting her weight. "I didn't exactly get your name during our last run-in. You know, the one where you almost turned me into roadkill."
He nodded once. "Evan. Evan Andrew Parish."
The name settled between them like a dropped book. Zin blinked at him, visibly thrown.
"I… knew that," she admitted.
"I figured."
She looked down, then up again. "This is getting weirder by the minute, isn't it?"
"I would say it was already strange two days ago," Evan replied. "This is just… escalation."
Zin crossed her arms. "So what now? You gonna drag me back to your manor and have me arrested for being an anachronism?"
He snorted. "Not unless there's a law against sarcasm and flannel. And even then, I'd be torn."
A pause. Then a reluctant smile tugged at Zin's mouth.
"I'm not good at this," she said. "The—uh—'Hi, I'm a stranger possibly breaking all the known rules of physics' part."
"I'm not good at this either," Evan said. "The part where I meet someone who looks at me like she's seen my obituary."
Zin's smile faded a little, then softened. "I didn't mean to. You just… you looked familiar."
Evan nodded. "You feel familiar too. Which is odd, since I'm quite sure I've never met a Zinnith before."
"You haven't," she said. "Trust me. I'd remember."
A silence hung again—but this one was gentler. Less defensive. Like a bridge had started to form.
Evan stared at her—this woman who didn't belong, yet felt unnervingly rooted in something he couldn't name.
"I haven't stopped thinking about it," he said at last.
Zin shifted. "About what?"
"You. What you said. That you're from 2025."
She didn't answer. Her face didn't move much, but her fingers twitched—like she was preparing to either run or shut down entirely.
"I don't expect you to trust me," Evan added quickly. "But you said it like it was true. And I believe you. Or at least—I want to."
Zin crossed her arms tightly. "You shouldn't."
That threw him. "Why?"
"Because it's stupid to trust someone you just met in the woods. Especially someone who already nearly ran you over with a horse and then showed up again like he's got a tracking spell."
He blinked. "I didn't mean to follow you."
"You keep saying that," she muttered, "and yet, here you are. Again."
Evan raised his hands slightly. "I just wanted answers."
"And what if I don't have any?"
"Then we'll be lost together."
Zin looked at him like he'd offered her a poisoned drink. "That's the thing. I can't afford to be lost with someone I don't know. Not when the last thing I remember clearly was touching something that might've broken time—and waking up in a field, alone, with no way back."
Something softened in Evan's posture. His voice lost its edge. "You really have no idea how it happened?"
She glanced down, jaw tight. "All I know is I was near this clock—an antique—something my dad warned me not to mess with. Weird gears. Weird language on the back. But this time I opened the case. I found something hidden inside."
"What was it?"
She hesitated, then slowly answered, "A photograph. Of someone. Dressed like you."
"Someone?"
"I don't know. It just—" She broke off, the lie not sitting well even in her own mouth. "I thought it was just a gimmick. A fake story. You know—marketing for the shop. But then… I ended up here."
Evan took that in carefully. "Was it… me? In the photo?"
She didn't answer. Just stared off at the trees.
"I see," he said, nodding once. "So you do know who I am."
"I didn't," she said quietly. "But the second I saw your face… something clicked. It scared me."
There was a beat of silence.
"Zinnith," Evan said gently. "If it helps… I'm scared, too."
She looked at him, finally.
"Not just of you," he said, with a small, rueful smile. "But of what this might mean."
A long pause hung between them, more fragile than tense.
"I don't want to trick you," he added. "I don't want you to feel watched or hunted. So if you'd rather I leave you alone, I will."
Zin blinked. "Wait. That's it? You're giving up?"
"I'm not giving up," Evan said. "I'm giving you a choice."
She chewed her bottom lip. "Why?"
"Because you don't trust me. And until you do… nothing I say matters."
Zin was silent. Her eyes scanned his face—looking for the angle, the hidden motive, the trap she hadn't seen yet.
But all she saw was a boy trying too hard to stand still in a life he didn't understand either.
He reached into his satchel and pulled something out. Not a weapon. Not a trick.
A small book.
Leather-bound. Worn. The corners softened from years of use.
"My father's notes," Evan said, offering it carefully. "I found this in a chest beneath his desk, hidden under the floorboards. I thought it was gibberish. But some of the drawings… they looked like the gears of a clock. And other pages mention time. Stars. Shifting dates."
Zin didn't take it. But she didn't walk away either.
"This isn't proof," she said.
"I know."
"And it doesn't mean I trust you."
"I know that too."
She looked at him again—this time a little longer.
"But it's… something," she finally muttered, reaching out to take the book.
Their fingers brushed.
Neither pulled away.
Zin crouched in the brush, breath slowing as she pulled the necklace from beneath her collar. The heirloom pulsed again—subtle, but undeniable. A warmth just shy of burning. It had been doing that since the moment she landed in 1872, but now it buzzed almost rhythmically, as if it sensed something—or someone—nearby.
Evan knelt beside her, eyes flicking to the pendant. "You said… you're from 2025."
She nodded slowly, fingers tightening around the chain. "Yeah. I did."
He hesitated. "And you… you arrived here how exactly?"
Zin exhaled hard. "I was driving. There was a storm. I pulled over because this thing"—she lifted the necklace slightly—"was glowing. And I had this antique clock with me—also my dad's. I don't know why, I just… picked it up. And then lightning struck."
Evan stared.
"Not me, obviously," Zin clarified with a huff. "But everything went white. The next thing I knew, I was face-down in your woods. My car, the road, the century—it was all gone."
"The necklace and the clock," Evan murmured, eyes narrowing in thought. "They both belonged to your father?"
Zin nodded. "Yeah. He disappeared when I was little. Everyone thought he just… walked out. But I don't think he did."
"You think he came here."
"I don't know. That's what I'm trying to figure out. He had this whole weird obsession with time—antique things, codes, diagrams, journals full of stuff I didn't understand as a kid. But I remember the name 'Parish.' And now I'm here—in your woods, meeting someone with your exact name, in a time I shouldn't even exist in."
She looked down, breath quickening. "I know how that sounds. But I'm not lying."
Evan's expression didn't shift into doubt—just something quieter. More careful. "You're not the first person to say strange things about time in Hughes."
Zin looked up.
He stood, brushing his knees. "My great uncle Elias vanished almost sixty years ago. Left behind books—pages torn out, symbols no one in my family could make sense of. Some of the pages mentioned a gate. Time displacement. And a clock."
Zin froze.
"A clock?" she echoed.
"Yes. Pocket-sized. Silver rimmed. Missing."
She stepped back instinctively. "Why are you telling me all this?"
"Because I think you being here… it's not random. And I think your father and my great uncle may have known each other. Or followed the same path."
Zin hesitated, still holding the necklace, now warm against her palm. Her voice softened. "Or maybe I'm being manipulated. Maybe you know more than you're letting on."
Evan blinked. "What?"
"I've read stories," she said, suddenly wary. "Time travelers showing up and being tracked. Watched. I don't know who to trust in a place like this—least of all a guy who keeps conveniently showing up in the woods."
Evan looked genuinely offended. "You think I'm spying on you?"
"I think you're too calm for a man who just found out I'm from the future."
A pause.
"Perhaps it seems strange I'm not alarmed," Evan said, voice calm but intent. "But I think… I've been waiting my whole life for something to finally not make sense in the usual way."
Zin crossed her arms, eyeing him. "That sounds poetic, but also like something someone would say before pushing me off a cliff."
"I promise you, I have no such plans," he replied, mouth twitching. "I mean it. Let me help you. Whatever brought you here—however impossible it seems—if there's a way to fix it, I'd rather face it with some purpose than ignore it entirely."
She looked down. Her hand went instinctively to the pendant, still pulsing faintly against her palm. It hadn't stopped since she landed in 1872. It had done this before—right after the lightning, right after the world changed. She'd only been holding it… not the clock.
Zin let out a slow breath. "You keep saying that. That you want to help. But you don't even know what you're offering to be part of."
"Then tell me," Evan said. "Let me understand."
She looked back at him. "He disappeared years ago. Everyone thought he was dead, but I… I never believed that."
Evan listened, quietly.
"You see why I'm not exactly ready to tell people about this?" she said. "It sounds insane. I sound insane."
"You don't," Evan said simply. "You sound like someone caught in something bigger than herself."
Zin looked at him for a long moment. "Why are you being like this?"
"Like what?"
"Kind. Curious. Not… terrified."
Evan gave a soft, almost sad smile. "Because you're not the first strange thing to happen here. And because something tells me you're not here by accident."
Zin hesitated. Then quietly, "Yeah. I'm starting to get that feeling too."