Three days had passed since Zin and Evan's second crash meeting in the woods.
She didn't trust him completely. Not yet. But she also hadn't run.
Not when he offered to bring her food instead of her sneaking around the village. Not when he showed her a hidden trail through the woods that led away from the Parish estate's view. Not even when he admitted—quietly, and with clear discomfort—that strange things had happened in Hughes before. Things no one was allowed to speak of.
Evan Parish, for all his crisp posture and too-polished waistcoats, had a secret or two of his own.
Zin wasn't blind to it.
She watched the way he flinched at certain questions. The way his fingers curled around the word "Elias" like it burned him. How he sometimes stared at her necklace—not with greed, but something closer to dread and wonder.
Still, he kept showing up.
Sometimes with bread and jam. Sometimes with books. Once, even a compass he claimed was "curious in certain areas." Zin didn't ask what that meant. Not yet.
She didn't always understand his references to the world around them. Evan, for his part, tried not to flinch when she called cows "adorable lawn Roombas" or when she referred to his father's cane as a "fashion staff."
But a rhythm formed.
He would find her under the canopy of trees behind Mrs. Alder's cottage. She would pretend she wasn't waiting.
Then they would talk—always circling around the real questions like dancers avoiding the same crack in the floor.
Until the fifth morning.
Zin had been tracing the pulse of the necklace again, holding it up to the light as it shimmered faintly blue, when Evan appeared—quieter than usual.
"There's a part of the estate I haven't taken you to yet," he said, without preamble. "Would you come with me?"
Zin arched an eyebrow. "Should I be concerned?"
"If I were planning to murder you, I wouldn't have brought scones," he said, holding up a small paper-wrapped bundle.
Zin rolled her eyes. "Fine. But I'm keeping the butter knife."
He led her past the old mill and into the woods—deeper this time, where the ground dipped and the trees grew older. Worn stone paths peeked through patches of moss. Evan said nothing until they reached a crumbling brick structure—half-covered in ivy and bent with time.
"What is this place?" she asked.
"My grandfather called it the Archive," Evan said. "It was locked for years, but I managed to find a way in when I was sixteen."
"Let me guess. Curiosity killed the aristocrat?"
He smiled faintly. "Curiosity taught him things he shouldn't have known. Come.
Inside, the air smelled of old ink and shadowed time—like secrets held too long between pages. The room was narrow, every inch lined with books, ledgers, and curled maps. Some volumes were decaying at the seams. Others, surprisingly intact, bore titles in languages Zin couldn't read. Still others had margin notes scrawled in hurried, anxious ink.
She stepped closer to a stack on a wooden table. Her fingers hovered over an open page depicting a rough sketch of a pendant. The shape mirrored hers—uncannily so.
Zin's heart picked up. "This—this looks like mine."
Evan's voice came low behind her. "I thought so when I found it."
Her head turned sharply. "You knew?"
"I suspected," he corrected, stepping forward slowly, carefully. "I've collected the odd tales—the strange accounts passed down. They weren't meant for serious eyes. My father would call them 'fool's ink,' but I read them anyway."
She stared at him, wary. "And you thought I was one of those tales?"
"I didn't know what to think," Evan admitted. "But when you spoke of another time, when I saw the necklace... it aligned. Not precisely, but enough to unsettle me."
Zin exhaled, the air sharp in her chest. "Why didn't you tell me the moment we met?"
"I didn't want to frighten you," he said gently. "You were already unmoored. I feared one wrong word would send you running."
Her hand curled tighter around the heirloom at her chest. The stone pulsed again—stronger now, like it had found a resonance in the room.
"I don't know what this thing is," Zin murmured, staring down at it. "I was only holding it when the lightning struck, but now I feel like it's the only thing keeping me... tethered."
Evan studied her, something unreadable in his expression.
"Perhaps it is," he said. "Perhaps there's more to it than either of us understand."
She looked up sharply. "You believe me, just like that?"
"I don't know if belief is the right word," he said. "But I've seen enough to know the world is not so simple. And you—your presence here—proves that."
Zin's eyes narrowed slightly. "You keep saying things like that. Like I'm part of something."
"Maybe you are," he said, voice quiet. "And maybe so am I."
Zin backed away from the table, fingers tightening around the pulsing pendant. "This is insane."
"I won't argue with that," Evan said, cautiously watching her. "But... maybe not meaningless."
Zin gave him a look. "That's your standard for logic now? 'Not meaningless'?"
He gave a small, helpless smile. "I'm improvising."
She folded her arms. "Yeah, well, I don't exactly have a user manual for time travel, so forgive me if I don't have all the answers either."
Evan's expression softened. "I don't need all the answers, Zin. I just—" He hesitated. "I want to understand. And if I can't, then I at least want to make sure you don't have to do this alone."
That landed differently.
Zin looked at him for a long moment, heart confused, heirloom pulsing against her chest in steady waves. "Why do you care so much?"
Evan shrugged a little, voice quieter now. "You crash into my world, rant about the future, and then disappear like some ghost with dirt on her jeans. What wasn't there to care about?"
Before she could form a reply—
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Zin jumped. "You've got to be kidding me."
Evan moved fast to the window. "Villagers," he muttered. "Halvors and young Fredrick. Nosey pair."
Zin ducked instinctively behind the bookcase. "Do they just roam around hoping to catch weird girls in time-ripped trousers?"
Evan's lips twitched as he unlocked the door with theatrical calm. "Something like that."
He opened it just enough to see out. "Gentlemen."
"Evenin', Mr. Parish," said Halvors with that stiff, suspicious edge. "Heard a few things. Lights in the woods. Someone screaming."
Zin silently mouthed, I did not scream.
Evan coughed into his hand to hide a smirk. "Plenty of foxes out. Loud ones."
"You seen anyone unfamiliar?" asked Fredrick, stretching to look over Evan's shoulder.
Evan blocked the view like a seasoned actor. "Just me. Familiar as ever."
Halvors squinted. "You'd tell us if something strange was goin' on, wouldn't you?"
"Always," Evan said smoothly. "I even reported that time my soup grew mold in under a day. Suspicious business."
Halvors was clearly unamused. "Just remember—odd things don't stay hidden long in Hughes."
When they finally left, Evan closed the door and leaned back against it with a sigh.
Zin stepped out, mock-clapping. "Wow. Truly masterful lying."
"Thank you," he said with a dramatic bow. "I've had years of practice covering up the fact I actually quite like poetry."
Zin snorted despite herself. "Scandalous."
Their laughter faded slowly, and a silence hung between them. Not awkward—just… suspended.
Evan straightened. "You can't stay here. They're sniffing."
Zin nodded. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to do."
"There's a place," he said gently. "A glen beyond the quarry. No one goes. Quiet, hidden. I can take you there. It'll buy us time."
She studied him, unsure. "And I'm just supposed to trust you?"
Evan tilted his head. "I did just lie to two mildly terrifying villagers for you. I'd say we're on the brink of a beautiful friendship."
Zin narrowed her eyes. "I don't do beautiful friendships. I do cautious alliances."
"Then allow me to be the most charmingly cautious ally you've ever had."
A beat.
Then Zin cracked a smile. Just a flicker. But Evan caught it—and blushed before looking away.
"I'll get you some supplies," he mumbled, flustered.
As he turned to rummage in the drawers, Zin let her fingers rest against the pendant again. Still glowing. Still warm.
Whatever was happening here—it wasn't just about the heirloom or time displacement anymore.
It was about him, too.
And that terrified her more than the rest of it combined.
"Evan," Zin called out softly.
He paused mid-rummage, a jar of dried oats in one hand, a look of startled politeness on his face as he turned to her. "Yes?"
She hesitated. Her fingers played with the chain around her neck as if it were an anchor to her own time. "Can we just—sit? For a minute."
He blinked, then gently set the jar down. "Of course."
They sat across from each other at the edge of the old wooden table. The candle between them flickered, casting long shadows, the silence stretching like fragile thread.
"I don't know what I'm doing," she confessed, voice barely above a whisper.
Evan gave a small nod. "I suspect neither do I."
Zin looked up at him. "But you—you're not just scared out of your mind?"
"Oh, I am," he said with a slight smile. "You simply caught me on my braver days."
That earned him a small, honest laugh.
Zin's voice dropped again. "I'm used to solving things. Googling them. Calling my best friend while crying in a bubble bath. This… doesn't fit in any search bar."
Evan leaned forward a little, voice gentle. "You don't have to solve this alone. I want to help you… not because I expect anything in return. Just because—I want to. I reckon that's allowed, even across centuries."
Zin's brows furrowed. "You make it sound so easy."
"I'm rather good at pretending," he said softly. "But between you and me… You unsettled something in me I didn't even know was still awake."
Zin swallowed. "We barely know each other."
"Then let's fix that," Evan said. "Let's start with something small."
He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and slid something across the table. It was a pressed violet, carefully dried between two pages torn from a forgotten book.
Zin stared. "You… carry flowers?"
He flushed instantly, pulling at his collar. "I—well—it was growing near the brook. Thought it might… never mind. Silly."
Zin touched it gently. "It's not. It's kind of… nice."
Their eyes met again. A beat passed—long enough to feel like something unspoken had taken shape between them.
Then Evan straightened with a clearing of his throat, clearly flustered again. "Well then. Right. Supplies."
Zin stood too, slower. "Maybe… when this is over, you can show me the rest of the village. The non-nosey parts."
His smile broke wide—unguarded and real. "That sounds dangerously like a promise."
And just like that, the world outside grew louder again. But for a moment, within that candlelit room, two lost souls shared a stillness neither of them could explain… and neither truly wanted to.