The pilot leaned out of the cockpit, brows knitting together, clearly trying to figure out how the hell I was suddenly here when I hadn't been seconds ago. They never would. Not the four Time Stops, not the credits burned, not the way my chest still felt tight from racing time itself.
Carrie finally found her voice, hands lifting slightly as if she needed to steady herself. "How did you—what did you—how are you here?"
I didn't answer her. I didn't even look at her.
"Kim," I called, my voice cutting clean through the air. "Come here."
The helicopter door slid open. Kim hesitated, eyes flicking from Carrie to Tom, then to me. She stepped down slowly, boots crunching on gravel, each step cautious, like she was afraid the ground might disappear under her feet. When she got close enough, I saw the tension in her shoulders, the fear she was trying to swallow.
I smiled at her, warm and steady, and pulled my car keys from my pocket, placing them into her palm.
