She is warm.
That's the data point Ethan can't process.
Ten seconds ago, she was cold. She was broken glass and twisted metal and silence. Now, she is solid, warm, and vibrating with life in his arms.
He is clutching her so tightly that he feels the delicate cage of her ribs expand against his chest with every breath. In. Out. In. Out.
Alive.
"Um," Violet says. Her voice is muffled against his lapel. "You can let go now? Unless this is a kidnapping. Is this a kidnapping?"
Ethan shudders. A violent, racking tremor that starts in his spine and ends in his fingertips.
He pulls back, but he keeps his hands on her shoulders. He has to verify the structural integrity of this reality. No blood on her nose. No bruising. Her violet hair is bright and clean, free of glass shards.
"You're okay," he chokes out. Tears blur his vision, turning her into a watercolor smear of purple and gold. "You're actually okay."
Violet blinks up at him, bewildered. She tilts her head—a movement he has memorized, a movement he thought he'd never see again.
"I'm fine," she says slowly. She reaches up, her thumb brushing away a tear that has escaped his eye. "Hey. You're shaking. Did you hit your head?"
Ethan laughs. It's a ragged, ugly sound that attracts stares from a passing couple. "No. No, I just... I thought I lost something. But I found it."
She frowns, her amber and gold eyes scanning his face. "Okay, Ethan with the Shiny Shoes. Deep breaths."
Ethan freezes.
She knows his name.
Wait. No. She doesn't know his name. He told her his name in the last... in the before. Did he tell her now?
No. He hasn't spoken his name yet.
"How do you know my name?" he asks, his voice tight.
Violet points to the laminated ID badge clipped to his belt. Ethan Cross. Senior Analyst.
"Badge," she grins. "I'm observant. It's kind of my thing."
Ethan looks down. Of course. Logic. Causality. The world hasn't broken; he just reset the simulation.
He forces his hands to let go of her shoulders. He steps back. The physical separation hurts, like ripping off a bandage.
"Right," he says. He runs a hand through his hair. "I'm Ethan. And you're Violet."
"I am," she says. "And you have excellent reflexes. Thanks for the save."
She bends down to pick up her sketchbook.
The same sketchbook. The same charcoal drawing of the crowd.
Ethan watches her. His brain is firing at million-miles-an-hour speeds.
Hypothesis: He traveled back in time.
Cause: Unknown.
Trigger: The crash? The wish?
Opportunity: Infinite.
He has knowledge. He knows she has a grade-four glioblastoma growing in her brain stem right now. He knows she has a sister named Eleanor turning eighteen in two months. He knows she likes vanilla lattes with oat milk.
He wasted two months last time. He spent sixty days courting her while the tumor grew.
Not this time.
This time, he cuts the inefficiencies. This time, he saves her.
"Violet," he says. His tone is too intense. He knows it, but he can't modulate it.
"Yeah?" She clutches the book to her chest, looking a little wary now.
"I need to buy you a coffee."
She raises an eyebrow. "You need to?"
"Yes. Immediately. And then we need to talk."
"Talk about what?"
"About headaches," Ethan says. "And allergies that aren't allergies. And the fact that we're going to get you the best neurosurgeon on the planet before this week is over."
Violet takes a step back. The playful spark in her eyes vanishes, replaced by cold suspicion.
"Who are you?" she whispers.
Ethan pauses. Idiot. You're moving too fast. To her, you are a stranger who just tackled her near a fountain. If you talk about her medical history now, she'll think you're a stalker.
He takes a deep breath. Recalibrate. Adapt.
"I'm sorry," Ethan says, forcing a charming, sheepish smile onto his face. It feels like a mask. "I'm... clairvoyant. My grandmother was a psychic."
"Seriously?"
"No. I'm just guessing. You rubbed your temple twice since you stood up. You have a caffeine withdrawal headache."
Violet touches her temple. She is doing it.
She relaxes slightly. "Okay. Sherlock Holmes. Creepy, but accurate."
"Let me make it up to you," Ethan presses. "Coffee. Five minutes. If I'm boring, you can walk away."
She hesitates. She looks at the exit of the park, then back at him.
In the last timeline—God, timeline—she agreed because he was polite and intriguing. Now, he looks desperate.
"One coffee," she concedes. "But if you try to sell me insurance or crypto, I'm screaming."
"Deal."
They walk to the kiosk.
Ethan feels a ghost walking beside him. He remembers holding her hand here. He remembers her warmth.
He checks his watch. 3:55 PM.
Marcus is waiting at the North Gate.
Ethan pulls out his phone.
Text to Marcus: Go home. Family emergency. Cover for me.
Sent.
He shuts off the phone. He is not wasting a single second on Marcus or Sterling & Cross today.
At the counter, the line is just as long as he remembers.
"So," Violet says, leaning against the rail. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Ethan. Your hands are still twitching."
"I had a bad day," Ethan says truthfully. "A catastrophic day. Until about ten minutes ago."
"And now?"
"Now I have a second chance to fix it."
Violet tilts her head. "Sounds heavy."
"It is." He looks at her. "Tell me something real. Why do you like the cherry blossoms?"
She blinks. "I never said I like them."
"You're standing under them. You were taking a photo."
"Maybe I hate them," she challenges playfully. "Maybe I'm documenting the enemy."
Ethan smiles. It's a sad, knowing smile. "No. You think they're beautiful because they end. You think if they stayed all year, nobody would look up."
Violet's mouth opens slightly. "Did... did you just read my mind?"
"I told you," Ethan says softly. "I'm observant."
"That's exactly what I wrote in my journal this morning." She looks spooked.
"Maybe we're on the same wavelength."
They reach the front.
"What can I get you?" the barista asks.
Violet opens her mouth, but Ethan speaks first.
"Large black coffee for me. And a vanilla latte, oat milk, extra foam. And if you can do a leaf design in the foam, she'd appreciate the metaphor for growth."
The barista blinks. "Uh. Sure."
Violet stares at him. She doesn't look charmed. she looks unsettled.
"Okay," she says, her voice low. "How do you know my order? Did you follow me here? Because this is crossing the line from 'cute meet-cute' to 'lifetime movie villain'."
Ethan realizes his mistake. Variable error. Over-optimization destroys user experience.
"I didn't follow you," he lies quickly. "I saw you in line earlier. At the other stand. You ordered the same thing."
"I... didn't go to another stand."
"Then I guessed," Ethan says, his palms sweating. "You look like a vanilla latte person. You're wearing a white dress. It fits the aesthetic."
Violet narrows her eyes. "You're a weird guy, Ethan."
"I get that a lot."
"But... you got it right. Which is annoying."
She accepts the cup when it comes. She inspects the foam leaf.
"Surface tension," she murmurs.
"Magic," Ethan corrects.
She looks up sharply.
Ethan feels like he's walking a tightrope over a pit of fire. He remembers their conversations too well. He's anticipating her lines before she says them. He needs to slow down. He needs to play the game, or he'll lose her before he even starts.
"Let's sit," he suggests.
They take the bench by the water. The sun is lower now.
Ethan watches her sip. He's checking her vital signs visually. She looks healthy. The cancer is hidden deep, invisible. A silent assassin.
Action Plan:
Secure the date.
Get her to trust him.
Convince her to get an MRI under false pretenses if necessary.
"Violet," he says.
"Yeah?"
"I want to take you to dinner. Tonight."
"Tonight?" She laughs nervously. "You move fast. I have work. Library shift starts at six."
"Skip it."
"I can't just skip work. I need the money. Rent isn't free."
"I'll pay you," Ethan says.
Violet puts her cup down hard on the bench. Coffee sloshes over the rim.
"Excuse me?"
"I mean—" Ethan flinches. Wrong. Wrong approach. "I mean, I'll pay for your time. No. That sounds worse."
"Much worse," Violet says coldly. She stands up. "Okay. I think I'm done. Thanks for the coffee, psychic boy. But you're creeping me out."
"Wait!" Ethan jumps up. He grabs her arm.
It's instinct. But she flinches away like he burned her.
"Don't grab me." Her eyes flash.
Ethan retracts his hand, holding it up in surrender. Panic rises in his throat. In the last timeline, this hour was magical. It was easy. They connected instantly.
Why is he ruining it?
Because you're terrified, a voice in his head whispers. Because you know she's dying and you're trying to sprint to the cure instead of walking the path.
"I'm sorry," Ethan says. He forces his voice to drop an octave. He forces his posture to relax. "I'm sorry. I'm... I'm really bad at this. Socially. I'm an analyst. I work with numbers. People make me nervous."
He uses the "awkward genius" card. It's a partial truth.
Violet pauses. She looks at him, judging.
"You're nervous?" she asks. "You seem arrogant."
"It's a defense mechanism," he lies. "Look. I just... I think you're incredible. And I really, really don't want to blow this. Can we start over?"
He holds out a hand.
"Hi. I'm Ethan. I promise not to predict your future or offer you money."
Violet looks at his hand. Then at his face. She sighs, her shoulders dropping.
"You really are a mess, aren't you?"
"A complete disaster," Ethan agrees fervently.
"Okay." She shakes his hand. "One more chance. But if you get weird again, I have mace in my bag. And I know how to use it."
"Noted."
She sits back down.
"So," she says. "Tell me something real. Not a guess. Not a line. Something real about you."
Ethan looks at her. He thinks about the car crash. He thinks about the three weeks he spent holding her hand while she forgot his name. He thinks about the scream he let out when she died.
"I'm afraid of running out of time," he says.
It's the truest thing he's ever said.
Violet's expression softens. "That's... valid. Time is slippery."
She reaches into her bag and pulls out a pen. She grabs his hand—the same hand he used to check her pulse in the wreck—and uncaps the marker.
"Here," she says. "So you don't run out."
She draws a small watch face on his wrist, right below his Patek Philippe. The hands on the drawing are stuck at 12:00.
"There," she says. "Now it's always midnight. Or noon. Either way, you have time."
Ethan stares at the ink on his skin.
He feels a lump in his throat the size of a fist.
In the last timeline, she gave him her number. In this one, she gave him time.
"Thank you," he whispers.
"Don't get mushy on me," she warns. "Okay. I have to go to work. For real."
"I'll drive you."
"No. Subway. It has texture."
"Right. Texture." He smiles painfully. He remembers the script.
"Saturday," he says. He can't help himself. He needs the anchor. "Are you free Saturday?"
"Maybe," she teases. "Depends on if you get less weird by then."
"I'll work on it."
"Call me." She scribbles digits on a napkin this time, handing it to him. "And Ethan?"
"Yes?"
She looks at him, squinting slightly against the setting sun.
"Have we met before? Like, actually? Because... I have the weirdest déjà vu right now."
Ethan's heart stops.
"No," he says, reciting the line from the last life. "I would have remembered you."
But this time, it's a lie. He does remember her. He remembers every second of her.
"Hmm." She hums. Mmm-hmm. "Strange."
She turns and walks away, purple hair catching the golden light.
Ethan stands there, clutching the napkin like a lifeline.
Step one is complete. He has contact. He has the date.
Now, the work begins.
He pulls out his phone. He ignores twenty missed calls from the office. He opens his browser.
Search: Glioblastoma early detection symptoms.
Search: Dr. Amara Wells personal email.
Search: Sterling & Cross liquidation of assets timeline.
He walks toward his car. The beautiful vintage Mustang isn't his yet—it's Sebastian's. He's driving his black Audi today. The safe car.
"I'm going to save you," he says to the empty air.
It's not a promise. It's a statement of fact.
He opens the car door.
And for the first time, Ethan Cross feels a new emotion. It's not love. It's not grief.
It's obsession.
He will tear the world apart to keep her alive. And if the universe tries to take her again, he will break the universe.
The loop counter in his head ticks over.
Loop 1.
Day 1.
Time Remaining: Approx 180 Days.
"Let's play," Ethan says.
And he pulls out into traffic, driving toward a future he thinks he can control.