Chapter 1 – Late Again
Rowan Ashcrow woke up because his phone was screaming.
He didn't know why he still set an alarm. Every morning it yelled at him for forty-seven minutes straight, and every morning he ignored it until it gave up and sulked back to the home screen. Today was no different.
He rolled over, one arm flopping off the bed, and yawned so hard his jaw clicked.
The phone finally shut up.
Rowan blinked at the ceiling. Gray light leaked through the half-open blinds. The cactus on the windowsill looked exactly as dead as it had yesterday.
"Shit," he mumbled. "I'm late."
He sat up, scratched his messy black hair, and hunted for the hoodie he'd worn yesterday. Found it under a pizza box. Pulled it on. It smelled faintly of coffee and dryer sheets. Perfect.
Keys. Wallet. Phone. One shoe… there it is. Second shoe was under the bed, probably judging him.
Rowan shuffled to the front door, opened it, and stepped into the hallway.
The clock on the microwave in the kitchen read 8:59 a.m.
He blinked.
When he'd woken up it had definitely been 8:12. He remembered because the alarm had been on its thirty-fifth minute of screaming.
Weird.
He shrugged and headed downstairs. Mrs. Kowalski from 2B was walking her corgi. She glanced at her watch, frowned, shook her wrist, then smiled at him.
"Morning, Rowan. You're looking… punctual today."
"Morning, Mrs. K." He waved as he passed. The corgi rolled over and showed its belly. Rowan didn't think anything of it. Dogs were just like that sometimes.
Outside, the city smelled like burnt sugar and wet pavement. Rowan stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket and started the twelve-block walk to the weird little bookshop where he technically had a job.
The bus stop was empty. The bus never came when he waited anyway, so he didn't bother.
Halfway down the block, every single traffic light turned green in perfect sequence, like they were rolling out a carpet.
Rowan yawned again. "Huh. Lucky."
He had no idea that, three thousand light-years away, a red supergiant had just politely imploded a few million years early because he'd stretched in bed.
He had no idea that time itself had rewound three hours and seventeen minutes just so he could leave the apartment at the exact second he always did.
He definitely had no idea that the universe had a betting pool going on how long it would take him to notice literally anything.
Rowan just yawned, kicked a pebble, and muttered, "Need coffee," like any normal, broke twenty-four-year-old who was late for a job he only kind of had.
The day was already weird.
He hadn't even reached the alley yet.