The universe didn't explode.
It didn't send signs written in fire or open the sky to swallow us whole.
It did something worse.
It made everything harder.
The next morning, the electricity died across half the city. Shops closed early. Trains stopped running. The rain turned acidic enough to sting if you stayed in it too long. People moved faster, spoke less, avoided eye contact like it was contagious.
This world was tightening its grip.
Kian felt it immediately.
"Something's wrong," he said as we stood on the street, watching a crowd argue with a bus driver who kept shaking his head. "This isn't normal. Even for here."
I swallowed. My head throbbed, sharp and constant, like my power was pushing against something invisible.
"I think I'm the problem," I said quietly.
He scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I mean it," I insisted. "Things get worse when I stay too long."
He turned to me then, frustration flashing in his eyes. "You don't get to blame yourself for a world that was already broken."
The ground trembled beneath our feet.
Not an earthquake. Something smaller. Intentional.
I staggered, grabbing his arm. For a split second, my vision blurred—colors bending, edges folding in on themselves. The doorway flickered into existence, faint and unstable.
Kian saw it.
"What… is that?" he whispered.
I froze.
No one had ever seen it before.
"I—" My throat tightened. "I didn't want you to know like this."
The doorway pulsed once, then vanished.
Silence crashed down between us.
Kian stared at the empty space, then at me. "You're not from here," he said slowly. "Not just figuratively."
I nodded.
"You can leave," he continued. "Anytime."
"Yes."
The word sounded like a betrayal.
He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. "Figures."
"I didn't choose this," I said. "And I don't use it to run away."
"But you will," he replied. Not accusing. Just stating a fact.
Sirens wailed in the distance. A building across the street cracked down the middle, concrete splitting like it was made of paper. People screamed. The city felt like it was tearing itself apart to get my attention.
The multiverse doesn't punish quickly.
It punishes thoroughly.
"Look around," Kian said, voice low. "This is happening because you're here, isn't it?"
Tears burned my eyes. "I think so."
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "So what—if you leave, it stops?"
"Eventually."
"And if you stay?"
I didn't answer.
He stopped pacing.
"Say it," he demanded quietly.
"If I stay," I whispered, "this world collapses faster."
The words hung between us, heavy and unforgiving.
Kian stared at the ground for a long moment. When he looked back up, something in him had hardened.
"Then go," he said.
My heart shattered.
"You don't mean that."
"I do," he insisted. "I won't be the reason this place dies. And I won't be the reason you do."
"I won't die," I said quickly.
He met my eyes. "You don't know that."
Another tremor hit. Stronger this time.
I grabbed his hand. "Please don't shut me out."
"I'm not," he said. "I'm letting you survive."
That hurt more than anything else he could've said.
The doorway flickered again, brighter now, closer. My body ached like it was being pulled apart from the inside.
Kian squeezed my hand once.
"If you ever come back," he said, voice steady despite everything, "don't do it because you feel guilty."
"Then why?" I asked.
"Because you chose me," he replied. "Even knowing the cost."
The doorway opened fully.
I didn't step through.
Not yet.
But I knew, with terrifying certainty, that the universe had given me a warning.
Next time, it wouldn't ask.