Nada stopped writing at 3:17 a.m.
Her pen hovered above the chart, shaking.
Patient: Unknown.
Time of death: 02:46.
She stared at the line until the words blurred.
"No," she whispered.
Not because the patient was alive.
Because she remembered him dying differently.
The Ward That Never Resets
The hospital was understaffed tonight.
It always was now.
No quiet correction.
No miraculous stabilizations.
Just people doing their best and sometimes failing.
Nada pressed her fingers to her temples.
She remembered this man.
She remembered holding his hand while the monitor flatlined.
She remembered apologizing.
She remembered walking out into a hallway that no longer existed.
But that was supposed to be a different timeline.
And yet—
Here he was again.
Dying again.
Guilt Without Escape
A senior doctor touched her shoulder.
"You did everything you could," he said gently.
Nada flinched.
"…Which time?" she asked.
He frowned.
"Sorry?"
She shook her head.
"Nothing."
If she told them, they'd say trauma.
If she insisted, they'd say delusion.
So she did the only thing left.
She remembered.
Elsewhere — A Pattern Emerges
Loraine circled another red mark on her city map.
"That's not random," she muttered.
Water main failure.
Signal drop.
Cardiac emergency cluster.
All within a three-block radius.
"…That's a scar," she said.
She zoomed out.
The map was starting to look like a web.
Or a wound.
The Child Who Knows Tomorrow
Hawa sat on the school steps, knees hugged to her chest.
She didn't cry.
She was past that.
Her teacher approached cautiously.
"Hawa," she said softly,
"why didn't you answer the question in class?"
Hawa looked up.
"Because if I answer," she said,
"I'll wish later that I hadn't."
The teacher didn't know what to say.
Hawa stared at the sky.
"…It's easier when I stay quiet," she added.
Nada's Line in the Sand
The next patient was a woman in her forties.
Heart attack.
Nada recognized her instantly.
She remembered losing her three times.
Different nights.
Different choices.
Same end.
Nada took a breath.
"No," she said quietly.
The nurse blinked.
"What?"
"I won't accept this," Nada said.
"Not as inevitable."
She worked like her life depended on it.
Because somewhere in her memory—
This woman survived.
And this time—
She did.
The monitor stabilized.
The room exhaled.
Someone laughed in disbelief.
Nada leaned against the wall, sliding down until she sat on the floor.
Hands over her face.
She hadn't fixed the world.
She hadn't reset anything.
She had just refused to give up.
The Meeting
Abinaya found her an hour later.
She didn't introduce herself as anything important.
Just sat beside Nada in the break room.
"You remember more than you should," Abinaya said gently.
Nada didn't look up.
"…So do you," she replied.
Abinaya smiled faintly.
"Yes."
Nada lowered her hands.
"If I remember everyone I failed," she said, voice breaking,
"does that make me responsible for all of them?"
Abinaya thought carefully.
"No," she said.
"It makes you someone who won't look away."
Nada nodded slowly.
"…I don't want to be a god."
"Good," Abinaya replied.
"This world has had enough of those."
They sat in silence.
Two women who remembered too much.
Choosing to stay human anyway.
Far above the city—
The Watcher observed Nada.
Not as a threat.
Not as a variable.
But as something new.
Someone who changed outcomes without permission.
The system was gone.
But resistance—
Resistance was alive.