"The fracture incarnate." The professor's words hung in the air, heavy with accusation.
Dany stared at John, her mind struggling to process what she'd just heard. His face had gone pale, his grip on her hand tightening to the point of pain.
"That's absurd," John finally said, his voice strained. "Professor, whatever Catherine has told you—"
"Catherine has merely confirmed what I already suspected," Professor Blackwood interrupted. "The evidence has been accumulating for some time."
Dany pulled her hand from John's, taking a step back to create distance between them. "What does that mean—'the fracture incarnate'?"
The professor's eyes were sympathetic as they met hers. "It means, my dear, that the man you know as John Ambrose is himself the cause of the temporal fractures we've been discussing. Not a victim of them, not someone trying to heal them, but their very source."
"That's a lie," John said, his voice low and dangerous. "Professor, you know what's at stake here. This manipulation—"
"Is no manipulation," Catherine cut in. "You've been lying to her from the beginning, John. Using her connection to you to fuel the fractures, to increase your power over time itself."
Dany's head was spinning. She looked between the three of them—John's face tight with what appeared to be desperation, Catherine's expression a mixture of triumph and concern, the professor watching her with scientific curiosity.
"I don't understand," she said. "How can a person be a fracture?"
"An excellent question," Professor Blackwood said, his academic demeanor reasserting itself. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion somewhere more private. The gardens have too many ears."
"We're not going anywhere with you," John said firmly, moving closer to Dany again. "This is exactly the kind of manipulation I warned you about, Dany. They're trying to separate us before the coming fracture."
"And why would we do that?" Catherine asked. "If you're truly trying to heal the fractures, our goals should align."
"Your goals have never aligned with mine," John shot back. "You've always wanted to use the wardrobe's power for your own purposes."
The professor raised a hand, silencing them both. "Enough. This bickering serves no one." He turned to Dany. "You are the key to all of this, Miss Mitchell. The decision must be yours. Will you hear what we have to say, or will you continue to follow John blindly?"
Dany felt torn between conflicting impulses. The connection she felt to John was powerful, transcending rational thought. Yet the doubts that had been planted in her mind—first by the older Catherine in her time, now by the professor himself—couldn't be ignored.
"I want to hear everything," she decided, looking directly at John. "From all of you. No more secrets, no more half-truths."
John's expression was pained. "Dany, please—"
"If you have nothing to hide," she interrupted, "then you have nothing to fear from their explanation."
After a moment of tense silence, John nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But not here."
"The laboratory," the professor suggested. "It's secure, and all the evidence we need is there."
The walk back to the university buildings was tense, no one speaking. Dany found herself in the middle, with John on one side and Catherine and the professor on the other—a physical manifestation of her internal division.
Once inside the laboratory, the professor locked the door behind them and moved to one of the desks, retrieving a different notebook than the one John had shown her earlier.
"To understand what's happening," he began, "you must first understand the true nature of the wardrobe and the fractures it's connected to." He opened the notebook, revealing pages of complex diagrams and equations. "Time is not linear, as I'm sure John has explained. It's more like a fabric—interconnected threads that form a cohesive whole. A fracture occurs when those threads are severed or rewoven unnaturally."
"John said the first major fracture occurred here, in 1882," Dany said. "The day you supposedly disappeared."
"Yes and no," the professor replied. "There was indeed a significant event that day, but it wasn't my disappearance. It was the creation of a temporal duplicate."
"A duplicate?" Dany repeated, confused.
"Of John Ambrose," Catherine clarified, her eyes fixed on John. "The original John Ambrose was my colleague, a brilliant medical student assisting the professor. But the man standing beside you is not that John. He's a copy, created when the original John attempted to use the wardrobe without proper preparation."
John's jaw tightened, but he remained silent, his eyes never leaving Dany's face.
"The duplicate theory is one possibility," the professor acknowledged. "But my research suggests something more complex. I believe what we're dealing with is a temporal paradox given physical form—a person who exists outside the normal rules of time, who can move between timelines at will and alter them in the process."
"That's why the wardrobe responds to his blood," Catherine added. "Because his very existence is intertwined with its function."
Dany turned to John, searching his face. "Is any of this true?"
For a long moment, he was silent, his expression unreadable. Then, with a deep sigh, he spoke. "Parts of it. But not in the way they're presenting it."
"Then explain," Dany urged. "No more evasions."
John ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration she'd come to recognize. "I am not the original John Ambrose," he admitted finally. "But I'm not a duplicate or a paradox either. I'm... a convergence."
"A convergence of what?" the professor asked, his academic curiosity clearly piqued despite his suspicions.
"Of multiple versions of John Ambrose from different timelines," John explained. "When the original experiment went wrong in 1882, it didn't just create a fracture—it shattered John Ambrose across dozens of timelines. I am the result of those fragments gradually finding each other, merging back together."
"That's impossible," Catherine said dismissively. "The energy required for such a convergence—"
"Is exactly what the wardrobe has been gathering through our journeys," John interrupted, looking at Dany. "Each time we connect across different eras, it strengthens the convergence, brings more fragments together."
The professor was watching John with renewed interest. "Fascinating. If true, it would explain certain anomalies in my observations." He turned to a different page in his notebook. "The energy spikes I've recorded whenever you use the wardrobe..."
"Are the result of fragments converging," John confirmed. "Not fractures being created, as you've assumed."
Dany's mind was reeling. "So when you said we were trying to heal fractures—"
"I meant it," John insisted. "But the fractures aren't just in time itself. They're in us. In me, in you. We've both been shattered across timelines, Dany. That's why we keep finding each other, why we feel this connection that transcends rational explanation. We're trying to become whole again."
Catherine made a sound of disbelief. "A convenient explanation. Romantic, even. But it doesn't account for the damage your 'convergence' is causing to the stability of time itself."
"The damage isn't caused by the convergence," John argued. "It's caused by resistance to it. By attempts to prevent it from completing."
"Attempts by whom?" the professor asked.
John's eyes shifted to Catherine. "By those who benefit from the fractures remaining open. Who use them to move through time at will, altering events to suit their purposes."
Catherine's expression hardened. "You dare accuse me? When you're the one who's been manipulating Dany from the beginning?"
"I haven't manipulated anyone," John said firmly. "I've been trying to protect Dany, to help her understand her role in all this."
"Which is what, exactly?" Dany asked, trying to cut through the accusations flying between them.
John's expression softened as he looked at her. "You're like me, Dany. A convergence point for fragments of yourself scattered across time. But you're more than that. You're a catalyst—someone who can accelerate the healing process, who can help close the fractures permanently."
"Or widen them catastrophically if your energy is misdirected," the professor added gravely.
Dany felt overwhelmed by the competing explanations, each plausible in its way, each supported by people who seemed convinced of their rightness. She moved to one of the laboratory stools and sat down, trying to organize her thoughts.
"Let me see if I understand," she said slowly. "John claims he's a convergence of fragments from multiple timelines, and that I am too. That our connection is helping to heal fractures in time by bringing these fragments back together." She looked at the professor and Catherine. "While you believe he's either a duplicate or a paradox who's causing fractures, not healing them."
"Precisely," the professor confirmed. "Though I must admit, his convergence theory is... intriguing. It would explain certain observations that have puzzled me."
"It would also be convenient for him if you believed it," Catherine pointed out. "It casts him as the hero of this story rather than the villain."
"And what's your role in all this?" Dany asked her directly. "John says you want to use the fractures to change history, to prevent personal tragedies in your past."
Catherine's expression flickered with something—pain, perhaps, or anger—before settling back into cool composure. "My motivations are irrelevant to the facts at hand. The evidence clearly shows that John's activities are destabilizing time itself."
"Show me this evidence," Dany challenged.
The professor moved to a cabinet and retrieved a strange device—a brass and copper contraption with dials and a small glass screen. "This is a temporal fluctuation detector," he explained. "It measures disturbances in the normal flow of time." He adjusted several dials, and the screen lit up with pulsing patterns. "These readings were taken during John's last five uses of the wardrobe."
He then flipped a switch, and the pattern changed. "And these were taken during controlled experiments with the wardrobe, conducted by Catherine and myself."
Dany studied the patterns. Even to her untrained eye, the difference was clear—John's readings showed violent spikes and chaotic patterns, while the controlled experiments displayed more regular, predictable fluctuations.
"This proves nothing," John said dismissively. "Of course my journeys create stronger fluctuations—I'm carrying fragments of multiple timelines within me."
"Or you're causing damage with each journey," Catherine countered.
Dany looked between them, frustration mounting. "Is there any way to prove definitively who's right? Some experiment or test?"
The professor stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps. If John is truly a convergence as he claims, there should be measurable differences in his temporal signature compared to a normal person—or even a duplicate."
"And if he's the source of the fractures?" Dany asked.
"Then his signature would show specific distortion patterns," the professor explained. "Distinct from either a normal person or a convergence."
"Fine," John said, rolling up his sleeve. "Test me. But test Catherine too. And yourself, Professor. Let's see what all our temporal signatures reveal."
The professor nodded, seemingly pleased by the challenge. "A fair proposal. It will take some time to calibrate the equipment properly."
As the professor busied himself with his devices, Catherine moved closer to Dany, speaking in a low voice. "Whatever the tests show, remember that actions speak louder than temporal signatures. Ask yourself why John has been so selective with the information he's shared with you."
"I could ask the same about you," Dany replied evenly. "The older version of you in my time was just as cryptic, just as manipulative."
Catherine's eyebrows rose slightly. "You've met my future self? Interesting. And what did she tell you?"
"That John is using me to widen fractures, not heal them. That he wants to control time itself." Dany studied Catherine's reaction carefully. "She also gave me a key that supposedly leads to the truth."
"A key?" Catherine repeated, genuine surprise in her voice. "What kind of key?"
Before Dany could answer, John joined them, his expression wary. "The professor is almost ready. What are you two discussing?"
"My future self," Catherine replied with a small smile. "Apparently she and Dany have had quite the conversation."
John's jaw tightened. "Whatever she told you, Dany, remember that Catherine has her own agenda. In every timeline."
"As do you," Catherine shot back.
The professor interrupted their tense exchange. "The equipment is ready. Who would like to go first?"
"I will," John volunteered, moving to the chair the professor had set up beside his strange device.
The testing process was fascinating to watch. The professor attached small copper discs to John's temples and wrists, connecting them by wires to the central device. Dials turned, lights flickered, and a continuous strip of paper emerged from one side, covered in jagged lines and symbols.
"Remarkable," the professor murmured as he studied the results. "Your temporal signature is unlike anything I've recorded before. There are indeed multiple patterns overlaid on each other, as if..."
"As if fragments from different timelines are converging," John finished for him. "Just as I said."
The professor nodded slowly. "It would appear so. Though the pattern is still unstable, suggesting the convergence is incomplete."
Catherine was next, her results showing a much more stable pattern, though with certain anomalies that the professor noted with interest. "Evidence of extensive temporal travel, but no fragmentation or convergence."
When it was the professor's turn, his results were similar to Catherine's, though with even more pronounced markers of temporal displacement. "As expected," he commented. "My consciousness has traveled extensively since my supposed disappearance."
Finally, it was Dany's turn. She sat nervously as the copper discs were attached to her skin, cool against her temples. The machine hummed and clicked as it processed her temporal signature.
The professor's expression changed as he examined her results—first surprise, then deep concern. "This is... unexpected."
"What is it?" Dany asked anxiously.
"Your temporal signature shows signs of fragmentation similar to John's," the professor explained, "but with a crucial difference." He pointed to a particular pattern on the paper strip. "This indicates that your fragments aren't converging naturally. They're being... pulled together artificially."
"What does that mean?" Dany asked, looking between the three faces watching her.
"It means," John said quietly, "that someone is accelerating your convergence. Forcing it to happen faster than it should."
"Or," Catherine countered, "it means that someone is using your fragmentation to fuel something else entirely."
The professor studied the readings more closely. "There's another anomaly here. A secondary signature overlaid on your own, almost like..."
"Like what?" Dany pressed when he trailed off.
"Like someone else's consciousness has been temporarily merged with yours during your journeys," the professor finished, his expression troubled. "A passenger, if you will."
A chill ran through Dany. "Is that possible?"
"Theoretically," the professor confirmed. "Though extremely dangerous for both consciousnesses involved."
John was examining the readings now, his face pale. "This isn't right," he muttered. "This isn't what should be happening."
"Perhaps not according to your plans," Catherine suggested coldly.
"It's not my doing," John insisted, looking up at Dany with genuine concern in his eyes. "I would never risk your consciousness that way."
"Then who?" Dany asked, fear creeping into her voice. "Who would do this?"
The professor and Catherine exchanged a look that Dany couldn't interpret. "There are others who know of the wardrobe's power," the professor said carefully. "Others who might have their own designs on time itself."
"The time hunters," John said grimly. "I've encountered them before—people who seek to exploit temporal fractures for their own gain. They must have discovered your connection to me, to the wardrobe."
"Or," Catherine suggested, her voice heavy with implication, "someone closer to home is responsible."
The tension in the laboratory was palpable, suspicion and accusation hanging in the air. Dany felt caught in the middle of forces she barely understood, pulled in different directions by people who each claimed to have her best interests at heart.
"I need time to think," she said finally, standing up and removing the copper discs from her skin. "All of this—it's too much to process at once."
"Of course," the professor said kindly. "This is a lot to absorb. Perhaps some fresh air would help clear your mind."
"I'll come with you," John offered immediately.
"No," Dany said firmly. "I need to be alone. Just for a little while."
Hurt flashed across John's face, but he nodded in acceptance. "I understand. But please, don't go far. It's not safe for you to be alone for too long, not with what we've just discovered about your temporal signature."
"I'll just be outside," Dany assured him. "In the courtyard."
As she moved toward the door, Catherine spoke up. "Before you go—the key my future self gave you. May I see it?"
Dany hesitated, her hand moving instinctively to her pocket where Catherine's key rested alongside the one from Eleanor. "I don't have it with me," she lied, not entirely sure why she felt the need to keep the keys secret.
Catherine looked skeptical but didn't press the issue. "Very well. But be careful, Dany. Not everything is as it seems in this laboratory."
With a final glance at John, whose expression was a mixture of concern and resignation, Dany left the laboratory and made her way down the stairs to the courtyard below.
The fresh air was a relief after the tense atmosphere of the laboratory. Dany found a secluded bench beneath a tree and sat down, trying to sort through the conflicting information and emotions swirling within her.
John claimed to be a convergence of fragments, working to heal fractures in time—including the fractures within themselves. It was a romantic notion, the idea that they were meant to be together across all timelines, that the wardrobe was helping to restore what had been broken.
But the professor and Catherine painted a different picture—John as the source of the fractures, using Dany's connection to him to fuel his power over time. And now there was this new concern—the secondary signature in her temporal readings, suggesting someone else was hitching a ride during her journeys.
Who was telling the truth? Who could she trust?
Dany pulled the two keys from her pocket, studying them side by side. They were similar in design—small, ornate, made of what appeared to be brass or bronze—but with subtle differences in their patterns. One from Catherine's future self, one from Eleanor, the mysterious time traveler she had yet to meet. Both supposedly leading to "the truth."
But whose truth?
A shadow fell across her, interrupting her thoughts. Dany looked up, expecting to see John or perhaps Catherine coming to check on her.
Instead, a stranger stood before her—a man in his thirties, dressed in the fashion of the era but with something subtly wrong about his appearance, as if his clothes didn't quite fit properly. His eyes were cold, assessing, and fixed on the keys in her hand.
"Danielle Mitchell," he said, his voice oddly flat. "You have something that doesn't belong to you."
Dany quickly pocketed the keys, alarm rising within her. "Who are you?"
"Someone with a vested interest in temporal stability," the man replied. "The keys you possess are dangerous in the wrong hands. I've been sent to retrieve them."
"Sent by whom?" Dany demanded, standing up to face him.
The man smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. "By the Custodians. Those who maintain the proper flow of time."
"I've never heard of any Custodians," Dany said, backing away slowly.
"Few have," the man acknowledged. "We prefer to work unnoticed." He held out his hand. "The keys, please. This doesn't have to become unpleasant."
Dany's heart raced as she assessed her options. The laboratory was too far to run back to without being caught. Shouting for help might bring assistance, but it would also create a scene that could have unpredictable consequences in this time period.
"I don't think so," she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "These keys were given to me for a reason."
The man's expression hardened. "By Catherine Harlow and Eleanor Blackwood. Neither of whom has the authority to distribute temporal artifacts."
Dany's surprise must have shown on her face, because the man smiled coldly. "Yes, I know exactly who gave you those keys. The Custodians see everything, Miss Mitchell. Now, for the last time—hand them over."
He took a step toward her, his hand still extended. Dany backed away further, bumping into the bench behind her.
"Stay away from me," she warned.
"I'm afraid I can't do that," the man replied. "Those keys are too important to the timeline."
As he reached for her, Dany made a split-second decision. She ducked under his arm and ran, not back toward the laboratory but deeper into the university grounds, hoping to lose him among the buildings and courtyards.
She could hear him pursuing her, his footsteps quick and determined on the cobblestones. Dany darted through an archway, down a narrow passage between buildings, and into another courtyard. Students and professors looked up in surprise as she ran past, but no one moved to help or hinder her.
The man was gaining on her—she could hear his breathing, closer now. Dany turned a corner sharply and found herself in a dead end, a small garden enclosed by high walls on three sides.
Trapped.
She spun around to face her pursuer, who had slowed to a walk now that she had nowhere to run. He approached cautiously, like someone cornering a frightened animal.
"There's nowhere to go, Miss Mitchell," he said calmly. "Please don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."
Dany's mind raced. She couldn't give up the keys—not when they might hold the answers she so desperately needed. But what options did she have?
As if in answer to her silent question, a familiar voice called out from behind the man.
"Step away from her. Now."
John stood at the entrance to the garden, his expression fierce. Behind him were Catherine and Professor Blackwood, both looking equally determined.
The man turned slowly, his posture tense but controlled. "This doesn't concern you, Ambrose. The Custodians have jurisdiction here."
"The Custodians have no jurisdiction over her," John replied coldly. "She's under my protection."
"And mine," the professor added, stepping forward. "I don't know who you claim to represent, sir, but this is my university and my student you're threatening."
The man's eyes narrowed as he assessed the three newcomers. After a moment of tense silence, he straightened his jacket and adopted a more formal demeanor.
"Very well. But this isn't over. The keys must be returned to their proper place in the timeline." He looked directly at Dany. "We'll be watching, Miss Mitchell."
With that, he walked past John, Catherine, and the professor, disappearing around the corner of the building.
Dany sagged with relief, her legs suddenly weak. John rushed to her side, his hands gentle as they steadied her.
"Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"
"I'm fine," Dany assured him, though her voice shook slightly. "He wanted the keys. He knew about them—knew who gave them to me."
"The Custodians," Catherine said, her expression troubled. "I thought they were just a myth—a story told to frighten temporal researchers."
"They're very real," the professor confirmed grimly. "Though I've never encountered one directly before today."
"Who are they?" Dany asked, looking between the three of them.
"A group that believes they're the protectors of the 'proper' timeline," John explained, his arm still around Dany's shoulders. "They hunt down and eliminate anything they see as a threat to temporal stability—including people like us."
"They're dangerous," Catherine added. "Fanatics who believe they alone know how time should unfold."
The professor was scanning the surroundings, his expression wary. "We should return to the laboratory immediately. If one Custodian found us, others may not be far behind."
They hurried back through the university grounds, John keeping Dany close to his side. The tension between the three of them seemed temporarily set aside in the face of this new threat.
Once safely back in the laboratory, the professor locked the door and activated what he called "temporal dampening fields" around the room—devices designed to mask their presence from anyone tracking temporal signatures.
"The Custodians' appearance changes everything," he said gravely. "We don't have the luxury of working through our... philosophical differences at a leisurely pace."
"Agreed," Catherine said, surprising Dany with her immediate alignment with the professor. "If they're involved, the situation is more dire than we realized."
"What exactly do they want?" Dany asked, still trying to catch her breath from their hurried return.
"Control," John said simply. "They believe there's one 'correct' timeline that must be preserved at all costs. Anyone or anything that threatens that vision is eliminated."
"Including the wardrobe," the professor added. "And those connected to it."
"But why now?" Catherine wondered aloud. "The wardrobe has existed for centuries. Why are they suddenly so interested in it—and in Dany?"
All eyes turned to Dany, who felt the weight of their attention like a physical pressure. "The keys," she said, pulling them from her pocket. "He was fixated on the keys."
The professor approached, studying the keys with intense interest but not touching them. "May I?" he asked, gesturing toward them.
After a moment's hesitation, Dany nodded, placing the keys in his outstretched palm.
The professor examined them carefully, turning them over in his hands. "Extraordinary," he murmured. "These are temporal focus keys—incredibly rare artifacts that can lock or unlock specific points in the timeline."
"What does that mean?" Dany asked.
"It means," Catherine said, her voice hushed with what sounded like awe, "that whoever holds these keys can access fixed points in time—moments that are normally protected from interference."
"Or seal them off permanently," John added grimly. "Preventing anyone from ever accessing them again."
The professor handed the keys back to Dany with a reverence that underscored their importance. "The fact that you possess not one but two of these keys... it's unprecedented. No wonder the Custodians are involved."
"But what am I supposed to do with them?" Dany asked, feeling the weight of the small metal objects in her hand.
"That depends," John said quietly, "on what you believe is right. On who you trust."
The unspoken question hung in the air between them. After everything she'd learned—the competing narratives about John's true nature, the revelation about her own temporal signature, the appearance of the Custodians—who did she trust?
Before she could respond, a loud crash echoed from somewhere below them, followed by shouting and the sound of running feet.
"They're here," the professor said, his face pale. "The Custodians. They must have brought reinforcements."
John moved quickly to the wardrobe, pulling off the sheet that partially covered it. "We need to leave. Now."
"Where?" Dany asked, panic rising in her throat.
"Anywhere but here," Catherine replied, already gathering papers from the professor's desk and stuffing them into a leather satchel. "If they catch us, they'll erase us from the timeline completely."
The sounds of commotion grew louder—heavy footsteps on the stairs now, voices calling out commands. The professor hurried to a cabinet and retrieved a small device similar to the one he'd used to test their temporal signatures.
"A portable version," he explained, tucking it into his coat pocket. "We may need it."
John had the wardrobe doors open now, the interior beginning to glow with that familiar blue light. "Dany," he called urgently. "We have to go."
She hesitated, looking between John at the wardrobe and Catherine and the professor, who were gathering the last of their essential equipment.
"All of us," she decided. "We go together."
Catherine and the professor exchanged a look, then nodded in agreement. "Together," Catherine confirmed.
A loud bang on the laboratory door made them all jump. "Open in the name of the Temporal Custodians!" a commanding voice shouted from the other side.
"Hurry," John urged, extending his hand toward Dany.
She took it without further hesitation, the keys clutched tightly in her other hand. Catherine and the professor joined them before the wardrobe, forming a tight circle as the pounding on the door intensified.
"Focus on a specific time and place," John instructed them all. "Somewhere safe, somewhere the Custodians wouldn't think to look."
"The future," Catherine suggested. "My family's country estate, 1923. It's isolated, secure."
"Too predictable," the professor countered. "They'll check all properties connected to us."
The door splintered as something heavy was rammed against it from the outside.
"No time to debate," John said urgently. "Everyone touch the wardrobe and focus. Now!"
They all placed their hands on the glowing carvings. Dany felt the familiar electric warmth surge through her palm, up her arm, spreading throughout her body. The laboratory around them began to blur as the vortex of light enveloped them.
The door burst open just as the transfer began, revealing several figures in dark clothing. The leader—the same man who had confronted Dany in the garden—lunged forward with a shout of anger.
But it was too late. The laboratory dissolved around them, replaced by the swirling chaos of temporal transfer. Dany felt John's hand gripping hers tightly, anchoring her as they tumbled through the vortex together.
Unlike previous transfers, this one felt chaotic, unstable. The four of them had entered the wardrobe simultaneously, each potentially focusing on different destinations. The result was a violent, disorienting journey that seemed to stretch on far longer than usual.
Colors and sounds whipped past them—fragments of different times and places, none fully forming before dissolving again. Dany caught glimpses of landscapes, buildings, people, all blurring together in a kaleidoscope of temporal possibilities.
And then, abruptly, everything went black. The sensation of falling intensified, as if they were plummeting through an endless void. Dany could no longer feel John's hand in hers, could no longer sense the presence of Catherine or the professor nearby.
She was alone in the darkness, separated from the others by the chaotic nature of their escape.
When consciousness returned, Dany found herself lying on cold, hard ground. The air was filled with strange sounds—distant explosions, the drone of engines overhead, sirens wailing. She opened her eyes to a night sky illuminated by searchlights and the occasional flash of what could only be bombs.
Slowly, painfully, she sat up, taking in her surroundings. She was in what appeared to be a small park or garden, though much of it was obscured by darkness. The silhouettes of buildings rose around her, some with visible damage to their upper floors.
London during the Blitz, she realized with a shock. Somehow, the chaotic transfer had brought her to World War II.
But where were the others? Had they been thrown to different times, different places? Or were they nearby, similarly disoriented by the violent transfer?
"John?" she called softly, not wanting to draw attention in what was clearly a dangerous situation. "Professor? Catherine?"
No response came, only the continued sounds of the air raid—the distant thump of bombs, the wail of sirens, the occasional shout of air raid wardens directing people to shelters.
Dany struggled to her feet, wincing at various aches and pains from her rough landing. She was still wearing the Victorian day dress from 1882, which would draw unwanted attention if anyone saw her. She needed to find shelter, to orient herself, to figure out what to do next.
As she took a tentative step forward, a voice called out from the darkness nearby.
"Stay where you are! Identify yourself!"
Dany froze, her heart pounding. The voice was female, elderly but strong, with a note of authority that suggested this was someone used to being obeyed.
"I'm lost," Dany called back, deciding that honesty—or at least partial honesty—was her best option. "I don't know where I am."
A beam of light cut through the darkness, illuminating Dany in her anachronistic clothing. She squinted against the brightness, unable to see who held the torch.
"Well, well," the voice said, now tinged with surprise and what might have been amusement. "Another traveler. And judging by your attire, quite displaced from your proper time."
The torch lowered slightly, revealing the speaker—an elderly woman with silver hair pulled back in a severe bun, dressed in the practical clothing of 1940s London. Despite her age, she stood straight and tall, her eyes sharp as they assessed Dany.
"You're one of them, aren't you?" the woman continued. "One of the wardrobe's chosen."
Dany's surprise must have shown on her face, because the woman chuckled softly.
"Oh yes, my dear. I know all about the wardrobe and its travelers. I've been watching for you." She stepped closer, her expression softening slightly. "My name is Eleanor. Eleanor Blackwood. And you, I believe, are Danielle Mitchell."
Dany stared at the woman in shock. Eleanor Blackwood—the same name as the time traveler who would give her one of the keys in her pocket. But this couldn't be the same person... could it?
"How do you know my name?" Dany asked cautiously.
Eleanor smiled, a knowing expression that reminded Dany uncomfortably of both Catherine and the professor. "Because, my dear, we've met before. Or rather, we will meet. Time is so confusing that way." She gestured toward the street beyond the park. "Come. We need to get to a shelter before the next wave of bombers arrives. We have much to discuss about John Ambrose, Catherine Harlow, and the true purpose of those keys you're carrying."
As if to emphasize her point, another explosion sounded in the distance, closer this time. Dany hesitated only briefly before following Eleanor toward safety, the keys heavy in her pocket and questions multiplying in her mind.
Whoever this Eleanor Blackwood was, she clearly knew more about Dany's situation than she was letting on. And as they hurried through the darkened streets of war-torn London, Dany couldn't shake the feeling that she had just exchanged one dangerous situation for another equally perilous one.
_________
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