The air in the Citadel's preparation room was still. Marc stood in the center, his eyes closed. Reia had given him the date, the time, the exact spatial coordinates of the Citadel's sickbay from two years ago. But he didn't need them, not really. For him, time wasn't a map to follow; it was a river, and he was a stone that could choose where to sink.
"Remember," Lucian's voice was tight from the doorway. "You're a ghost. You see, you learn, you come back. Nothing more."
Marc didn't open his eyes. "I know what it costs to change things."
He took a slow breath, and then he simply… stepped sideways.
There was no portal, no flash of light. The world around him didn't dissolve so much as it rewound. The solid floor of the Citadel became a fleeting sensation of falling through layers of memory, of light and sound streaking past in reverse. He felt the ghost of a thousand yesterday's brushing against him. Then, it stopped.
