Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The sound burrowed into Aveline Monroe's consciousness like a thread pulling her through layers of sleep. Her lashes fluttered open, and the world stared back at her—wrong and unfamiliar.
She sat up in bed with a sudden breath. Her heart pounded against her ribs like it didn't belong to her. This wasn't her room. Not the sleek modern bedroom overlooking the city skyline she fell asleep in the night before. This one was smaller, dim, lined with old wallpaper in a fading blue floral print. Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, and dust motes danced lazily in the air.
She blinked, then looked down at herself.
Her hands—slender, soft, young. Her nails were painted a pale blush color she hadn't used in years. Her body felt lighter. Less tired. Not yet worn by heartbreak.
Aveline scrambled for her phone, her fingers fumbling as if her body wasn't quite her own. The screen lit up.
October 11, 2017.
Her breath caught.
"No," she whispered. "That's not… That can't be right."
Five years ago.
Lucien had been alive. They were just friends then, orbiting each other in cautious steps, both afraid of love, of the damage it could cause. She hadn't yet kissed him under the falling snow. Hadn't held his hand during hospital visits. Hadn't watched the light leave his eyes on a rainy September night in 2022.
She stood, unsteady, and caught sight of herself in the mirror hanging above a vintage dresser. Her hair was longer, her skin untouched by the grief that had hollowed her. Her heart threatened to burst with the weight of what this meant.
"I'm back," she whispered. "I'm really back."
A knock broke the silence.
Three times. Soft, but deliberate.
She hesitated. Then crossed the room and opened the door.
A man stood there. Elderly. Dressed in a faded gray waistcoat and a hat too old-fashioned to be from any decade she could name. He held a small, silver pocket watch in one gloved hand.
"Aveline Monroe," he said in a voice that echoed slightly, like a memory repeating itself. "You wished. Time answered."
"I… I don't understand."
"You will," he replied, stepping into the room as though he had every right to be there. "You asked for a chance to change the past. Time is not so kind to everyone, but it heard your grief, your desperation. It granted you a gift."
She swallowed hard. "Lucien. I want to save Lucien."
"Yes. And you may. But time is not easily bent. It has rules. Fixed points. You can change paths… but not without consequence."
"Consequence?" she echoed, already terrified of what that meant.
"Every action you take will ripple. Lives may shift. Suffering may move from one soul to another. But if you can find the moment—the exact moment—his fate was sealed… you might rewrite the ending."
"Do you know when that moment is?"
"No. Only you can find it," he said, and pressed the silver pocket watch into her palm. "This will help guide you. When it glows, time is at a turning point. Trust your instincts. And remember: you are not the same person you were in 2017. But neither is Lucien."
Tears welled in her eyes. "If I fail?"
"You will lose him. Again. Perhaps forever."
Her fingers curled tightly around the watch. "Then I won't fail."
A small smile ghosted across his lips. "Ah, love. Always certain."
And just like that—before she could ask who he was or how this was possible—the man stepped back and vanished. Not into thin air. Not in a puff of magic. He simply faded like a dream waking from itself.
Aveline stood alone in the quiet of the room, her heart still beating in disbelief.
Her phone buzzed.
Lucien: Hey, are we still on for coffee today? Noon? :)
She stared at the message, a sob caught in her throat.
He was alive.
He was still hers to lose—or save.
She pressed the phone to her heart, then whispered, "I'm coming, Lucien. This time, I'll get it right."
And outside, the clock tower in the town square began to chime.