Henrik's was closing soon, lights dimming as Rose did her final sweep of the shop floor.
Izara leaned against a counter, sipping a cheap vending-machine hot chocolate, pretending she wasn't waiting for fate to punch its way into the world.
Rose stretched her arms. "Sorry to make you hang around. Mum's doing the evening shift at the little nails kiosk, and I hate closing alone."
Izara smiled. "I don't mind. Good excuse to avoid unpacking."
Also: I need to be here. This is the spark point. The first thread.
They chatted lightly as Rose gathered up stray clothing displays.
A security guard approached. "Rose Tyler? Got Wilson's lottery money here."
Izara tensed.
This is it. The beginning.
Rose frowned. "I thought he'd gone home."
"He's down in the basement," the guard insisted, handing her a slip. "Said he'd be waiting."
Rose started toward the staff lift and waved Izara along. "Come with?"
Izara raised her brows innocently. "Sure. I'm not exactly busy."
(Watching the first minutes of the Time War survivor's re-entry into the story isn't busy, right?)
The lift rattled downward. Rose chatted about work gossip; Izara listened while subtly mapping exits, mentally reciting canon lines.
The basement corridor smelled of damp concrete.
"Wilson?" Rose called, her voice echoing.
Izara followed step-for-step, casual but alert.
She didn't interfere — her one rule for now: canon nudges, not canon breaks.
They pushed into the big storage room.
The door slammed behind them.
Locked.
Rose spun. "Seriously?"
Izara's stomach tightened.
Here come the mannequins.
Right on schedule.
Shadows shifted. Plastic feet scraped.
"Rose," Izara warned softly, "stay behind me."
The mannequins moved.
Rose let out a strangled yelp. "No no no nope nope—!"
Izara positioned herself half a step in front of Rose, analyzing angles, ready to shove her toward the shelving if necessary. She couldn't fight without blowing her cover — but she could protect.
Arms raised—
A warm hand seized her wrist—
Another grabbed Rose's—
"Run!"
The Doctor burst through the cluster of mannequins like a force of nature, pulling both women into a sprint.
And there it was.
The soulbond spark hit the instant he touched her.
A jolt.
A gravitational pull.
A thread connecting her chest to his.
The Doctor faltered for half a heartbeat, eyes darting toward her, confusion flickering—but he didn't stop running.
They tore up the stairs.
Through the corridors.
Plastic limbs clattered after them.
The fire exit burst open under the Doctor's shove, all three stumbling into the alleyway.
Rose collapsed against the wall panting.
Izara steadied herself, pulse humming with that new, impossible connection.
The Doctor turned back to look at her.
He stared. Really stared.
Not in attraction.
Not in fear.
But in bewildered recognition—
Like someone hearing a note from a song they thought had been lost forever.
"You…" he said quietly. "There's something—"
He shook his head sharply. "Doesn't matter!"
(Oh, it mattered. He felt it. Even if he didn't know what it was.)
He stepped back, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.
"I'm the Doctor, by the way. Run for your lives!"
And he sprinted off back into the building to blow it up.
Rose blinked after him. "What—What was that?"
Izara exhaled.
"That," she murmured, "was the beginning."