I don't rewind again that night.
Not because I don't want to.
Because I'm scared of what she'll see next.
Sleep comes in pieces. Short, broken things that barely count as rest. Every time I drift off, my mind snaps back to Luna's eyes when she said hesitate—like that word cost her something.
Morning arrives anyway. It always does.
Mika hums while brushing her teeth. Off-key. Loud. Alive.
I lean against the doorframe and watch her like I'm memorizing her again from scratch.
"You're staring," she says around toothpaste foam.
"Just checking," I reply.
She rolls her eyes. "You say that a lot now."
I don't answer.
Because what if one day I don't remember why I check?
—
School feels heavier.
Like gravity turned itself up when I wasn't looking.
I catch myself scanning for Luna without meaning to. Corners. Reflections. Windows.
She's not there.
That should be a relief.
It isn't.
By lunch, the pressure in my skull is back. A low ache. Persistent. Like time itself is irritated with me.
I sit alone, poking at food I won't eat.
"Mind if I sit?"
I look up.
Luna.
No coat this time. Just a school uniform she shouldn't have. Same calm expression. Same wrongness.
My stomach drops. "You can't just—"
She sits anyway.
Students pass by. Laughing. Talking.
No one looks twice.
"How are you doing that?" I whisper.
"Standing still?" she asks dryly.
"You know what I mean."
She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. "I exist where I'm allowed to."
"That doesn't explain anything."
"It explains enough."
I clench my jaw. "You're going to get noticed."
"No," she says. "I won't."
There's that certainty again.
I hate how convincing it is.
"You said time leaves scars," I say. "Show me."
Her gaze sharpens. "You don't want that."
"I do."
A pause.
Then she exhales slowly and nods. "Fine. But don't panic."
She reaches out and grips my wrist.
The moment she touches me—
My vision fractures.
Not rewinding. Not moving.
Peeling.
The cafeteria disappears.
I see layers.
Moments stacked on moments. Lines of light stitched through the air. Some bright. Some cracked. Some bleeding blue.
And around me—
Jagged marks. Tears. Places where time was forced open and slammed shut.
I gasp and yank my hand back.
The cafeteria snaps into place.
My tray tips over. Food scatters.
I barely notice.
"…That's me," I whisper.
"Yes," Luna says quietly.
I look at her. "That's what you see all the time?"
She nods.
My chest tightens. "Then why aren't you stopping me?"
Her eyes darken.
"Because," she says, "you're not the worst fracture I've seen."
That's not comforting.
"That's worse."
She gives a small, humorless smile. "Welcome to my job."
Silence stretches between us.
Then I ask the question I've been holding since the store.
"Why my family?"
Her fingers curl slightly, like she regrets sitting here.
"Some bloodlines destabilize time," she says. "Too many deviations. Too many survivals that shouldn't happen."
"And the solution is murder?" I snap.
"Erasure," she corrects. "Clean. Precise."
I stand up so fast my chair scrapes loudly.
People glance over.
Luna doesn't move.
"You're talking about my parents," I hiss. "My sister."
"I know."
"You killed them."
The words taste like acid.
Something flashes across her face.
Pain.
Gone as quickly as it appears.
"I haven't yet," she says.
Not denial.
A warning.
My hands shake. "Then stop."
She stands too. Close enough that I can see the tiny scar near her left eye. Thin. Old.
"I can't," she says softly. "But I can delay."
"For how long?"
She doesn't answer.
That's answer enough.
The bell rings.
Students surge around us.
She steps back, already fading into the crowd.
"Ren," she says.
I look at her.
"Don't rewind tonight."
"Why?"
Her voice drops.
"Because if you do," she says, "I won't hesitate next time."
She's gone.
I sit back down slowly, heart hammering.
My wrist still tingles where she touched it.
Scars only she can see.
I look at my hands.
At the person breaking time one memory at a time.
"…How many scars until I'm unrecognizable?" I whisper.
Time doesn't answer.
But I know it's listening.