LENA
I stare at the photograph until the edges blur.
It's me. Definitely me. In scrubs I haven't worn yet. Standing in a hallway that doesn't exist in this timeline. A moment frozen from a life I already lived and died.
"Who sent you this?" My voice sounds far away.
Rafe's jaw is tight. "I don't know. The message came from a blocked number. No trace."
Petra grabs the photo from my hands. "This is impossible. Lena, you said you came back alone."
"I did." I look at Rafe. "I thought I did."
His eyes are dark. Unreadable. "Maybe we both did. Maybe that's why I can't stop thinking about you. Why I drew your face three days ago even though I'd never seen you before."
"Except you had," I say quietly. "In another life. I stitched a wound in your side. You died three days later."
Something flickers across his face. Pain. Recognition. "I remember darkness. And your voice. Telling me I was allowed to survive."
The parking garage goes silent.
Petra breaks it. "Okay. I'm officially freaked out. Can we leave before those military guys find us again?"
She's right. We need to move.
We salvage what we can from the truck. Most of the supplies are still there. The antibiotics. Some surgical kits. Not everything we planned, but enough. Enough to start.
Rafe helps without being asked. He moves like someone who's done this before. Efficient. No wasted motion.
When the truck is unloaded, Petra drives me back to her apartment. Rafe follows in his own vehicle. I watch his headlights in the side mirror the whole way.
"Are we trusting him?" Petra asks.
"I don't know yet."
"He saved our lives."
"That doesn't mean he's safe."
She glances at me. "You feel it though. Whatever he was talking about. That pull."
I don't answer. Because yes. I feel it. A connection I can't explain. Like a rope tied around my ribs, pulling me toward him every time he's near.
It should scare me.
It doesn't.
That's what scares me.
At Petra's building, Rafe parks across the street. He doesn't get out. Just watches as we carry boxes inside. His eyes track me the whole time.
"He's going to be a problem," Petra mutters.
"Or an asset."
"Or both."
She's not wrong.
Inside, I spread my supply lists across Petra's kitchen table. Everything we grabbed. Everything we still need. The Ark won't build itself. I have eighty-nine days left. Less, if my ability is right about the timeline shifting.
I'm three pages deep in calculations when Petra's phone buzzes.
She checks it. Her face goes pale.
"What?" I ask.
"It's a video. From the warehouse." She turns the screen toward me.
Security footage. Black and white. Showing me, Petra, and Rafe loading supplies. Clear as day. Time-stamped. No way to deny we were there.
"Someone's going to see this," Petra whispers.
"Not if we get ahead of it first." I grab my phone. Start typing. "I'll file a police report. Say we witnessed a break-in. Tried to stop them. That'll explain why we were there."
"Will that work?"
"It'll buy time." I hit send on the report. "That's all we need."
Petra nods slowly. "You're scary when you're like this."
"Like what?"
"Cold. Calculating. Like you've done this a thousand times."
I have. Just not in this lifetime.
She goes to bed around midnight. I stay at the table, rechecking my numbers, planning the next supply run. My mind won't stop moving. Won't stop calculating risks and timelines and variables.
The doorbell rings at one in the morning.
I freeze.
Petra's asleep. Nobody should know I'm here. Nobody except—
I walk to the door. Look through the peephole.
Rafe.
He's standing in the hallway holding a cardboard box. His face is calm. Patient. Like he's been waiting for me to answer.
I unlock the door. Open it.
We stare at each other for a long moment.
"You dropped some," he says finally, holding out the box.
I look down. Antibiotics. The ones we had to leave behind when the shooting started.
"You went back," I say slowly.
"After they cleared out. Grabbed what I could."
"They could've been waiting for you."
"They weren't."
"You took a stupid risk."
"You needed supplies." He says it like it's the simplest thing in the world. Like risking his life for my mission makes perfect sense.
I don't take the box right away. I just stand there, studying his face. Looking for the angle. The lie. The reason he's really here.
I can't find one.
His eyes are steady. Honest. Maybe too honest.
"How did you find my address?" I ask.
"I'm very good at finding things."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
I take the box. Our fingers brush. The touch sends something electric up my arm. He feels it too. I see it in the way his breath catches.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
He nods. Doesn't move.
"You should go," I tell him.
"I should."
But he doesn't. He just stands there, looking at me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve. Like if he looks long enough, he'll remember something important.
"Rafe—"
"Someone's trying to keep you alive," he says. "That message. The photograph. They know you die on Day Ninety-Two. They know I'm supposed to stop it."
"Maybe it's a trap."
"Maybe." His voice drops. "But I'm still going to do it."
"Why?"
"Because when I look at you, I remember dying. And I remember your voice in the dark telling me it was okay. That I was allowed to survive." He takes a step closer. "Nobody's ever said that to me before. Or since. Just you."
My heart is pounding.
"I don't need saving," I whisper.
"Good." His eyes are intense. "Because I'm not here to save you. I'm here to make sure you survive long enough to save yourself."
Then he turns and walks away.
I watch until he disappears down the stairs. Then I close the door. Lock it. Both locks. The chain too.
I stand there with my back against the wood, holding the box of antibiotics, trying to catch my breath.
Something has started between us. Something dangerous and inevitable and completely out of my control.
I should be focused on the plan. On Damon and Cara and the Ark and the ninety-two days ticking down.
But all I can think about is the way Rafe looked at me. Like I was worth dying for.
My phone buzzes.
I look down.
Another message from the blocked number.
This time it's not a photo. It's coordinates. And three words underneath:
He's already compromised.
My blood turns to ice.
Because the coordinates are for Petra's apartment.
Someone knows exactly where I am. Right now.
And they're warning me about Rafe.