I wake to the sound of someone seemingly trying to break my door down.

  It's not a polite knock, not the measured tap of a delivery I might've forgotten about. This is loud, frantic, knuckles slamming wood hard enough to rattle the frame. My eyes snap open and my heart follows a split second later, slamming against my ribs like it's trying to outrun my body.

  For one disoriented moment, I don't know where I am. Then I remember everything at once.

  The ruins. The lab. The data spike. The man sleeping in my spare room.

  Oh fuck.

  I'm out of bed before the second round of pounding lands, bare feet hitting the floor, nightshirt twisting around my thighs as I sprint down the hall. My tablet lies forgotten on the nightstand, my phone somewhere in my bed. I don't grab either. "Okay, okay, I'm coming," I call, voice breathless, already reaching for the lock.

  Every worst-case scenario crashes through my head in rapid succession. Campus security. University admin. Someone from the lab. Someone who noticed the disturbance pattern faster than I anticipated. Someone with a badge and too many questions.I don't look back, I don't even register that there is somebody already standing behind me in the living room.

  I throw the door open.

  Ashton nearly falls into me. She stops herself at the last second, one hand braced against the doorframe, the other clutching her phone like a weapon. Her blue eyes are wild, her blond hair pulled into a messy knot, oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder like she dressed in a panic and didn't bother correcting it. She looks at me—really looks—and then her gaze flicks past my shoulder. Her eyebrows shoot up.

  "Well," she says slowly, a grin spreading across her face despite the clear adrenaline still buzzing under her skin, "I see why you haven't been answering my texts. Good for you." She punctuates it with a wink.

  My stomach drops out of my body. "Ashton—" I hiss, already reaching for her arm.

  She steps fully inside without waiting for an invitation, eyes still locked somewhere over my shoulder. I feel it then—the shift in the air, the sudden awareness of space behind me that isn't empty. I turn to find the man standing a few feet back in the living room, shirtless, broad shoulders bare in the morning light filtering through the windows. His hair is still mussed from sleep, dark and wild, like he dragged his hands through it one too many times. He seems so alert; spine straightened, weight balanced, eyes sharp and assessing.

  He looks like a threat. He looks like something out of place. He looks... devastatingly good. Fuck me.

  "Ashton," I say again, louder this time, mortified, "This is not what is looks like."

  She glances between us, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh."

  His gaze flicks to me, questioning but calm. He doesn't speak, he doesn't move, he just waits. It's like he's learned very quickly that this world runs on cues he doesn't quite have yet.

  I swallow hard. My pulse is still racing, but now it's for an entirely different reason.

  "Ashton," I say, forcing my voice steady, "we need to talk."

  Her expression finally shifts. The teasing drains away, replaced by something sharper, more attentive. She's known me too long not to hear the edge in my tone. "Okay," she says slowly. "What kind of talk?"

  "The kind," I reply, stepping aside and gesturing her fully into the apartment, "where you don't freak out."

  She snorts. "That's not encouraging."

  He moves then, just a step, enough to make his presence unmistakable. Ashton's eyes widen again, curiosity warring with caution.

  "I'm Thalia's friend," she says automatically, like she's establishing terms. "Ashton."

  He inclines his head slightly. "Hello."

  I close the door behind Ashton and lean my forehead against it for half a second, breathing in deeply. My hands are shaking. I don't remember the last time I felt this exposed in my own home. When I turn back around, Ashton is already circling him like she's studying a rare artifact.

  "Okay," she says. "I officially have questions."

  "That makes three of us," I say under my breath.

  We sit, or try to. He takes the armchair this time. Ashton drops onto the couch, pulling her legs up beneath her, eyes never leaving him. I perch on the edge of the coffee table, fingers laced together so tightly my knuckles ache. I don't know where to start, so I start with the truth. "He fell out of the ruins," I say.

  Ashton blinks. "I'm sorry?"

  "I mean literally," I continue. "Out of thin air. One second the site was empty, the next—" I gesture helplessly toward the man sitting across from me. "—he was there."

  There's a beat of silence. Then Ashton lets out a short laugh. "Wow. Okay. You're doing a bit."

  "I'm not."

  She looks at my face, trying to find something in my expression that says this is a joke. The smile fades. "...Oh," she says. "You're not."

  He shifts slightly, discomfort flickering across his expression. "If it helps," he offers dryly, "I'm just as confused."

  Ashton stares at him for a long moment, then back at me. "Is this about the Keepers?"

  My heart stutters. "Yes," I say.

  Her jaw tightens. "Okay. That tracks. I knew it was weird you weren't answering. I just didn't think it was interdimensional traveller weird"

  "Traveller?" He echoes.

  She shrugs. "You've got the vibe."

  Despite everything, a hysterical laugh bubbles up out of me. It breaks something open, just enough to let the fear breathe.

  I explain everything that I can recall. About the lab. About the data spike. About the records I shouldn't have access to. About the way the city noticed him the moment he arrived. I tell her what I think he is, and what that means if anyone else reaches the same conclusion.

  Ashton listens without interrupting, face growing more serious by the minute. "And you're trying to get him home," she says finally.

  "Yes."

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "How?"

  I hesitate. "That's the problem."

  His voice is quiet when he adds, "I don't know where home even is anymore."

  The room goes still. Ashton exhales slowly, then straightens, resolve settling into her posture like armor. I look at her, heart hammering all over again—not from fear this time, but something dangerously close to hope. For better or worse, there's no keeping this contained anymore. And this man—standing between worlds, between past and future—has just become our problem. I watch Ashton put the pieces together in real time. It's one of the things I've always admired about her; once she decides the world is strange, she adapts fast. No denial, no spiral, no panic, just assessment.

  She taps her phone absently on her knee. "Okay," she says, drawing the word out like she's setting it into place. "First thing... we need to loop Halvek in."

  My stomach drops. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

  She shoots me a look. "Thalia, he's your advisor.He's already tangentially involved whether you like it or not. If anything weird flags the system, and you know it will, he's the perst person admin will ask."

  I rub my hands together, palms suddenly slick. "I know. I just... I don't know what to tell him."

  His gaze sharpens slightly at Halvek's name, like he's filing it away for later.

  "Don't tell him everything, then," Ashton says immediately, as if she can hear the direction my thoughts are spiraling. "You don't confess to interdimensional men appearing out of thin air. You give him a version of the truth that keeps you protected."

  I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Okay. A versino of the truth I can do."

  She leans forward a bit. "Walk me through what you can say."

  I stare at the floor for a moment, mentally rehearsing. "I tell him I was cut off in the ruins," I begin slowly. "That when the quake hit, the primary exit collapsed and I had to find another way out. That there were... anomalies. Readings that didn't match expected patterns."

  He shifts, just slightly, like he understands he's the unspoken center of that sentence.

  "I won't mention him," I continue, nodding in his direction. "But I can mention the spikes. The temporal variance. Enough to justify why I pulled the data I did."

  "And the lab?" Ashton prompts.

  I grimace. "Yeah. I'll have to tell him I accessed it later that morning. That I was trying to compare the field data before it auto-archived."

  "That's reasonable," she says. "He'll pretend to scold you and secretly be thrilled."

  The thought makes something cold coil in my chest, but I nod anyway. "We have lecture tonight," I add. "I can talk to him after."

  He finally speaks. "And what," he asks evenly, "am I meant to do while you're gone?"

  The question lands heavier than it should. It's not demanding, just practical, but it highlights the reality of the situation in a way I haven't quite let myself sit with yet.

  Ashton glances at me, then back at him. "Well," she says, "my first instinct was don't leave the mysterious maybe-mythical man alone, but—"

  "The dorm," I say at the same time.

  She snaps her fingers. "Exactly. The dorm."

  The man looks between us. "You want me to stay here."

  "Yes," I say quickly. "It's the safest place. Warded, monitored, routine enough that no one will question you being inside. Just—don't leave the building."

  His mouth twitches. "You're very confident I'll listen."

  I meet his gaze. "I'm very confident that you don't want to be noticed."

  That sobers him instantly. He exhales through his nose, nodding once. "Aye. That's fair."

  Ashton grins. "Look at that. We make a great team already!"

  I don't smile back. The plan settles over me like a borrowed coat—serviceable, but not entirely mine. Tonight, I'll sit in a lecture hall pretending the world hasn't cracked open beneath my feet. I'll lie to a man who has every reason to dig deeper. And I'll leave him behind, trusting that the walls meant to keep students safe can also keep secrets.

  It's a fragile balance. And something in my gut tells me we're already running out of time. As soon as the words we have a plan settle into the air, the adrenaline drains out of Ashton all at once. She exhales long and dramatic, slumping back against the arm of the couch. "Okay. Cool. Great. Love an interdimensional crisis before breakfast. I need a coffee before my brain short-circuits."

  I let out a shaky laugh that shocks me with how close it is to hysteria. "Yeah, same."

  The thing I don't say—can't say, not with him standing right there—is that I desperately need to talk to her alone. I need to hear myself say certain things out loud without feeling watched or judged. I glance toward him. He's leaned against the counter now, arms folded, posture relaxed in the way of someone who's never truly relaxed a day in his life. His eyes find mine immediately when he feels it, sharp and attentive, like I've tugged on a tether.

  "Okay," I say, clapping my hands together a little too briskly. "Let's do a dry run right now."

  Both of them look at me.

  "Ashton and I will go grab coffee and some food," I continue. "Just down the street. You stay here for a bit. We won't be gone long."

  His brow furrows. "You're leavin' me alone?"

  "Briefly," I say quickly. "It's safer this way. And I need to know we can do this—leave, come back, no alarms, no disasters."

  He studies my face, searching for something. Consent, maybe. Or reassurance. After a beat, he nods. "Aye. I'll stay."

  Something in my chest loosens, just a fraction.

  "Don't open the door for anyone," Ashton adds brightly. "Even if they say they're with maintenance. Or lost. Or bleeding."

  He huffs a quiet laugh. "Noted."

  I disappear into my bedroom before I can overthink it. Getting dressed feels surreal, like I'm playacting at normalcy. Loose jeans, soft and worn at the knees. A hoodie pulled on over my head, sleeves a little too long, fabric familiar enough to anchor me. I tug my hair into a messy knot, grab my purse, and hesitate for half a second as my eyes land on the bed. Everything looks the same. That's the strangest part. When I come back out, His gaze flicks over me—quick, instinctive, gone just as fast. It shouldn't mean anything. It definitely shouldn't make my pulse jump.

  "We'll be back soon," I say.

  "I'll be here," he replies simply.

  The door clicks shut behind us, and the moment we're in the hall, Ashton lets out a low whistle. "Okay," she says. "You good?"

  I nod automatically, then shake my head. "No. Yes. I don't know."

  She bumps my shoulder with hers as we head down the stairs. "Welcome to my brand."

  The city outside is bright and ordinary, which feels almost insulting. People walk past with cups in their hands and nowhere urgent to be. A delivery drone hums overhead. The world continues, blissfully unaware that it almost tore itself open yesterday.

  We walk in silence for half a block before it spills out of me. "I feel... weird," I say.

  Ashton glances over. "Weird how?"

  "About him," I admit.

  She slows just enough to really look at me. Then her mouth curves. "Oh my god," she says. "You've known him for less than two weeks."

  "It's not like that," I protest immediately.

  "Uh-huh. Sure."

  "He's attractive," I concede. "Obviously. That's not the point."

  She grins wider. "So you do think he's hot."

  "That's not—Ash."

  "I'm just saying, trauma bonding, mysterious pirate man, tragic backstory—"

  "I don't know his backstory," I cut in.

  "You know enough."

  I sigh, rubbing my temples. "It's not just attraction. It feels... deeper. Like my chest reacts before my brain catches up. Like something recognizes him."

  She sobers at that. "Okay," she says more gently. "That's different."

  I nod. "It scares me."

  We stop at the corner, waiting for the light. Cars glide past, reflections warping across their windows.

  "He looks at me like I'm something fragile and dangerous at the same time," I continue quietly. "And when he's close, I feel... pulled. Not just toward him. Toward whatever this whole thing is."

  Ashton watches my face, really watches it. "Do you think you're forming a crush," she asks carefully, "or do you think this is some weird magic resonance thing?"

  "Yes," I say flatly.

  She snorts despite herself. "Fair."

  The light changes, and we cross. A few steps later, she asks, "Do you plan to sleep with him?"

  The question is casual. The answer is not.

  I slow, my chest tightening. "I don't know," I say honestly. "I don't think so. Not now."

  She doesn't push or crack a joke.

  "You don't owe anyone anything," she says instead. "Ever. Especially not after what happened."

  My throat closes around the words I don't say. "I know," I manage.

  "And if you do decide you want something," she continues, "that's okay too. You get to choose. Always."

  I nod, blinking fast. "I just—" I swallow. "I'm trying to get him home. I don't want to fall for someone I'm actively trying to send away."

  Ashton exhales slowly. "Yeah. That's a special kind of heartbreak."

  The coffee shop comes into view, warm light spilling out onto the sidewalk. Our place. Small, cozy, always playing music a little too loud. Inside smells like espresso and toasted bread. The barista grins when she sees us.

  "Rough morning?" she asks.

  "You have no idea," Ashton says.

  We order without thinking—coffee for both of us, bagel sandwiches with too much cream cheese—and wait at the counter while the machine hisses and steams.

  For a few blessed minutes, it's just us. No worlds ending. No secrets humming under the skin of reality.

  When our orders are ready, Ashton slings her bag over her shoulder. "Okay," she says. "I've got class prep. You've got... everything else."

  We step back out onto the street, parting ways at the corner. "See you tonight!" she calls loudly. Then, quieter but still very much public, she adds, "Use protection! Love ya!"

  I groan, flipping her off as she laughs and disappears into the crowd. As I turn back toward the dorm, coffee warm in my hands, my heart starts to race again—not with fear this time, but with anticipation.