The next morning came with rain.
It drummed against Aveline's window like impatient fingers, blurring the world outside. The kind of rain that clung to the air and soaked you with things you didn't know how to carry.
She sat at the edge of the bed, Lucien's journal entry in her hands. She had copied it before leaving the library the night before, leaving the original untouched—untampered. The lines haunted her. They were short. Simple. And full of silent despair.
"She looks at me like I can still be saved…"
It hadn't been the illness that had taken him first. It had been the secret.
He'd shut her out.
Now, with time on her side, she had a chance to change that. But how do you tell someone you know a truth they haven't spoken yet? How do you stop a man from hiding pain when he's made it a fortress?
Her phone lit up.
Lucien:
Got us a table at La Viña. 6:30. Rain or shine. Bring an umbrella or be adorable and share mine.
Aveline stared at the message. Five years ago, that dinner had been nothing more than a spark. Casual. Comfortable. But now, it was her chance. The first true fracture in the past.
She typed back:
Aveline:
I'll be there. We need to talk.
La Viña was still warm and candlelit
The kind of restaurant that pretended to be modest but whispered elegance in every flicker of flame. Aveline had worn a navy dress she barely remembered owning—something tucked deep into her past—and it felt surreal to see Lucien standing at the bar, waiting for her, just as he had back then.
He turned. Their eyes met.
For a moment, the weight of everything disappeared. Just him. Just her.
His smile came slow, teasing. "Well, you clean up nice. Not that you don't always look—"
"Lucien," she said, softly but firmly.
He blinked. "Yeah?"
"We need to talk. Not small talk. Real talk."
Something shifted in his face. A crease in his brow. A tension in his jaw.
But he nodded. "Okay."
They took their seats. A bottle of red wine arrived, untouched.
She didn't know how to begin.
"I found something yesterday," she said quietly. "At the university library."
Lucien froze. "You went there?"
"I remembered you used to store your notes and drafts there," she said. "And I found a journal entry. One you wrote six days from now."
He laughed. But it wasn't humor—it was fear. "That's… some psychic claim."
"Lucien, please," she said. "You wrote about going to see Dr. K. About MRI results. About hiding it from me."
He went completely still.
A long silence stretched between them.
"I—how did you—" His voice cracked. "That wasn't supposed to be in there. I didn't keep those pages."
"You did," she whispered. "You just didn't remember. Or maybe time let me find what I wasn't supposed to."
Lucien stared at the table. His hand gripped the napkin like it was keeping him tethered to the moment.
"It was nothing at first," he said, quietly. "A few headaches. A little forgetfulness. I thought it was just burnout. Dr. K wanted to run tests. I didn't want to tell anyone until I had answers."
"And did you get them?" she asked.
He didn't respond.
The air between them grew thick with rain and things unsaid.
"I could've helped you," Aveline said, voice breaking. "You didn't have to carry that alone."
"I didn't want you to look at me like I was dying," he said. "I wanted more time to be normal. I didn't want pity. I didn't want you to stay because you felt bad for me."
"I stayed because I loved you," she snapped, louder than she meant.
Lucien's eyes met hers.
Something flickered there—shock. Vulnerability. A thread unraveling too soon.
"You… what?"
Her heart raced.
She'd said it too early. Too early.
Back then, they hadn't even kissed yet. They were still hovering on the edge, dancing around everything real.
Aveline looked down at her hands.
"I just… I don't want to lose you again," she whispered.
"Again?" he echoed, his voice low.
And then—
The pocket watch pulsed.
Hard.
Aveline gasped. The glow beneath her coat flared bright blue for just a second, searing against her side.
Lucien saw it.
"What the hell was that?"
She reached into her coat and took it out.
The watch's hands were spinning faster than before.
Tickticktickticktick—
Then it stopped.
Lucien stared at it. Then at her.
"What is that?"
And Aveline realized too late—she had pushed the timeline too far.
He wasn't supposed to know yet. None of this was supposed to happen like this.
Before she could answer, the lights in the restaurant flickered.
A cold wind swept through the room, though no door had opened.
The candles blew out.
A single glass shattered behind the bar.
People gasped—but only Aveline felt it: Time had shifted. Hard.
Lucien turned back to her, pale.
"Aveline… what's going on?"
She stared at the watch.
At him.
At the fear building inside her.
"I think… I just broke something," she whispered.