Antiseptic smell, unfamiliar ceiling, the steady beep of monitors.

Harper's consciousness surfaced slowly. Voices drifted from the hallway, muffled and urgent.

"...system upgrade migration… database recovery… patient from 2025…"

“2025”

This number sent ice through Harper’s veins. She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to sort reality from hallucination. 

She was supposed to be in October 2021, given a shot to change everything that had led to disaster. But hearing that number spoken aloud made her question everything. Was everything a dream?

"Where...?" Harper's throat felt raw.

The memories were flickering like a broken film reel. The bridge. The panic. The man’s arms were around her as her world went dark.

Her throat felt raw, her chest tight. The heart monitor began beeping faster.

"Hey, you're awake." A nurse appeared, her face partially covered by a mask. "You’re in the hospital. Just breathe. The sedative should keep you calm."

"What year?" She tried to put her blurry mind together.

"2021, honey. October 21, 2021." The nurse checked her IV. "You had a panic episode, and a gentleman brought you in. Try to rest."

Harper's relief was overwhelming. She still had a chance before everything would go wrong. Before she would become the hollow shell on a bridge in 2025.

She'd had several impossible days, and it had nearly broken her mind.

The sedative pulled her back under.

Down the hall, Ivan's hands hadn't stopped trembling since he'd signed Harper into the emergency room.

"Mr...?" The doctor appeared with a clipboard in hand.

"Vernon. Ivan Vernon." He stopped pacing. "How is she?"

"Stable. Severe dehydration, exhaustion." The doctor's pen clicked rhythmically. "You mentioned she was found on a bridge?"

“Yes.” The admission felt like a failure.

"History of anxiety? Depression?"

"I don't know. We're... colleagues."

"Colleagues don't usually carry unconscious women off bridges at midnight," the doctor observed. 

Ivan met his gaze steadily. 

"She needs sleep," the doctor said, pulling down his N95. "Real sleep. The sedative will help, but she's going to need psychiatric evaluation when she's stable."

"Psychiatric?"

"Panic attacks that severe," the doctor's eyes were tired above his mask. "We're required to hold her for observation."

Ivan nodded, though everything felt surreal. "Can I…"

"She's sedated now. Won't wake up until morning." The doctor was already moving toward his next crisis. "Come back at ten if you want to visit."

Ivan found a chair in the waiting area and settled in for the night.

When Harper woke again, sunlight was filtering through, and Ivan was there.

He looked terrible. His hair stuck up in odd angles. And his shirt revealed shifting in hard plastic seats. Ivan’s eyes glazed with a mix of fatigue. But he was real. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Harper?” His voice showed a slice of worry. “How are you feeling?”

"Was it you who brought me here?” Harper was confused. 

“Yes.”

“And you came back?"

"Hospital visiting hours are limited. I waited." His voice was hoarse. 

"You stayed?" She almost shouted.

"Of course, I stayed."

"Why?"

The simple word was loaded with subtext, neither of them was ready to address.

"Leaving you wasn't an option." 

"I..." Her voice failed her.

"You don't have to explain anything."

She wanted to cry and rage for things she couldn't even name. But the tears wouldn't come. 

Harper met his eyes.

The sight of him aroused conflicting emotions within her. Relief was so profound, so as the fear of what he was capable of. But here, now, he was just a man who had found her on a bridge and stayed.

"I can't cry anymore," she said finally.

"That's okay."

Harper looked at this man and saw her reflection in his eyes. Fractured, but somehow still fighting.

"Ivan?"

"Yeah?"

"I've got a lot to say to you."

Ivan nodded slowly.

“I’m here to listen,” he murmured.

Harper shifted in the hospital bed, wincing as the IV tugged at her arm. "You know what's really unfair about waking up in a hospital?"

"What's that?"

"The food is the worst." She gestured weakly at the untouched tray beside her bed. "I mean, what is this supposed to be?"

A smile showed up at the corner of Ivan's mouth. "I think it's supposed to be... nutrition?"

"This looks like it would make a nutritionist weep, not with tears of joy." Harper adjusted the blanket. “And don't get me started on how hospital gowns are designed by people who clearly hate human dignity."

"The back opening is a bold fashion choice."

"Bold is one word for it. Humiliating is another." 

"Conspiracy theory?"

"You're giving them too much credit for strategic thinking."

"Or not enough."

The warmth felt strange in her chest, foreign after days of crushing weight. But it was there, real.

"You know," Harper said, setting down the fork, "all scenarios of this conversation, none of them involved hospital cuisine."

"What did you imagine?"

Harper considered this, tilting her head. "More screaming. Accusations. Possibly some dramatic exits." She paused. "Though I suppose I already did the dramatic exit thing on the bridge."

"That was terrifying," Ivan said quietly. 

Harper glanced at him. "You really stayed all night?"

"I told you I did."

"We both know you're not exactly the good Samaritan type."

Ivan was quiet for a long moment. "I've never taken anyone from the bridge before."

"Oh, please," Harper said, though her voice was sarcastic now. “Your strengths lie in the 'morally ambiguous business’ category."

"Morally ambiguous is generous."

Harper laughed. "Some self-awareness about your questionable life choices?"

"My life choices," Ivan said, leaning back in his chair, "have been questionable since I was twelve and decided to 'borrow' my neighbor's bike."

"Did you return it?"

"Eventually."

"How eventually?"

"Three years eventually."

Harper's laugh was genuine now. "That's not borrowing. Was the repayment plan very generous?"

"The statute of limitations has run out."

"On the bike or your conscience?"

"Both."

Harper shook her head, amazed at how normal this felt. Just two people having a conversation.

"This is surreal," she said.

"Which part?"

"All of it. The hospital, you being here, me laughing..." She gestured vaguely at the space between them. "Us talking like we're friends instead of..."

"Instead of what?"

Harper's smile faded slightly. "Instead of whatever we actually are."

Before Ivan could respond, there was a commotion in the hallway. Raised voices, the sharp click of shoes on linoleum.

"Get me out of here," Harper whispered suddenly, urgency replacing the lightness of moments before. "Please. I'll sign whatever forms they need."

"Harper, you need…"

"Mr. Vernon?" A voice cut through the moment. A doctor stood in the doorway, but her attention was focused on someone behind her. "I need to speak with Ms. Owen about her evaluation."

"Now?" Ivan asked.

"Her father requested it be expedited. He'll soon be here."

Harper froze. "Henry's here?"

Henry Owen appeared and moved like a man accustomed to having rooms rearrange themselves around his convenience.

His eyes swept the room, stopping on Ivan, the doctor, and finally landing on his daughter. 

Harper watched as his expression shifted from controlled concern to something more complicated.

"Harper." Henry's voice was soft. 

"Father." The word came out smaller than Harper intended.

Henry moved to her bedside with surprising speed, his hand reaching for hers before stopping just short. “Are you ready to go?”

"Sir,” the doctor looked confused. “I haven't had a chance to complete the psychiatric evaluation yet. The patient was only brought in last night."

Henry's attention shifted to the doctor with laser focus. "My daughter doesn't need a psychiatric evaluation. She needs to come home."

"Mr. Owen, with respect, the circumstances of her admission require…"

"The circumstances," Henry interrupted, his voice taking on the tone Harper remembered very well, "are not uncommon for someone under significant stress."

"Sir, she was found on a bridge…"

”I assume you have discharge papers?" Henry's words were precise. 

Harper watched this exchange with growing dread. She'd seen that a doctor didn't stand a chance.

"Mr. Owen, I understand your concern, but hospital protocol…"

"Hospital protocol," Henry said, pulling out his phone, "is about to meet legal protocol. I have three attorneys on speed dial who specialize in medical rights. Shall I call them?"

The doctor’s shoulders sagged slightly. "If you'd like to discuss discharge options…"

"I'd like to discuss immediate discharge options," Henry said, turning to his daughter.

"You're coming home," his tone left no room to debate. In his eyes, Harper could see something that looked almost like fear. "You're coming home where you're safe."

Ivan, who had been silent during this exchange, finally spoke. "Maybe Harper should decide what she wants to do."

Henry's gaze shifted to Ivan. 

"Mr. Vernon." Henry's voice could have cut glass. "Thank you for your assistance last night. I'll take it from here."

The dismissal sounded final. 

Harper’s breath hitched. “Is this what safety was supposed to be like?” 

Her father doesn’t answer this. 

A sensation that his eyes gave had nothing to do with her medical condition. And it was far worse than anything she remembered from her first life.

She felt it. 

Henry Owen was terrified.