The sun had risen higher now, casting a soft, golden light over the streets. Avery squinted as she walked barefoot down the edge of the road, the oversized T-shirt clinging to her skin from morning dew and the warmth already rising off the pavement. The air smelled like bread and engine smoke, like the past trying too hard to be charming.
"I'm either insane," she muttered, brushing her hair out of her face, "or I just got thrown into a budget sci-fi movie."
She passed a convenience store that looked decades too old. Newspapers from the 1980s were taped to the window. Her stomach twisted. No phones, no GPS, no modern cameras. Just yellowed paper and payphones.
She hugged herself.
Then, as she turned a corner, she stopped dead.
Across the street was a school. Red brick. Wide windows. Ivy crawling up the sides.
"Holy hell," she whispered. "I know this place."
Her father had brought her here once when she was ten. Told her it was the place where he learned to dream. It was one of the rare times he'd gotten sentimental, pointing at the courtyard like it still mattered.
Greyhaven High.
She stood frozen, eyes wide.
And then—
Shouting.
Down the hill, behind the school buildings, came the noise of a scuffle. Boys shouting. Some laughing.
Curiosity—or something sharper—pulled her forward. She crept down toward the field.
What she saw made her stomach drop.
A group of boys stood in a circle. Three of them had been pushed into the center. The smallest of the three was on the ground, already bruised. A tall, muscular boy cracked his knuckles and stepped forward.
One of the others muttered, "These losers thought they could mouth off to Ethan's guys."
Avery froze. Ethan. Her hands curled into fists.
And then—
One of the boys in the middle stepped in front of the others. Slim, tousled hair, dark eyes full of fire.
Her breath hitched.
James.
Her father.
Young. Too young. Probably fifteen or sixteen. Her age, almost.
And he was about to get pummeled.
"Don't be stupid," one of his friends said.
But James shook his head. "If someone has to take it, let it be me."
Avery's heart twisted.
"So much for being a good fighter," she whispered. "You liar."
Then the bully lunged.
James barely dodged the first swing.
Avery looked around for something. Anything. A rock. A stick. A bat. Was she really going to jump into a teenage fight?
"I swear to god," she hissed, "if my dad dies as a teenager, I'm going to kill him myself."
She was about to run when everything changed.
Two new boys appeared.
And instantly, the whole group straightened like soldiers.
"Carrington," someone muttered.
Avery's head snapped toward them.
One boy was stocky and laughing. The other—
White hair.
Black eyes.
And a smirk that hadn't changed a bit.
Ethan Carrington.
Teenaged. Alive. Amused
Avery watched Ethan step forward, eyes narrowed, expression unreadable. Then, he turned to James.
"Next time someone hits you," Ethan said, "hit back. Or call me."
James blinked. "Why would I call you?"
Ethan smirked. "Because I'm nicer than I look."
The other boy muttered, "Lies."
Avery had to shove her fist in her mouth to stop the laugh that nearly exploded out of her.
This was insane. This was the boy who'd grow into a killer? This was the heartless mafia leader she'd spent a year planning to destroy?
And her dad?
Getting beaten up and rescued by the very man who would one day murder him?
"I hate time travel," she whispered.
And then, Ethan looked up again.
Right at her.
Their eyes locked.
And Avery Kane forgot how to breathe.