Lance watched as discontent brewed among his fellow students. For days, the tension had simmered like distant thunder, ready to break.

Matt, with dark curls tumbling wildly and fingers smudged with persistent ink, stood near the circulation desk, holding Kara close with a protective arm draped over her shoulders. Three other seniors clustered nearby—Jenny from Women’s Studies, Dylan from Engineering, and Peter from Business. Their faces reflected a mix of fear and determination as they faced the rest of the group.

"We can’t stay here anymore," Matt announced, his actor’s voice clear through the hushed library. "Each passing moment brings us closer to our final breath. Our supplies are dwindling, our water is nearly depleted, and we’re still as lost as ever about what’s unfolding."

Maya stepped forward as voices rose, her hands clasped before her to steady herself. "I understand wanting to leave—I do. But none of us knows what’s out there. If you leave, you might not return, or worse, you could bring back something more terrifying than the shadows." She glanced at Kara, her voice softening. "But if you decide to go, you shouldn't feel like you’re abandoning us. We’ll find a way to survive either way."

Kara hesitated, torn, but Matt pressed on, pulling her close. "We’ve already decided, Maya. But thank you."

Lance stepped forward, a knot of tension tightening in his gut. "Stepping outdoors is a death sentence," he argued, his voice barely steady. "We’ve all seen what happens out there—distortions, the shadows..."

"At least out there we have a chance!" Kara interjected, her usually quiet voice edged with fear. Wisps of her blonde hair escaped her hastily gathered ponytail, and shadowed crescents beneath her eyes hinted at restless nights. "In here, we’re just biding our time until the end."

Lara moved to stand beside Lance. "We need to think this through rationally. The library is our only safe haven right now. Out there..." She gestured toward the windows, where darkness pressed against the glass, cold and suffocating.

Maya’s eyes lingered on Lance during the exchange. He was at the center, trying to mediate alongside Lara’s steady presence. Their exchanged glances suggested an emerging team dynamic, which gnawed at her more than she wanted to acknowledge. She tried to shake it off.

The argument intensified, voices rising and falling like waves crashing against rocks. Other students watched from between the shelves, their faces etched with worry.

Books trembled slightly on their shelves, mirroring the emotional tension in the air. Despite Lance's best efforts, he couldn't dissuade them. Helplessly, he watched as the five gathered their meager belongings—backpacks, water bottles, a few snacks hoarded from better days. The goodbyes were painful, marked by tears and desperate hugs. Even those who disagreed couldn't bear to see them leave without a proper farewell.

"Please," Lance pleaded, catching Matt's arm. "Don't do this."

Matt's eyes softened for a moment. "We have to try, man. For all of us." He gently pulled away, joining the others at the heavy wooden doors.

The library silenced as the five pushed open the doors, letting in a blast of cold air that smelled of decay and something else she couldn’t define. The group hesitated briefly before stepping into the transformed world beyond. The doors swung shut behind them with a thud, as if destiny itself had sealed their fate.

Minutes stretched into hours. Ms. Grace, the librarian, attempted to maintain normalcy by organizing the remaining supplies. Her hands trembled slightly as she counted water bottles, her precise handwriting revealing her underlying anxiety as she marked numbers in a ledger.

"The toilets still work," someone pointed out as the last jug of drinking water ran dry. "We could..."

"Absolutely not," Professor Adler, the substitute, interjected sharply. His tweed jacket hung askew, creased from a night spent fully clothed. "The risk of contamination..."

"We could boil it," Ms. Grace suggested from her desk, forcing a bright tone. "The break room has a microwave."

Skeptical murmurs accompanied her suggestion, but no one proposed better alternatives. Lance found himself mediating another dispute over snack distribution, his voice hoarse from endless negotiations. The weight of responsibility bore down on him heavily.

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While others argued, Ms. Grace immersed herself in research, poring over ancient university records with desperate intensity. "There's something here," she muttered, adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses. "Temporal anomalies reported during construction in the 1800s. Workers claimed they lost days and saw an oddly dressed young man in the unfinished library..."

Professor Adler scoffed at her findings, but his dismissal lacked conviction. Even the skeptical educator couldn’t ignore the impossibility of their situation. He spent hours staring out windows, watching shadows shift.

Dr. Charles, the visiting alumnus and retired engineer, was more practical. He and Lance reinforced weak points in the library's perimeter, using bookshelves and furniture to barricade against whatever lurked outside. His weathered hands moved efficiently, decades of experience evident in every adjustment.

Haley, the lab assistant, stayed apart from these activities. She spent hours by the windows, her dark eyes fixed on the transformed landscape beyond. Occasionally, she whispered to herself, words too quiet to catch, her breath fogging the glass in irregular patterns.

The sudden return caught everyone off guard. One moment the library was quiet in the afternoon, the next the doors burst open. Five figures stumbled inside, but they weren’t the same people who had left hours earlier. Time had mocked them, aging them years in what had felt like moments to those inside.

Kara's face bore new lines, her once-bright hair streaked with gray. In her arms, she clutched a toddler who buried his face in her shoulder, frightened by the sudden shift. Matt stood protectively beside them, his theatrical grace replaced by hardened resilience. The others mirrored similar changes—Jenny's confident stance now reflected hard-earned survival, Dylan's engineering precision had given way to practical wariness, and Peter's business polish was stripped away by years of struggle.

"Oh God," Kara sobbed, clutching her child tighter. "We’re back here." Her voice trembled as she collapsed to the floor.

Their story spilled out between tears and trembling voices. They had been transported to 1950s America, thrust into a world of segregation and Cold War tensions. With no way to prove their true identities, they forged new lives out of necessity. Matt worked as a mechanic, his theater training helping him portray a simple working man. Kara waited tables at a local diner, navigating the era's casual sexism with gritted teeth and forced smiles. They eventually married, finding comfort in each other as hope of return faded.

As Kara cradled little Tommy and Matt quietly recounted his work in a 1950s garage, Maya sat nearby with her sketchbook balanced on her knees. Uncertain why she felt compelled to draw them, her pencil moved instinctively, capturing the exhaustion etched on Matt’s face and how Kara held her son as if he was the only anchor to this reality. It was terrifying to think they had lived six years in such a short time.

Sara recounted how she and Peter had organized a community event to bridge racial divides, an act of courage that cemented their bond. "We held a dance," she said quietly. "Despite the protests, people came together. It was a small victory that meant everything to us."

Dylan had become an integral part of a team developing early computing systems, his engineering background invaluable in the fledgling tech industry. "We looked for ways to reach you all," he explained, his voice hoarse. "We researched everything about temporal phenomena, strange occurrences, anything that might help. But eventually..."

"Eventually we had to live," Jenny finished, her eyes haunted. "We built lives, made friends, tried to forget where we came from. And then, just when we'd accepted it..."

"The pull came," Peter said quietly. "Like being yanked backward by a giant hand."

The child in Kara's arms began to fuss, his small face scrunching with confusion and fear. Matt knelt beside them, his hand gentle on the boy's back. "Shh, Tommy," he soothed. "It's okay."

The library fell silent as everyone processed the impossible scene before them. Lance felt the weight of temporal displacement pressing against his skull, reality bending around the paradox of their return. The child's presence made everything more tangible, more tragic. This wasn’t just about lost time—it was about lives lived, families formed, and futures forged and then torn away.

After the library settled into an uneasy quiet, Maya found Lance near the rare books section, sitting in an old leather chair. She hesitated before approaching, holding her sketchbook to her chest. "You’re doing everything you can, you know," she said softly.

Lance looked up, his expression heavy. "It doesn’t feel like it. Every decision seems wrong."

"That’s because it’s an impossible situation," Maya replied, sitting across from him. "But you’re holding us together, even if it doesn’t feel like it. That counts for something."

For a moment, their eyes met, and Maya wondered if she should say more. But the words tangled in her throat, and instead, she sat with him, letting the silence speak for them both.

After making his rounds with Lara that night, while others tried to sleep, Lance watched the returned group huddled together in their corner. Kara sang soft lullabies to Tommy, while Matt kept watch, his eyes never leaving his family. The others slept fitfully, twitching at small sounds as if expecting to be torn through time again at any moment.

The darkness outside pressed against the windows, but Lance barely noticed it anymore. His mind churned with the implications of their return, questions about time, fate, and the nature of their imprisonment. As Tommy's quiet breathing blended with the library's nighttime sounds, Lance wondered what other impossible returns awaited them in this temporal prison.