Lance stood near the circulation desk, watching chaos unfold in what had been their sanctuary. The return of the escapees had shattered their fragile peace like a stone through stained glass, sending ripples of panic through the gathered survivors.

Five figures huddled near the entrance—Matt, Kara, and three others who had attempted escape earlier that day. They looked shell-shocked, clothes dusty and torn, eyes haunted by horrors only they had witnessed. But it was the toddler in Kara's arms that drew every eye—a toddler, no more than two years old, with Matt's curly hair and Kara's bright eyes.

"A child?" someone whispered, their voice carrying in the tense silence. "How is that possible?"

The question sparked more reactions. Students who had been maintaining calm now shifted restlessly, their fear finding a new focus. The toddler represented something impossible—proof that time itself had stretched and warped around them.

"We can't have a baby here," Jessica protested, her usually quiet voice sharp with panic. "We barely have enough supplies for ourselves. And what if... what if it attracts them?" Her eyes darted to the windows.

Lance stepped forward, trying to project confidence he didn't feel. "Everyone needs to stay calm," he announced, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "They're still our friends, still part of our group. Nothing has changed."

"Everything has changed!" Bradley Turner shouted from the back, his face flushed with anger. "Just look at them now—they’re almost unrecognizable. How can we be certain of their true identity?"

Lara moved to stand beside Lance, her tone measured. "They need our help and support right now, not our fear. Let's pause for a moment and approach this with clear heads."

The returned group huddled closer together, their body language revealing years of shared experiences. Matt kept one hand on Kara's shoulder while scanning the crowd with wary eyes. They spoke a bit differently now; their speech patterns were altered by wherever—or whenever—they had been.

"Thank you kindly, ma'am," Sarah responded when the librarian offered her water, the formality strange from someone who had once peppered her speech with modern slang. The others showed similar changes—"sir" and "ma'am" in their speech, along with dated phrases that seemed pulled from another era.

As the day progressed, the changes became more apparent. Kara snapped at anyone who approached her child too quickly. "I'm sorry," she muttered to a startled student, her voice tight with frustration. "I didn't mean to be harsh."

Matt isolated himself in the reference section, methodically organizing books, as if seeking comfort in routine. "Back in 1954, Mrs. Caldwell from next door would bake cookies every Sunday. Those were the days we found peace, even just for a moment. Now, we’re back here, with no guarantee of safety."

"You need to rest," Lance told him quietly, approaching with careful steps. "You’re back where you belong."

Matt's hands trembled as he shelved another volume. "Are we?" he asked, his voice rough. "We thought we were safe before, when we found that community. Built a life there. Had Tommy." His fingers closed on a history book. "Then reality cracked open and pulled us back here."

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Jessica stepped forward, her frustration evident. "How can we trust they're not a threat? We can't grasp the depths of their past experiences or their current potential."

Haley, the lab assistant, cornered Lance near the card catalog. "The child shouldn't be here," she insisted, her eyes bright with nervous energy. "Think about it—he's contradiction. Born outside our timeline, existing in a space he was never meant to occupy. What if he's the reason for all of this?"

The overheard suggestion sparked a heated argument that drew dozens of students. Ms. Grace and Dr. Charles tried to restore order, but their authority had eroded with each passing day of crisis. Voices overlapped, fear and accusation rising in intensity.

Meanwhile, another student, Ethan, stepped forward, his expression resolute. "Maybe the child is our only hope. A new beginning. We can't lose sight of that."

Haley glared at Ethan. "Hope? Or a liability? We need to think about the safety of everyone, not just dreams of what could be."

Lance found Lara in the quiet of the rare books room, where she had retreated from the chaos. "I'm utterly stumped," she admitted as he settled into the chair facing her. "Everyone's scared, and fear makes people dangerous."

"You're doing everything you can," Lance assured her, noting the exhaustion in her posture. "We both are."

"Is it enough?" She met his eyes, vulnerability clear in her expression. "I keep thinking about what they must have been through—years of living in another time, building a life, having a child. And now they're back here, trapped with people who look at them like they're monsters, with real monsters lurking right outside."

Lance leaned forward, taking her hand. The contact sent electricity through his skin, a reminder that even in chaos, human connection remained vital. "We'll figure this out," he promised. "Together."

Their eyes met, the moment stretching between them like taffy. Lance felt himself drawn forward, his heart pounding against his ribs. Lara's breath hitched as he moved closer, her free hand rising to touch his cheek.

Their lips met in a desperate, fleeting kiss—a moment of warmth in their cold reality. For a brief second, the world narrowed to just this connection, this shared breath, this spark of life amid decay.

Then a sound shattered the moment—a deep, guttural noise that echoed from the clock tower. They broke apart, both turning toward the windows.

Lance approached the window cautiously, his lips still tingling from the kiss. Outside, the shadows seemed agitated, flowing beyond the buildings like dark water, gathering in pools of impossible depth.

A chill crept up his spine as his gaze remained fixed. The safe zone felt less secure with each passing second, as if the library's protection was wearing thin like old fabric.

Deep in his chest, an inexplicable dread took root. Whatever force trapped them here was growing stronger, more purposeful. Lance couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time—in more ways than one.

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.