The silence in the workshop was suffocating, filled with the unspoken truths we both understood but didn’t dare voice. Emily stood beside me, her fingers brushing against the device’s cold surface as though she, too, could feel its pull. For all the relief I’d felt after stabilizing the fractures, one truth loomed larger than the rest: I didn’t belong here. This timeline wasn’t mine. And neither was Emily.

“We have to use it again,” I said quietly, breaking the stillness.

Emily’s hand froze mid-motion. She turned to me, her expression shifting from confusion to alarm. “What do you mean? The fractures are gone. Everything’s stable now.”

“For this timeline, yes,” I admitted, meeting her gaze. “But this isn’t my timeline. I can feel it. Something’s... wrong. I don’t belong here.”

Her face paled as realization dawned. “Rohan, you can’t. If you use the device again, there’s no guarantee it’ll work. And even if it does, you could end up somewhere worse. Or nowhere at all.”

I knew she was right, but staying wasn’t an option. The fractured versions of me were gone—absorbed into the single, cohesive timeline we had worked so hard to create. But their echoes lingered, a constant reminder that I was a splinter here, an anomaly that didn’t fit.

“I can’t stay,” I said, my voice steady despite the weight of the words. “If I do, I’ll destabilize this timeline eventually. And I can’t do that to you. To anyone.”

Her jaw tightened, and she looked away, her shoulders trembling. “So that’s it? You fix everything and then just... leave?”

I wanted to say no, to find some way to make this easier for both of us. But the truth was undeniable. “This isn’t my home, Emily. It’s yours. And I can’t take it from you.”

She turned back to me, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You’re part of it now. Whether you believe it or not.”

Her words cut deep, but I couldn’t let them sway me. I reached for the device, my hands shaking as I activated its dormant systems. The faint hum returned, rising slowly until it filled the room with a resonance that seemed to vibrate in my chest.

Emily stepped back, her face a mask of fear and anger. “You’re really going to do this?”

“I have to,” I said, forcing myself to look at her. “I wish I didn’t. But I do.”

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She clenched her fists, her lips trembling. For a moment, I thought she might try to stop me. But then she took a deep breath and nodded, her expression hardening. “Fine. But if you’re leaving, you owe me the truth. About everything.”

I hesitated, the weight of her demand pressing down on me. “Emily—”

“No,” she snapped, stepping closer. “You don’t get to walk out of here without answering me. What happens to you? What happens to me?”

The words caught in my throat, sharp and painful. “You’ll be okay,” I said finally, though it felt like a lie. “This is your timeline. Without me here, it’ll be stable. You’ll move on.”

“And you?” she asked, her voice breaking.

I looked down at the device, the glow from its core casting strange shadows across the room. “I don’t know. I’ll find my way back to my time. Or I won’t. But either way, it’s the only chance I have.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then, to my surprise, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. I froze, unsure of what to do, before returning the embrace.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

“I don’t want to either,” I admitted, my chest tight. “But this isn’t goodbye. Not really. You’ll carry on. And I’ll always remember you.”

She pulled back, her eyes glistening with tears she refused to let fall. “Then promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Find your way home,” she said, her voice firm. “No matter what, don’t give up. You owe yourself that much.”

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. With trembling hands, I adjusted the settings on the device, aligning the coordinates as best I could. The interface flickered, unstable but functional. It was now or never.

Emily stepped back, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “Be careful,” she said, her voice barely audible.

I met her gaze one last time, committing her face to memory. “Thank you, Emily. For everything.”

Before I could let myself hesitate, I activated the device. The room filled with blinding light, and the world around me seemed to dissolve into a whirlwind of color and sound. I felt the pull of the device, the familiar sensation of being unmoored from time and space.

And then, everything went dark.

----------------------------------------

I woke to the sound of rain. Soft, steady, and rhythmic, it tapped against the windowpane with a comforting familiarity. I opened my eyes slowly, my body heavy and disoriented. I was lying on a worn sofa, the faint smell of coffee and dust lingering in the air.

The room was small and cluttered, filled with books, papers, and odd trinkets. It took me a moment to recognize it as my own. My timeline. My time.

I sat up slowly, my head pounding. The device lay on the coffee table in front of me, its once-brilliant core now dark and lifeless. I reached out to touch it, my fingers brushing against its cool surface. It had done its job, but at what cost?

The weight of what I’d left behind crashed over me, and I buried my face in my hands. Emily’s face flashed in my mind, her voice echoing in my ears. Find your way home.

I was home. But it didn’t feel like it. Not yet.

The rain outside continued to fall, steady and unrelenting. I let it wash over me, its rhythm grounding me as I tried to piece myself back together. I had returned to my timeline, but the journey wasn’t over. Not yet.

I didn’t know what the future held, but I made a promise to myself—and to her. I would keep moving forward. One step at a time.