Chapter 3

"The day after Liam's birthday, he'll get jumped on his way home. He'll get his hand sliced."

Nina didn't even pause. "Got it. I'll be careful."

Click. She hung up.

I slid the phone back in my pocket. It was already past midnight.

Still no sign of Nina or Sasha.

Usually, I'd be pacing like crazy. But tonight? I just brushed my teeth and crashed.

***

Next morning, the house was dead quiet. They hadn't come back.

I didn't feel much—until I noticed my hand. Smooth. No scar. I froze.

Then it hit me. A whole new set of memories crashed in:

Day after my eighteenth birthday, I was heading home like usual when some guy jumped me, waving a knife around like a psycho. Before he could land a hit, Nina showed up—with cops trailing right behind her. They tackled him in seconds.

The past actually changed.

I laughed, half in shock, half in disbelief, tears rolling before I even noticed.

Then my phone lit up. Young Nina again.

I answered, and she burst out, buzzing with adrenaline. "Thank you. I saved him!"

I didn't miss a beat. "Can you save Liam one more time?"

"What's gonna happen? What do I do?"

"Don't confess. Stay away from him. As far away as you can."

Silence. I could picture her face—confused, suspicious. Then came the question. "Why?"

"Because if you two end up together, you'll wreck him."

She shot back, "No way! I like Liam so much! Today he scraped his wrist and I dragged him all over getting it checked. If he sneezes, I panic. If he's even slightly sick, it kills me.

"That guy with the knife? I was shaking so bad, but I still ran straight at him. I had to. He's everything. How could I ever hurt him?"

As she talked, old memories cracked open—like boxes I'd sealed years ago.

Eighteen-year-old Nina looked at me like I was her entire universe.

The Nina I knew at thirty? Her words cut like ice.

I dropped my gaze and exhaled. "People change."

"Then tell me—how exactly do I hurt him in the future?"

I froze. Fingers stiff. My brain flipped through scenes like a glitching movie reel. Too many. I didn't even know where to start.

Then my phone rang again.

I picked up, and someone on the other end was already spiraling. "Mr. Lambert, our department had a team night at a bar in East Avendale. Ms. Reid drank too much. Can you come get her? Oh—and your kid's here too."

Chaos behind them—crashing, yelling, something getting chucked.