LENA
I punch him.
My fist connects with Rafe's jaw before I even realize I'm moving. His head snaps back. Jax jumps between us, hands up.
"Whoa! Easy!"
"You killed me?" My voice is shaking. "You stood there in that parking garage and saved my life, and the whole time you knew you were the one who—"
"It wasn't like that," Rafe says. His hand touches his jaw but he doesn't move away. Doesn't defend himself. "Let me explain."
"Explain what? That you murdered me? That everything you've said has been a lie?"
"I didn't murder you." His voice is raw. "I was trying to save you. It went wrong. And I've spent every second since then wishing I could undo it."
Petra appears beside me, still holding her ribs. "Someone better start talking. Now."
Rafe looks at me. Only at me. "Can we come inside? Please. I'll tell you everything."
I want to say no. Want to slam the door in his face and pretend this conversation never happened.
Instead, I step aside.
They come in. Jax looks nervous. Rafe looks like he's walking to his own execution.
We all stand in the middle of the cheap motel room. Nobody sits. Nobody relaxes.
"Talk," I say.
Rafe takes a breath. "In my first timeline, the outbreak happened on Day Ninety-Two, just like yours. I was part of a private military team sent to secure government facilities. We didn't know what we were securing. They just gave us orders and targets."
"The facility in the photograph," I say.
"Yes. We were supposed to extract something. We didn't know it was a virus. We didn't know they were planning to weaponize it." His hands curl into fists. "By the time we figured it out, it was too late. The outbreak began. Everything fell apart."
"And me?" My voice is ice.
"I met you on Day Seventy-Three. You were running a medical shelter. You stitched a knife wound in my side. You told me I was allowed to survive." His eyes are haunted. "I'd never heard anyone say that before. Everyone I knew was dead. I thought I deserved to die with them. But you—you looked at me like I was worth saving."
Something twists in my chest. I push it down.
"Keep talking."
"I stayed near your shelter. Helped with supply runs. Kept you safe. But on Day Ninety-Two, a horde broke through the perimeter. They were heading straight for the medical wing. Straight for you." His voice cracks. "I tried to get you out. You wouldn't leave the patients. So I did the only thing I could think of. I triggered an explosive charge to collapse the tunnel. To stop the horde."
My blood goes cold.
"You buried me alive."
"I thought the tunnel led to an exit. I thought you'd have time to get out. But the intel was wrong. The map was wrong. By the time I realized—" He stops. Swallows hard. "By the time I dug through the rubble, you were already gone."
The room is silent.
"I held your body," he whispers. "And I promised that if I ever got a second chance, I'd do it right. I'd save you for real." He looks at me. "Then I woke up three days ago with that same pull in my chest. The same certainty that I needed to find you. And I knew, somehow, impossibly—I'd been given that second chance."
I stare at him. My mind is spinning.
He killed me trying to save me. He came back just like I did. He remembers.
"Why didn't you tell me this before?" I ask.
"Because I didn't remember the details until I saw you. Until the warehouse. It's like seeing you unlocked everything." His voice is desperate. "I'm not your enemy, Lena. I'm the opposite. I'm the one person in this world who knows exactly what you lost and exactly what's coming."
Petra looks between us. "So you both died. You both came back. And someone else knows about it." She touches her bandaged head. "Someone who attacked me to send you a message."
"Someone who wants us to distrust each other," Rafe says. "Someone who benefits from us being divided."
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him.
But trust is expensive. And I'm not sure I can afford it.
"You said you failed to stop the outbreak," I say. "At the facility. What happened?"
"We were too late. The virus was already released. By the time we got there, it had been shipped to seventeen cities. There was nothing to stop." His jaw tightens. "But in this timeline, we have eighty-eight days. We can get there first."
"And do what?"
"Stop it from ever leaving the building."
The idea hangs in the air. Bold. Impossible. Perfect.
Jax clears his throat. "Uh, for the record, I have no idea what's happening. But Rafe says you're building some kind of survival shelter. And he says you'll need help. So I'm in. Whatever this is."
I look at him. "You believe him?"
"I've known Rafe for twelve years. He doesn't lie. And he's never looked at anyone the way he looks at you." Jax shrugs. "So yeah. I believe him."
I turn to Petra. "Your call."
She studies Rafe for a long moment. Then she sighs. "I've been attacked once already. Might as well go all in." She winces as she sits on the bed. "But if you kill Lena again, I'm coming for you with a crowbar."
"Fair," Rafe says.
I close my eyes. Make the decision.
"Fine. You're in. But one wrong move—"
"You'll know before I do," he says. "That ability of yours. The one that senses the dead. It'll warn you if I'm compromised."
How does he know about my ability?
"You told me," he says, reading my face. "In the first timeline. Right before—" He stops. "Right before the tunnel."
I push the memory away. Focus on the present.
"Show me what you've got."
Relief floods his face. He pulls a folded map from his jacket and spreads it on the small table. It's the industrial site. The one I found online. The one that will become the Ark.
"I visited it yesterday," he says. "Took notes. The perimeter is solid. Fencing can be reinforced. There's a generator room here, water access here. Living quarters can be set up in these three buildings."
I stare at the map. He's marked everything. Every detail I had planned. Every modification I was going to make.
"How do you know all this?" I ask.
"Because this is what you built in the first timeline. You described it to me. Down to the last detail." He looks at me. "I was just connecting the dots."
I'm furious that he's three steps ahead.
I'm also impressed. And that bothers me more.
"We'll need supply routes," Petra says, leaning over the map. "Multiple sources. Can't draw attention to any one location."
"Agreed," Rafe says. "Jax and I can handle the heavy lifting. Weapons. Construction materials. Anything that requires muscle."
"I'll coordinate the medical supplies," I say. "And we'll need people. Not too many. Just the ones who'll survive and contribute."
"No Damon," Petra adds.
"Definitely no Damon."
We spend the next two hours planning. Routes. Timelines. Contingencies. The four of us working together like we've done this before.
Maybe, in some twisted way, we have.
Jax is quick with numbers. He calculates carrying capacity and fuel needs faster than I can write them down. Petra knows every supply warehouse in the city. She marks them on the map with practiced efficiency.
And Rafe—Rafe knows exactly what we need to survive. Not just for days or weeks. For months. For years if necessary.
The Ark starts to feel real.
For the first time since I woke up in this timeline, I feel something other than rage and fear.
I feel hope.
Then it happens.
A hum.
Low. Buzzing. Starting at the base of my skull like a live wire pressed against bone.
I go completely still.
No.
Not now. Not yet.
The hum pulses. Grows stronger. It's not one signal. It's dozens. Hundreds. Moving together. Spreading.
"Lena?" Petra's voice sounds far away. "What's wrong?"
I press my hand to the back of my head. The sensation is overwhelming. Drowning out everything else.
"They're here," I whisper.
Rafe's face goes white. "What?"
"The infected. I can feel them." I look up. My eyes are wide. "Day Four. It's Day Four. They're not supposed to be here for eighty-eight more days."
"Maybe it's a false alarm," Jax says. "Maybe your ability is just—"
"It's not." My voice is shaking. "Rafe. You said the virus was shipped to seventeen cities. When?"
He's already pulling out his phone. Searching news sites. His fingers move fast. Then he stops. His face drains of color.
"Oh god."
"What?" I lean over his shoulder.
He shows me the screen. A news headline from six hours ago:
BREAKING: CDC Investigates Mysterious Illness in Seven Cities. Officials Urge Calm.
Seven cities. Not seventeen.
But six hours ago. While I was at the hospital with Petra.
"It's already started," Rafe says. "The timeline is accelerating."
I look at the map spread across the table. At the plans we just made. At the eighty-eight days we thought we had.
"We don't have three months," I say quietly. "We have weeks. Maybe less."
The hum in my skull grows louder.
Petra stands up, ignoring her injuries. "Then we move faster. We start tonight."
"Tonight?" Jax looks terrified.
"Tonight," I confirm. "Because if they're already infected—"
My phone buzzes.
I look down.
Another message from the blocked number.
This time it's not a photograph. It's a video file.
I press play.
The footage is dark. Grainy. Security camera quality. But I can make out the shapes.
Bodies. Dozens of them. Moving wrong. Jerking. Twitching.
And in the corner of the frame, a timestamp.
Two hours ago.
The video is from inside a hospital. In this city. Right now.
Underneath, one sentence: They're already here. And they're hungry.
The phone slips from my hand.
Rafe catches it. Watches the video. His face goes hard.
"That's County General," he says. "Three miles from here."
The hum in my skull spikes.
And then, from outside the motel, we hear it.
Screaming.