Barney was back to his usual self.
Loud. Careless. Laughing too hard at his own jokes. He shoved a second chocolate milk into his hoodie pocket "for the afterlife," and Hale heard two people actually laugh.
Everything seemed normal.
Too normal.
Like the air was pretending.
Hale watched him from across the table, eyes fixed. Waiting for something to crack.
Then it did.
"Anyway," Barney said, tossing a pretzel into the air and catching it with his mouth, "this all resets at 3:12 tonight, right?"
Silence.
It landed like a dropped knife.
Hale froze, blood draining from his fingers.
Barney blinked. "Kidding, obviously. Y'know, time loop jokes. Haven't you seen Groundhog Day?"
He laughed again. No one else did.
Hale didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Because Barney had said it too casually.
Too correctly.
No one else knew that time.
And Barney?
Barney had died. Hale saw it. Heard the tearing scream, felt the mark burn into his chest as Barney was pulled apart.
But now he was here.
Sitting. Eating. Telling jokes like none of it had happened.
Something had returned.
But Hale wasn't sure it was truly Barney anymore.
He watched him chew.
Behind the eyes, there was something… absent.
Like a tape rewinding on loop, smiling at all the right beats but never remembering the punchlines.
And for the first time since all this began, Hale whispered something under his breath that chilled even him:
"You weren't supposed to be here either."