"So, you're telling me we're stalking two girls because you think one of them will get stabbed by some random man?" Virgil says, following a step behind me.
The two girls ahead stop, laughing together under the sun, unaware of everything about to go wrong.
"And you think the death of the girl in the white T-shirt is why you keep time-traveling?" he adds.
I raise a hand, stopping him.
"It's about to happen," I whisper.
"Are you even listening to me?" Virgil says.
My eyes lock onto the man weaving through the crowd, the glint of a knife in his hand as he moves toward the girls. My pulse spikes. I break into a sprint, and just as he lunges, I shove the girl aside and grab his wrist, trying to hold him back.
But my grip isn't strong enough.
The blade rips into my throat, burning cold as it slices me open. I stagger back, clutching the warmth spilling over my hands, choking as blood floods my mouth. The man looks down with empty disgust before stabbing me in the stomach.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Each stab is fire, tearing through me, the world swimming with the girls' screams and Virgil shouting my name before darkness swallows me.
"Doesn't she look beautiful?" Virgil's voice snaps me back.
I'm gasping, hands flying to my throat, checking for wounds that aren't there, for blood that isn't there. My eyes dart around until they find her—the girl in the white T-shirt.
My breathing spikes, panic clawing inside me. I stumble backward, turn, and run.
I sit in a small park, head down, trying to stop shaking. The phantom pain still throbs in my neck and stomach. Every blink is a flash of steel, blood, screams.
Footsteps approach, crunching on the gravel, and I flinch, eyes snapping up.
It's Virgil.
He sits next to me, silent, letting the wind fill the space before he speaks.
"So… do you wanna tell me what the hell is going on?"
"No," I say, voice hoarse.
"Come on, man. You killed my beach day. I deserve to know why."
I glance at him, swallowing hard.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay." I lied. I take a shaky breath. "I just figured out that getting stabbed sucks."
Virgil blinks, his mouth twisting. "And how exactly did you figure that out by looking at a random girl?"
I look away, lips tightening.
"Sorry again," he mutters.
"your an assh*le" I say
"It's fine to be an assh*le if you're funny," Virgil says.
"who the f*ck said that?"
"Me."
We sit there a breeze moving the leaves around us, the sun too bright for how cold I feel
11:59.
Virgil glances at me, breathing out. "Guess it's time. Good luck, man."
I blink.
"Doesn't she look beautiful?" Virgil says.
This time, I'm alone behind the girls. It's easier not having to explain the loops to Virgil every time.
Don't screw it up, Noah.
The man appears again, moving toward the girl.
I sprint forward, shoving her aside, grabbing the man's wrist, twisting it away just as the blade slices past my cheek. I punch him in the stomach, sweep his knee, pivot, and shove the knife back toward him. His own blade cuts across his throat.
He gurgles, blood spraying, collapsing to the ground.
I exhale, a shaky smile forming.
"I did i—" The smile drops as I see the terror in the girls' faces, the man's lifeless body at my feet, blood pooling around him.
I killed him…
They scream and run.
"WAIT!" I yell, but they don't stop.
They bolt into the street, and a truck barrels forward—
Impact.
"Doesn't she look beautiful?" Virgil says.
"F***!" I shout.
"Yo, what is it?" Virgil asks.
"Nothing," I mutter.
Again, I stand behind the girls, determined.
Don't screw it up.
The man charges, and I grab his wrist, punch him, and force the knife hand down. I twist the arm, hearing a sharp crack as his wrist breaks.
The knife drops.
The man collapses, screaming.
I turn to the girls, forcing a calm smile.
"Can you call the police, please?"
"Y-Yeah," the girl in the white T-shirt says, pulling out her phone.
The man suddenly tears free, clutching his broken wrist, stumbling into the street.
I start after him, but a truck slams into him, sending him spinning across the asphalt.
Trucks, man. Never thought they'd be this dangerous, I think, my heart pounding.
We end up sitting in front of two police officers, the smell of coffee and dust in the small station room.
"The one who attacked you is Henry Thorns, a 45-year-old man who just got fired from his job, and his wife divorced him because of it, taking his kids with her," says the first officer, flipping through his notepad.
The second officer, older, rubs the stubble on his chin. "I knew that guy. He was my friend. Last time we met, he told me he pissed off some important man at work, said it would cost him a lot. Didn't think it would cost him this much."
"We weren't even able to save him from his injuries," the first officer says with a sigh. He looks at us and forces a tired smile. "Don't worry, boys and girls. You can go."
They step away, leaving us in the empty room for a moment.
That's it? I think, blinking. No calls to parents? No lectures?
I'm pulled from my thoughts as the girl in the white T-shirt steps forward.
"We wanted to thank you for saving us," she says, voice soft.
"Oh, it was nothing," I say automatically.
"That was absolutely something," she insists, giving me a small, real smile. "I'm Rose, and this is Lily."
I pause, taking a breath.
"I'm Noah Brown."
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I let the moment stay.