The rag in her hand squeaked faintly against the glass, but Avery's mind was far from the café. Rain tapped against the windows in a soft rhythm, too gentle to match the storm inside her thoughts.
1996.
That was the conclusion she had come to, piece by careful piece. From the newspapers lining the walls, to the style of the cars, the flip phones, and the music playing on a nearby radio. Everything screamed of a past she'd only heard about from her grandparents—and from the man whose ghost she had followed for most of her life.
"My father was eighteen in 1996," she murmured to herself, watching raindrops race each other down the pane. "That means I've traveled twenty-nine years into the past."
It was a strange kind of horror, to realize time travel wasn't a metaphor. Her heart still refused to adjust to the weight of it.
Back in 2025, Ethan had no gang. No loyalists. Just blood on his hands, a name feared in every underground circle, and a face on every wanted poster. But here? In this time? Ethan Carrington was the leader of a gang called White Thorne. Bold. Dangerous. Unified.
"And James," she whispered, the rag stilling in her hand. Her father. A boy. A mystery.
The way he spoke about the future… it kept echoing in her ears. "If you die, how will I change the future?"
She flinched, her lips parting in shock.
"Oh, shit," she muttered. "Does that mean… James—he time traveled too?"
Avery nearly dropped the glass in her hand.
"Hey," came a voice from behind the glass.
She startled, eyes snapping to the window. A boy stood just outside in the drizzle, a crooked smile on his lips, rain glistening on his dark hair. His eyes—deep, emerald green—seemed to shimmer with curiosity.
It took a moment for her to recognize him. He was the same boy from the fight—a spectator back then, quiet in the chaos. She opened the door before he could knock.
"You again?" she said.
"I finally found you," he said with a short laugh, shaking the rain from his hair like a wet puppy. "You don't exactly make yourself easy to track."
"Maybe because I didn't ask to be followed."
"Fair." He held up his hands. "But come on, who wouldn't want to find the girl who kicked Garth's ass?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Garth?"
"Tall guy. Widowfangs. Muscles like he was made of bricks and rage?"
She rolled her eyes. "Ah. That Garth."
"I've never seen someone fly that far without wings," he grinned. "Seriously, that was… impressive. People don't just dothat to Garth. Not unless they have a death wish."
She sighed and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. "So, what, you came to fangirl?"
"No," he said quickly. "Well—maybe. A little. But also because I had questions."
"You first," she said, folding her arms. "Who are you?"
He leaned against the doorframe, cocky. "Call me Riven."
"Riven," she repeated flatly. "That sounds like a fake name."
"It's not. It's short for—well, no, you're right. It's fake. But cooler, right?"
Despite herself, a small laugh escaped her nose.
"And why were you looking for me, Riven?"
"Because you fascinate me. Not just the Garth thing. It's how you carry yourself. Like you don't belong here."
Because I don't, she thought but said nothing.
"I've seen a lot of people pretend to be strong. But you? You were angry. That's different. That's real."
Avery's eyes darkened. "Tell me something useful, or get out of the rain."
Riven scratched the back of his neck, a little sheepish. "Okay, okay. That guy who died yesterday. The one James was crying over?"
She nodded slowly, her breath tightening.
"His name was Dax. He was one of the original five who helped form White Thorne with Ethan."
Her eyes widened. "And James?"
Riven shrugged. "No one knows why he was there. He just ran in out of nowhere, yelling at Dax to get away. Like he knew what was going to happen."
Avery felt her pulse rise. Her stomach twisted.
He knew.He really knew.
"And the other group? The ones White Thorne was fighting?"
"Widowfangs," Riven said. "They've been at war with White Thorne for a few months now. But it's escalating. Too many personal grudges. Dax wasn't just a fighter—he was Ethan's childhood friend."
Avery frowned, processing everything.
So Ethan had people. He could care.
That was… problematic.
"Ethan and James," she murmured, thinking aloud. "Sworn enemies?"
Riven looked at her curiously. "You know James?"
She gave a noncommittal shrug. "Enough to know he's weird."
"Yeah," Riven agreed with a dry chuckle. "Says random stuff sometimes. Like he knows things no one else should. He's smart, too. Dangerous-smart. But he's a loner."
Avery looked away. Her thoughts spiraled again.
He knows the future. He tried to stop Dax's death. And if he's really traveled through time, then… maybe he'll believe me.
For the first time since arriving in this hellish rewind, she felt a flicker of hope.
Riven watched her in silence for a few seconds. "You planning to talk to him?"
"I have to," she said, voice flat. "There are things he needs to know. Things only I can say."
She rounded the corner and stepped into the misty street, the rain now soft as mist. Her boots crunched in the wet gravel. Riven called something after her, but she barely heard.
Her thoughts were already with James.
If he knew—if he truly knew what the future held—then maybe, just maybe, he would believe her when she said the truth.
That she was his daughter.
And she had come to save him… from the very person he hadn't even become yet.