Jane stepped out of the cafe.

  The sun was gone.

  She checked her watch. 2:45 PM.

  She checked the sky. Pitch black.

  Narrator: Jane hadn’t traveled in time. The world had shifted sideways into a timeline where the sun set at 2:00 PM, or maybe one where it never rose at all. The Unit didn’t do weather reports. It only did countdowns.

  It was freezing.

  Jane wrapped her arms around herself. She had 79% battery. She had cash. She needed a room.

  She saw a sign: THE METRO INN.

  “Great,” Jane said. “Love a vibe.”

  She walked in. Heat hit her face. The place smelled of chlorine and floor wax.

  “One night,” Jane said. “Single.”

  The clerk didn’t look up. “Credit card.”

  Jane slid her card across the counter.

  The clerk picked it up. Swiped it.

  Beep.

  He swiped it again.

  Beep.

  He looked at the card. He looked at the machine.

  “No chip,” the clerk said.

  Jane pointed at the silver square. “It has a chip. That’s the whole point of the square.”

  “That’s a Square,” the clerk said. He pointed to the reader. The slot was a hexagon. “We only take Hex.”

  Jane stared at the reader.

  A hexagon. A tiny, meaningless geometric difference.

  “You’re joking,” she said.

  “System requires Hex verification,” the clerk said. He slid the card back. “Store policy.”

  Jane breathed in once, sharp.

  “Can you type the numbers?” she asked, keeping her voice level. “Like it’s 2004?”

  The clerk looked at her like she’d requested blood.

  “No.”

  “I have cash,” Jane said. She pulled out a twenty.

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  The clerk looked at the bill. He looked at the portrait of Jackson.

  “We don’t take Memorabilia,” he said.

  Jane blinked. “It’s legal tender.”

  “It’s Series 2018,” the clerk said. “Demonetized in ’24. You need the new polymer.”

  He pointed to the door.

  “Please,” Jane said. “It’s cold.”

  “Lobby is for guests,” the clerk said.

  Jane stood there, holding a perfectly valid future in one hand and a useless past in the other.

  She nodded, once.

  “Fine,” she said. “Perfect. Great system you’ve got.”

  She stepped outside.

  The air hit her like punishment.

  She pulled the tablet out.

  ROLL BACK.

  Attempt 2

  Jane stood on the sidewalk.

  It was snowing now.

  The Metro Inn was gone. It was a parking lot.

  Jane checked the tablet.

  78%.

  Her stomach sank.

  ROLL BACK didn’t rewind the day. It shifted her position. The clock kept moving forward, indifferent.

  “Okay,” she said. “So it’s not a reset. It’s a relocation with attitude.”

  She turned left.

  A diner. JOE’S.

  She ran inside.

  “Coffee,” she ordered. “Black.”

  She sat down. She reached for a napkin.

  “Hey,” a waitress said. “Ticket?”

  “I just got here.”

  “Ticket,” the waitress repeated. She pointed to a machine by the door. “Pre-pay. Ticket.”

  Jane walked to the machine.

  PRICE: $12.50.

  Jane stared.

  “Twelve fifty for coffee?” she said.

  The machine stared back.

  Jane looked at her “demonetized” twenty. She looked at the slot.

  Coins only.

  She patted her pockets anyway. One receipt. One key. No coins.

  “I don’t have coins,” Jane said.

  “No ticket, no seat,” the waitress said. She wiped the table where Jane had touched it.

  Jane backed away from her own chair like it had triggered an alarm.

  “Right,” she said. “My mistake. For thinking sitting was included.”

  She stepped outside.

  Snow, black sky, nowhere to stand.

  She pulled the tablet out again.

  ROLL BACK.

  Attempt 3

  Jane stood in an alley.

  Rain hammered down, hard and stinging.

  She started shivering immediately. Her teeth chattered. The vintage t-shirt soaked through in seconds.

  She checked the tablet.

  77%.

  “Award-winning,” Jane chattered. “We’re doing great.”

  She saw a bus shelter and ran for it.

  She sat on the bench.

  Dry. Almost warm.

  “Okay,” she said, breathy. “Okay. Just wait. Just warm up.”

  A police cruiser rolled by slowly.

  It stopped.

  The window rolled down.

  “Move along,” the officer said.

  “Waiting for the bus,” Jane said.

  “Bus stopped running at six,” the officer said. “No loitering.”

  Jane stared at him.

  “It’s two forty-five,” she said, then pointed at the sky. “And it’s midnight. Pick one.”

  The officer didn’t blink.

  “I’m not loitering,” Jane said. “I’m freezing.”

  “Shelter is for transit customers,” the officer said. “Move along or I cite you.”

  Jane gripped the tablet.

  She could roll back. She could hunt for a timeline where cops were kind, or diners were normal, or hotels accepted square chips.

  But every jump shoved her further into the night. Every jump landed her somewhere she understood less than the last.

  “Moving,” Jane said. She forced the word out like it cost money.

  She stood up and stepped into the rain.

  She walked until the cruiser turned the corner.

  Then she collapsed onto the steps of a brownstone.

  Jane pulled the tablet out again.

  Rain ran down the screen, catching in the seams.

  ROLL BACK.

  The world folded.

  She landed hard.

  Concrete. Cold. Her knees barked as she caught herself on one hand. The smell hit next. Oil. Old water. Rot.

  She was under something. A bridge, maybe. Traffic thundered overhead, each car a concussion.

  Jane sucked in a breath.

  It came out white.

  She checked the tablet.

  76%.

  “That’s fine,” she said, teeth chattering. “That’s still fine.”

  She pushed herself up and immediately regretted it. The wind tore straight through her jacket. The concrete offered nothing. No corner. No shelter.

  A voice shouted from somewhere above.

  “Hey. You can’t stay there.”

  Jane looked up.

  A figure leaned over the railing, silhouette sharp against the sodium lights.

  “Move along,” the voice said. “Now.”

  Jane raised a hand, palm out. “Just a second.”

  The tablet warmed. Not gently. Urgently.

  She tried to step toward the embankment.

  Pain flared in her calves. Not injury. Resistance.

  She stumbled instead.

  The warmth sharpened.

  75%.

  Jane laughed once, thin and sharp. “Okay. Okay.”

  She started walking.

  The ground sloped. Puddles swallowed her shoes. Her feet went numb, then loud with ache.

  She passed another person. Then another. None of them looked at her long enough to see her.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A notification she didn’t read.

  She stopped to catch her breath.

  The tablet pulsed.

  She moved again.

  A storefront loomed ahead. Lights on. Warmth behind glass.

  Jane aimed for it.

  Halfway there, the pressure hit. Full-body this time. Like pushing into a crowd that refused to part.

  She staggered sideways.

  Someone swore at her.

  “Watch it.”

  Jane kept moving.

  She ducked into an alley, hoping for shelter.

  The pressure spiked.

  74%.

  She backed out, gasping.

  “Fine,” she said. “Fine. Street it is.”

  Her legs burned. Her hands shook.

  She thought about rolling back again.

  She pictured landing somewhere worse. Somewhere wetter. Somewhere watched.

  The thought made her move faster.

  A siren wailed nearby.

  Jane crossed the street against the light.

  A horn blared.

  She didn’t slow.

  The tablet was hot now. Uncomfortable to hold.

  She stuffed it back into her bag and broke into a jog, breath ragged, shoes slapping wet pavement.

  She didn’t know where she was going.

  She only knew that stopping cost more than moving.

  Jane ran.