Lucien found her on the steps of the old observatory.
It wasn't planned—nothing about this was. He had taken a different route home, trying to chase the image of her from his dreams. And yet, there she was—Aveline—sitting with her knees drawn to her chest, staring at the stars like they owed her something.
He hesitated before speaking.
"You again."
She didn't look startled. Just… tired.
"I was waiting for you," she said quietly.
Lucien raised a brow. "We've only met twice."
"Not to you," she said. "But to me… seventeen times."
He paused, then took a slow step forward.
"Are you saying… we've done this before?"
Aveline turned her head, eyes glittering with something between sadness and relief. "I've kissed you. I've lost you. I've buried you. Over and over again."
Lucien didn't laugh. Didn't scoff. Because deep in his bones, something stirred—something old.
"I believe you," he whispered.
She blinked, caught off guard. "Why?"
Lucien sat beside her. "Because I've been dreaming of you. Every night. Sometimes you're crying. Sometimes you're running. Once, you were wearing white."
Aveline's breath caught.
"The wedding," she said softly. "You remember the wedding."
Lucien turned to her. "Did we get married?"
"In one of the loops, yes," she said. "But I failed. You died anyway."
He exhaled slowly. "And this time?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "I've been trying to figure out the moment your fate turned. But every time I get close, the loop resets. The world forgets. Except me."
Lucien stared ahead, silent for a long moment.
Then, gently, he asked, "Can I touch you?"
She nodded.
He reached out and cupped her face—thumb brushing her cheek with a reverence that shook her soul.
"You said my name like you loved me," he murmured.
Tears spilled down her face. "I still do."
He leaned in, slowly, as if waiting for the universe to stop him. It didn't.
Their lips met—soft, trembling, as though both were afraid they'd shatter with the contact.
It wasn't the first time. But it felt like the most real.
When they parted, Lucien rested his forehead against hers.
"I don't know what's happening," he said. "But if I lose you again—"
"You won't," Aveline whispered. "Not this time."
Miles away, Jules flipped through old files he'd stolen from a closed government archive. In the shadows of classified documents and redacted transcripts, one name appeared over and over again.
Aveline E. Monroe.
But not as a subject.
As a creator.