"Thank you…" Hunter blinked, curling his fingers over the coffee mug Natt just handed him, "How’d you know I’d prefer coffee and not tea?"

“I didn't." Natt sank into a chair opposite him. "It was written in the diary."

She stared at Hunter like he had stolen her turkey right before Thanksgiving.

Chill out, Natalie.

"I-I’m not sure what diary you’re referring to." The poor guy straightened up, absolutely ready—

to cry.

He looked at me for support. I looked at Natt. Natt stared at Hunter.

There was a lot going on over here.

I took the liberty of pulling the guy out of his misery.

After I was done narrating what felt like an entire podcast episode of Time-Travelling Adventures with Delacroix and Vaughn

Hunter stared at his coffee like it was the most interesting thing in this room.

There were dangerous chances he could pass out again.

Or hire a lawyer.

It’s hard to say when there’s a millionaire on your couch.

"So you’re saying…" He managed, "We were friends?"

"Yes."

"And… you two can time travel… and caused something that changed our timelines?"

"Yes."

"And I was Hunter Cross?"

Hunter leaned back, running his hand through his messy black hair. He looked like a kitten fired from its job.

"We must’ve known this was going to happen." Natt said, "I must’ve given the address to you right before the time-rift."

Until now, the miserable guy probably only had to worry about expanding business, promoting capitalism, and choosing which tie color screamed 'I support Capitalism' loud enough for the meeting. (Don't tell him I said that. He looks devastated enough.)

Now there were a whole lot of timelines, memory loss, and last names involved.

"You’re Hunter Maverick." She started flipping through the pages again. "So why is your last name Cross?"

"Ahh…" He managed a weak smile. A hint of pain flashed across his eyes.

"Cross was— Cross happened to be my mother’s last name. " He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck."Before she got married to my dad, that is."

His voice caught at the word mother.

I read somewhere about the Dead receiving more flowers than the Living because regret was stronger than ignorance. Sometimes, we value people more once they’re gone.

And losing someone as valuable as a mother? I can only imagine the hollowness in his life. Even if it was one with raining dollars.

I made a mental note to text Mom how much I loved her once I was done.

"Although I’ll have to admit." Hunter stood up, setting down the blanket on the couch, "Your narration was very compelling."

"What—"

My heart dropped.

Natt froze -- Eyes wide, heart hammering.

Hunter pulled a gun from his back pocket.

One second, he looked helpless. Now, we were.

Bro just played UNO Reverse of the century. No Warning, No Draw Four. Just aura.

"HUNTER, STOP. WE’RE TELLING THE TRU—"

He aimed his gun at her, his eyes burning green.

"You speak my name as if you know me."

We did.

His presence made my mind scream stranger.

But familiarity burned down to my bones.

Hunter Cross. Hunter Maverick.

It didn’t matter. He was the same person rewritten in timeline. The very one that we broke.

Hunter stepped ahead. Slow. Deliberate.

Like the room was bound to his control.

"I don’t know how you sneaked past the security to put this in my coat pocket." He curled his finger around the trigger.

He looked at Natt dead in the eye. No Hesitation.

Like he's done this many times over.

Like he knew how this ends.

"Whoever you’ve tipped, I’ll make sure they meet the same fate as yo-"

“You’re left-handed, aren’t you?" I blurted.

He turned his head at me like a hawk.

I gulped. So much for glory.

"How do you know that?"

"I- I just do." I stammered heroically.

Out of the corner of my eye, Natt facepalmed.

"The diary. It—"

"You think I’ll believe that story?" Hunter’s voice dropped low. "Any journalist could've pointed that out."

"Yeah, sure. But do they know you don’t like 24-hour clocks because they confuse you?"

Hunter blinked.

"Or-Or the fact that you hum when you get nervous? Usually, the Hans Zimmer track from Kung Fu Panda to be precise."

Hunter's grip on the gun faltered.

"You're not supposed to know that."

"I know." I squeaked— because apparently that's what your throat does when someone is pointing a gun at you.

"But I do." I swallowed, "Look, man. We may not remember each other. Not fully. But we once did..."

"Before we broke whatever this is." Natt finished my thoughts.

Hunter didn't speak. Just stared.

At me. At Natt. At the clock on the coffee table that read 21:12

Then slowly, he lowered his gun.

Either because he trusted us or the clock was driving him crazy.

He staggered heavily back onto the couch.

Three people. Three different timelines.

We were piecing together broken fragments. Fragments we no longer remembered.

Hunter looked up at us.

Hesitant. Tired.

Then:

"How can I help?"