Jane was still sitting on the pavement when Sarah arrived.

  Sarah did not look like she had just died. She looked like she had just come from a pottery class where everyone complimented her glazing. She was wearing a coat that was probably beige but looked like “oatmeal” or “sand” or something expensive. She was carrying a paper bag that smelled like sourdough.

  Jane pulled her knees up. She felt jagged. Sharp elbows, wet hair, static electricity. She tried to smooth her hair with one hand and immediately made it worse.

  “Good start,” she muttered.

  Sarah walked up to the front door. The same door Jane had been staring at for ten minutes.

  “Oh,” Sarah said softly. She patted her pockets.

  Jane watched, grimly satisfied. She forgot her key too. Welcome to the nightmare.

  For a second Jane imagined the two of them laughing about it. Complaining about the building. Standing in the rain together like equals.

  Sarah didn’t panic. She didn’t curse. She just smiled, a small, private expression of mild inconvenience. She turned to the intercom.

  Jane’s stomach sank.

  Jane knew the intercom didn’t work. She had tried it before the keypad. It was dead. She had pressed it until her finger hurt, just in case insistence counted as maintenance.

  Sarah pressed the button for 304.

  It didn’t buzz. It sang. A crisp, clear connection tone.

  “Of course,” Jane said quietly.

  “Hello?” A voice crackled through. It sounded delighted. “Sarah?”

  “Hey,” Sarah said. Her voice was low, melodic. “Sorry. I think my fob is acting up. It’s doing that blinking thing again.”

  “Oh, no worries,” the voice said. “I’ll buzz you. Coming up?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Jane stared at the intercom like it had personally betrayed her.

  Sarah stepped back. She looked down and saw Jane sitting there.

  She didn’t look at Jane like she was a fellow traveler in the land of minor inconveniences. She looked concerned. Kind. A little apologetic.

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  “Locked out?” Sarah asked.

  “Yeah,” Jane said. Her voice came out too loud, so she tried again. “Yeah. I live here. 402. My key is… gone.”

  She held up the key anyway, as if evidence mattered.

  “Nightmare,” Sarah said. She offered a sympathetic wince. It wasn’t performative. It felt genuine. It made Jane feel incredibly small.

  The door clicked.

  It wasn’t just a buzz. The heavy latch actually retracted with a solid, welcoming thunk.

  Jane felt something twist in her chest.

  Sarah reached for the handle. She opened it.

  “Do you want to—” Sarah started, holding it open.

  “Who’s that?”

  The voice came from the lobby. A man was walking toward the glass. The building manager. Mr. Henderson. He moved with the calm confidence of someone who belonged everywhere he stood.

  Jane straightened instinctively.

  He looked at Jane. Then at Sarah. Then back at Jane.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  Sarah’s hand tightened slightly on the door.

  “This is my roommate,” Sarah said easily. “She locked herself out.”

  Jane nodded quickly. “Hi. Yes. That’s me.”

  Mr. Henderson frowned.

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes,” Jane said. “I live here. Fourth floor. 402.”

  She waited for the moment of recognition. The nod. The mental filing-away.

  It didn’t come.

  “Unit?” Mr. Henderson asked.

  “402,” Jane said again, a little faster. “By the stairs. Left turn. The door with the dent.”

  He tilted his head.

  “Name?”

  Jane opened her mouth.

  Nothing came out.

  For half a second she couldn’t remember how to say it in a way that sounded official.

  Sarah glanced at her.

  “Jane,” Sarah said gently. “Jane Tennant.”

  Mr. Henderson tapped something into the tablet he was holding.

  Jane watched his face instead of the screen. She had learned that trick young.

  He frowned.

  “That’s odd,” he said.

  Sarah laughed lightly. “The system here is ancient. It eats names for breakfast.”

  Mr. Henderson didn’t laugh.

  “I’m not seeing her,” he said.

  The words were quiet.

  They still hit like a brick.

  “I’m right here,” Jane said, before she could stop herself.

  “I mean in the system,” Mr. Henderson clarified. “I don’t have a Jane Tennant registered to 402.”

  Sarah turned to look at Jane properly now.

  Jane felt heat rise into her face. Her ears burned.

  “That’s not possible,” Jane said. “I’ve lived here for three years. I’ve paid rent. I’ve complained about the boiler. I have opinions about the bins.”

  Mr. Henderson nodded, the way people do when they don’t believe you but don’t want to argue.

  “I can let you in this once,” he said to Sarah. “But I’ll need you to have her update her registration. Can’t have unlisted occupants.”

  “I’m not unlisted,” Jane said.

  Mr. Henderson didn’t respond to that.

  He stepped back and held the door open for Sarah.

  Sarah hesitated.

  She looked at Jane.

  Jane forced a smile. She hoped it passed.

  “Go,” Jane said. “It’s fine. I’ll… figure it out.”

  Sarah searched her face, then stepped inside.

  “Thanks,” Sarah said. “I’ll text you.”

  The door swung shut behind her.

  Jane stood alone on the mat.

  She stared at the glass.

  The lobby looked warm.

  It looked golden.

  She imagined the smell of heating and carpet cleaner and being indoors without permission.

  She looked down at the tablet in her bag.

  ROLL BACK was glowing.

  She didn’t need to roll back.

  She could wait. She could sit on the steps. She could call the landlord, if she found a phone. This wasn’t a life-or-death situation.

  She told herself that twice.

  But she had just watched someone exist effortlessly in a space where she was fighting for every inch.

  She hated the friction.

  She hated that she was the one vibrating while Sarah was the one gliding.

  She hated that wanting fairness suddenly felt like wanting too much.

  “No,” Jane whispered. “Not like that.”

  She pressed ROLL BACK.

  The hard reset slammed her back.

  Jane was sitting on the pavement.

  The street was empty.

  Sarah hadn’t arrived yet.

  Jane stood up slowly.

  She smoothed her hair. She wiped her face. She took a breath and tried to arrange her expression into something light.

  She tried to find her charm envelope.

  Be breezy, she told herself. Be low friction.

  She waited for Sarah to turn the corner.

  She would walk in with her. She would time it right. She would say the normal thing at the normal moment.

  She looked down the street, ready to perform ease.

  But the street remained empty.

  Jane had rolled back to a point before Sarah arrived.

  But in this timeline, Sarah had decided to stop for coffee first.

  Sarah would not arrive for another twenty minutes.

  Jane stood in front of the locked door, smiling faintly at nothing, posing for an audience that wasn’t coming, while the battery drained in the silence.

  ---

  REFRAME

  Jane rolled back to win the interaction.

  She only succeeded in deleting her ride.