Buck wakes to the strange relief of having slept all the way through the night. No jolting awake. No half-dream panic. Just the soft gray of morning and the steady awareness of where he is. The cellar room is cool and quiet, stone walls holding the day at arm’s length. Somewhere above him, the boarding house creaks as it stretches into life.

  He sits up slowly, takes inventory without meaning to.

  Body: good.

  Head: clear.

  Breath: steady.

  “That,” he says quietly, “went better than expected.”

  Agreed, B.U.C.K. replies. Which is why you’re about to ask uncomfortable questions.

  Buck snorts. “Time for an after action report.”

  There’s something like fondness in the pause.

  I missed those, he AI says. You always took them seriously. Even when no one else did.

  Buck swings his legs over the side of the bed and rubs his hands together. “All right. Walk me through it. Start with risk.”

  The HUD appears, toned down, utilitarian. Still broadsheet-inspired, but cleaner this morning. Like a ledger instead of a newspaper.

  AFTER ACTION SUMMARY

  Risk profile first, B.U.C.K. says. Low. Deliberately low.

  Buck nods. “Explain.”

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  Distance was intentionally conservative, the AI continues. One year forward. No lateral displacement. Familiar environment. Known variables.

  “So training wheels.”

  Exactly, B.U.C.K. says. Low risk, low reward.

  A segmented spiral appears, the first interval highlighted. Small. Almost modest.

  Your alignment held, the AI adds. No resistance from the local temporal field. No rebound effects.

  Buck exhales slowly. “I suppose that’s the part that matters.”

  It is, B.U.C.K. agrees. If time had objected, we would have felt it immediately. You would have felt more resistance, physically and mentally.

  Buck’s brow furrows. “But it didn’t.”

  No, the AI says. Which confirms the model.

  Buck leans back against the wall. “Power draw?”

  The HUD updates.

  ? NANOBOT ENERGY CONSUMPTION ?

  Buck whistles softly. “Barely touched it.”

  Correct, B.U.C.K. says. Surging like that is efficient. You moved when the system and time itself already wanted you to move.

  Buck nods. “Which means bigger or poorly timed jumps…”

  Cost you more, the AI finishes. Exponentially.

  Buck goes quiet.

  “How much runway do we have,” he asks.

  Enough, B.U.C.K. says carefully. For now.

  Buck catches the tone. “You’re hedging.”

  I am flagging a future conversation, the AI replies. The nanobots aren’t infinite. They recharge. They adapt. But they draw energy from somewhere.

  Buck grimaces. “And we haven’t talked about where yet.”

  Not yet, B.U.C.K. says. Because right now, it doesn’t change your behavior. Later, it will.

  Buck accepts that, even if he doesn’t like it.

  “Psych effects,” he says. “Any anomalies?”

  You handled the reintegration to the current timeline well, the AI replies. No dissociation. No disorientation. Mild emotional compression, which is expected.

  “Emotional compression,” Buck repeats.

  You noticed time pass without experiencing it, B.U.C.K. explains. That always rattles people a little.

  Buck thinks of Elysia’s arms around him. Of her being older. Of him being the same.

  “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Rattles is a good word.”

  The HUD dims slightly.

  One more important thing, B.U.C.K. says.

  Buck looks up. “Go on.”

  You didn’t hesitate at all, the AI continues. Not at the moment of activation. You committed fully.

  Buck considers that. “I trusted you.”

  There’s a longer pause this time.

  I know, B.U.C.K. says. And I don’t take that lightly.

  Buck lets out a slow breath.

  “So,” he says, slipping back into familiar cadence. “Overall assessment?”

  You passed, the AI replies. Quite cleanly.

  “Recommendations?”

  Rest today, B.U.C.K. says. Let the change integrate. Observe. Don’t provoke anyone named after lunar cycle driven water levels.

  Buck smirks. “Copy that.”

  The HUD fades.

  Buck stands and stretches, feeling solid, grounded.

  “One year,” he murmurs. “Just one step.”

  That’s how all dangerous things start, B.U.C.K. says lightly. With something that feels reasonable.

  Buck heads for the stairs.

  “Tomorrow,” he says.

  Tomorrow, the AI agrees, we decide how fast we can learn to walk.