Buck stays in the alley for a moment longer than necessary.

  Same bricks. Same damp stone. Same familiar stink of rot and rain that never quite leaves the place. The light is different, though. Softer. The shadows don’t quite line up with how he remembers them.

  He notices people first.

  A man passes the mouth of the alley, pushing a handcart piled with sacks. Another follows, a woman with a shawl pulled tight, a child trotting at her side. They move through the space Buck occupies without reacting at all. No flinch. No double take. No instinctive tightening that usually comes when someone appears where they shouldn’t.

  One man does glance his way eventually.

  He looks at Buck, blinks once, and keeps walking.

  Buck exhales slowly. “Okay. That’s new.”

  Yes, B.U.C.K. says. I was hoping you’d notice.

  “They didn’t see me arrive,” Buck says. “And when they did finally see me… they didn’t seem to care.”

  Correct.

  “That’s not normal,” Buck says.

  No, the AI replies. It isn’t.

  Buck leans back against the brick, arms folded. “So, tell me why.”

  There’s a pause. Longer than usual.

  I’m not entirely sure, B.U.C.K. admits.

  Buck tilts his head. “You’re hesitating.”

  Because this part is theory, the AI says. Not instrumentation.

  Buck waits.

  Your mother had a hypothesis, B.U.C.K. continues. She believed that when a person is aligned with the natural order of time, the system compensates.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Compensates how.”

  By smoothing discontinuities, the AI says. Reducing friction. Making you… almost expected.

  Buck looks out at the street again. Another passerby glances his way and immediately forgets him.

  “So if I’m in balance,” Buck says slowly, “time helps cover my tracks.”

  That was essentially her belief, B.U.C.K. replies. The closer you are to alignment, the less the universe feels the need to correct you.

  Buck snorts softly. “So the better I do this, the more invisible I get.”

  In a sense, the AI says. Less alarming. Less noticeable. Less… out of place, or rather time.

  Buck nods once. “More lube.”

  There’s a beat.

  I am not dignifying that with a response, B.U.C.K. says.

  Buck grins. “You absolutely are.”

  Fine, the AI sighs. Yes. More lube.

  Buck pushes off the wall, feeling steady and grounded. “That explains the arrival.”

  It explains at least part of it, B.U.C.K. says. The rest we’ll have to observe.

  Buck reaches for the back door of the boarding house and pauses, hand on the latch.

  “Anything else I should know before I walk in.”

  Just this, B.U.C.K. says gently. You’ve been gone another year.

  Buck nods and opens the door.

  Maeve is halfway through arguing with a boarder about late rent when she looks up. The words die in her throat.

  Her eyes widen, then narrow, then widen again as she takes in Buck’s unchanged face.

  “You!” she starts, then stops. “You absolute bastard.”

  Buck smiles. “Good morning.”

  Maeve crosses the room in three long strides and grabs his coat, shoving him once, hard enough to hurt a little.

  “You said soon,” she snaps. “You didn’t say like this.”

  “I said I’d come back,” Buck replies.

  Maeve stares at him for a long moment, then pulls him into a rough, brief hug that smells like soap and wood smoke.

  “Don’t do that to me,” she mutters.

  “I won’t,” Buck says quietly.

  A smaller figure barrels into his legs.

  “I knew it!”

  Buck looks down.

  Elysia.

  She’s taller again. Her face has changed in small, unmistakable ways. Less round. More certain. She throws her arms around him with practiced confidence and looks up, eyes bright.

  “You’re still the same,” she says. “That’s not fair.”

  Buck laughs softly. “You’re different.”

  “I’m nine now,” she announces. “Mama says I’m almost grown.”

  Buck raises an eyebrow. “Almost.”

  She grins. “You missed things.”

  “I always do,” Buck says gently.

  Maeve watches them, arms crossed, eyes sharp but soft underneath.

  “You staying,” she asks.

  “For a bit,” Buck says. “Then I’ll head out on the ship again.”

  Maeve snorts. “Of course you will.”

  Elysia tightens her grip on his coat. “You promised.”

  Buck meets her eyes. “I keep my promises.”

  She considers that, then nods once, satisfied.

  Behind Buck’s eyes, B.U.C.K. watches the room settle, the moment knitting itself cleanly into the flow of things.

  Smooth, the AI murmurs.

  Buck smiles faintly.

  “Yeah,” he whispers back. “Very smooth.”

  “Don’t just stand there,” Maeve says, waving him off before he can speak. “You know where your room is. We’ll talk after I’m done yelling at someone.”

  Buck smiles and does as he’s told.

  He closes the cellar door behind him and leans against the cool stone wall.

  “All right,” he says quietly. “After action.”

  The HUD fades in, crisp and restrained, like a document meant for review rather than reassurance.

  AFTER ACTION SUMMARY

  Buck scans it. “Even smoother than the first.”

  Yes, B.U.C.K. replies. You didn’t just step forward. Time anticipated your step and guided it.

  Buck exhales slowly. “That’s… a little unsettling.”

  It’s also confirmation, the AI says. Alignment improves efficiency. Less friction. Less notice.

  “More lube,” Buck mutters.

  I am still not dignifying that phrase, B.U.C.K. replies, instantly.

  Buck smirks. “You just did.”

  There’s a beat, then the HUD shifts slightly.

  One thing to note, B.U.C.K. adds. Your margin for error remains slim. Do not mistake ease for safety.

  Buck nods. “Understood. Same step = Same rest. No rushing to the next step.”

  Correct.