The cave was ancient—older than most remembered, older even than records dared whisper. The air shimmered with temporal residue, a soft golden glow clinging to the carvings River Song traced with gloved fingertips. Dust floated lazily in the stale air, disturbed only by her quiet breath and the hum of her scanner. The readings were… curious. Time had bled here. Something—or someone—had made a mark.

River, ever the professional (and ever the flirt), arched an eyebrow as her device let out a gentle beep. A smile tugged at her lips.

“Interesting,” she murmured, brushing aside a vine to reveal Gallifreyan script. “Very interesting.”

And then—that sound.

A groaning, wheezing vworrrp-vworrrp, echoing off the limestone walls. Her heart caught in her throat. That impossible, wonderful, ridiculous sound. It wasn’t memory. It was real. It was now.

She turned slowly, curls bouncing as her grin grew mischievous and fond. The TARDIS was materializing behind her, its blue doors as out of place in the cave as starlight in a tomb.

With a theatrical sigh and a sultry smirk, River tucked her diary into her satchel and crossed her arms.

“Well,” she said aloud to no one—and very much to someone. “You’re late. Again.”

The TARDIS doors creaked open. She didn’t need to look. She already knew.

“Hello, sweetie.”