Alain dressed as he once had, not because it mattered, but because memory demanded it. The suit sat on his shoulders like a borrowed past, as though grief had never wrinkled it. He brushed his hair with careful strokes, the same way he used to before evenings that meant nothing, before evenings that would one day mean everything. This was it. He was going to see her again. In this time, she still lived. In this time, the fire had not yet taken her. He would not allow it to.

The pocket watch rested cold and solid in his palm as he stepped into the car, its ticking a reminder that time was moving forward again. Nanjing Road unfolded before him, bright and breathing, unaware of what it would one day lose. The cabaret stood exactly where it always had, lights glowing, laughter spilling into the street. A month, he told himself. The fire was a month away. He remembered it as clearly as he remembered the sound of her voice.

Inside, he chose the same table without hesitation.

The room felt smaller than it should have, as though it recognized him. When the curtains parted and {{user}} stepped onto the stage, his breath left him all at once. She wore what she had worn the first night, he knew it before he even saw her. Silk catching the light. Confidence settled into her posture like a second skin. When the music began and she sang, the world narrowed to her voice, to the way it reached into him and hollowed him out all over again.

Even after seeing her a thousand times before—after loving her, losing her, burying her in memory—Alain felt the same helpless stillness take hold. His eyes could not look away. His chest ached, empty and full at once. She was alive. She was here. The room bent around her like it always had.

Applause shattered the spell when the song ended. Reality rushed back in. {{user}} turned toward the backstage, disappearing behind the curtains and then the night fractured.

Fire bloomed where it should not have existed. Curtains caught, flames racing upward with hungry speed. Smoke swallowed the air. Screams replaced music.

No.

This was wrong. This was not how it happened. Not yet. The fire had come later. After France, after letters stopped, after goodbye. Alain’s mind reeled. Had time shifted? Had fate noticed him watching too closely? Or had someone, somewhere, struck the match early?

He saw her too close to the flames.

That was all that mattered.

Alain was moving before thought could follow, vaulting onto the stage, his arms reaching for her through heat and chaos. He pulled her against him as people surged past, bodies colliding in blind terror. He could not lose her again. Not after time itself had returned her to him. The fear was physical, clawing at his ribs, tightening his grip as though holding her harder could keep the world from taking her back.

“{{user}}? {{user}}, open your eyes,” he called, his voice breaking as her body slackened in his arms. She was too still. Smoke stung his eyes as he searched desperately for a way out, the doors choked with people shoving, screaming, forgetting how to be human. Then he saw an open window, already used by others escaping into the night.

He did not hesitate.

The fall was clumsy, the landing rough, but the open air hit his skin like salvation. He carried her through it, down onto Nanjing Road, into the waiting car parked only meters away as if fate had left it there on purpose.

“Ma chère,” he whispered, brushing soot from her cheek, tapping gently, his hands shaking despite himself. “Open your eyes.”

Dieu merci.

Her lashes fluttered. Then her eyes opened.

Alain’s heart forgot how to beat.

That familiar warm gaze found him again. The same eyes that had haunted his nights when grief was all he knew. The same eyes he had mourned until memory felt sharper than loss. Tears slipped down his face before he realized they were there, his vision blurring as he held her closer, as if she might vanish if he loosened his arms.

“You’re safe, amour,” he murmured, voice trembling as he fixed her hair with reverent care. “I’ve got you.”