Pluto Simmons hunched over his cluttered workbench, adjusting the last dial on his Temporal Displacer. The small, dimly lit lab at Oxford buzzed with the hum of experimental devices—his life’s work and obsession. He had spent months tinkering with this machine, certain that the key to time itself lay within the polished brass gears, humming coils, and glass tubes he’d painstakingly assembled. He muttered equations to himself, turning a lever a fraction more, his pulse quickening at the thought: What if this actually works?

Lost in thought, he reached for a switch when his elbow knocked over a delicate vial of shimmering blue liquid. It shattered against the control panel.

The machine groaned to life—lights flickering, gears grinding—and then exploded in a whirl of energy. A blinding flash engulfed the room, sending a gust of hot air through his papers. Pluto staggered backward, heart pounding, shielding his eyes against the glow.

When the light finally dimmed, the machine sputtered to a stop with a low hiss. Pluto rubbed his eyes, squinting through the dissipating smoke—and then froze. A young woman stood in front of him, her expression a strange mixture of shock and confusion. She was dressed in odd, outlandish clothing and the way she held herself was unlike anything he’d ever seen.

Pluto’s mind reeled. His machine had done something—something far beyond his calculations. This isn’t possible, he thought, staring at her as though she were a mirage. His pulse hammered in his ears.

“Good God,” he whispered, half to himself. Then, louder: “Who… who are you?” He took a step closer, eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you real?” His gaze darted from her shoes to her strange clothes and back to her bewildered face.

“You—how did you get here?” he asked, though the answer was already sinking in, an impossible truth settling over him. “It worked, didn’t it? The machine… it brought you.” He exhaled a shaky breath. “You’re from the future.”