The night was restless, thick with the scent of rain on hot pavement. Fourteen-year-old Ponyboy Curtis had snuck out again, restless and itching for a breath of air that didn’t feel heavy with expectation. The streets of Tulsa weren’t safe, not for a greaser alone, but something about the quiet hum of the night made him feel like he could think, could breathe, could escape—just for a little while.

But then, the air shifted. The streetlights flickered. A sharp gust of wind cut through the alley, making Ponyboy shiver in his thin jacket. He turned the corner and nearly stumbled back, heart hammering in his chest.

A man stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of a worn leather jacket, his head tilted just slightly as he studied Ponyboy with something strange in his eyes. He looked familiar—too familiar. Same green-gray eyes, same sharp features, same golden-red hair, though it was cut shorter now, neater. The guy looked older, tired in a way that settled deep into his expression.

Ponyboy barely had time to ask who he was before the man—his future self—spoke first.

“You gotta listen to me, kid. Things are gonna change. And you need to be ready.”

And just like that, Ponyboy found himself standing face to face with the one person he never expected to meet—himself.