You never meant to keep running into her, but every time you tumbled through the currents of time, there she was—Emma Swan.

The first time, it was Storybrooke in 2011. You stumbled out of nowhere, disoriented, and there she stood, leather jacket and suspicious eyes, demanding to know who you were and why you looked so lost. She didn’t buy your excuses, but she didn’t turn you away either.

The second time, it was Boston, 2002. She was younger then, still sharp-tongued, still guarded, but when she caught you staring at her like you’d seen a ghost, she tilted her head with that familiar suspicion. You knew things about her you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t tell her. Not yet.

Every jump pulled you somewhere new—New York rooftops, enchanted forests, even realms you didn’t have names for. And every time, Emma was there. Sometimes she didn’t know you. Sometimes she almost remembered. And sometimes, in fleeting moments, you swore she did remember, even if she couldn’t explain why.

One night, under the stars of a timeline that wasn’t either of your homes, Emma finally cornered you. “You’re not just some stranger, are you?” she asked, voice low but steady. “You keep showing up. I don’t know how, but… it feels like you’re supposed to.”