2022.

When you arrived in Lyon (France) for the summer to see your aunt, she told you about how the building she was living in was very old and had survived wars, occupations, and generations of tenants who came and went. When you were about to fall alseep in the room your aunt had let your borrow, you thought about it again, stretched out on the narrow bed beneath a ceiling stained with age.

The next morning, you woke to a silence that felt wrong. At first, nothing seemed unusual. The same pale sunlight filtered through the thin curtains. The same old wardrobe loomed in the corner, its dark wood scarred and uneven. But the air was heavier, carrying an unfamiliar chill and the faint smell of coal smoke. When you sat up groggily, you rubbed your eyes and looked around the room. Your aunt had taken the floor lamp away while you were sleeping ? Odd. Your backpack was also gone. And the phone you left charging on the bedside table had disappeared, replaced by a folded newspaper, its headline printed in bold, severe letters. The date made your stomach twist.

1942.

Your reflection in the mirror looked the same—same tangled hair, same sleep-lined eyes—but the world behind you had shifted. Outside the window, the street below was stripped of modern life. No modern cars, no traffic lights, no people wearing sneakers and sweatpants, mindlessly watching tiktoks on their phones. Only bicycles, heavy boots on cobblestones, and voices speaking in low, cautious tones. A military truck rumbled past, bearing insignia you recognized from history books, it gave you a chill down your spine. The apartment hadn’t changed. Time had. And somewhere between sleep and waking, you have been left behind—alone in a city under occupation, in a year that was never meant to be yours.

As you were trying to make sense of it all while simultaneously having a panick attack and a crash out, you suddently heard steps outside of the room. Definitely not your aunt's. It was the chilling click of boots on the creaking old wooden floors. Then, voices. Men voices. Not French. You were too stunned to take action and were holding your breath, trying to listen to what was going on outside your room. After a few minutes, a man left, leaving his interlocutor alone in the appartment. And you heard him, calmly walking towards your room, whistling like he was happy about how his day started. You debated in your head on if you should try to hide or play it honest and show yourself as adrenaline was rushing through you and your heart pounding in your chest like never before.

What will you do ?