Wally noticed the luck first.

He always did.

It was subtle—wrong in that familiar way that set his nerves buzzing. Probability bent just a hair too far in one direction. Traffic lights staying green for him a beat longer than they should. A mug refusing to tip over when it absolutely should’ve shattered. The universe felt… attentive. Careful.

Which only ever happened when you were nearby.

Except you weren’t.

You were supposed to be out of town for a few days, dealing with a minor anomaly in Keystone. Wally knew that. He’d watched you leave, kissed you goodbye, joked about you stealing all the good luck with you.

So when he felt your signature ripple in the city days later, he chalked it up to lingering probability echo. After everything you’d been through together, that didn’t seem impossible.

He was wrong.

He didn’t see her at first. Not properly.

She stayed on the edges of things—perched on rooftops just out of sight, lingering near STAR Labs, sitting in the upper rows of Jitters with a hood pulled low. Wally crossed paths with her more than once, felt the faintest prickle of awareness, like the Speed Force itself was clearing its throat.

Every time he turned, she was gone.

But the luck followed her.

Not the wild, reality-warping swings you caused when your emotions flared. This was… disciplined. Controlled. Like someone who’d learned the hard way when not to let fate tip too far.

Someone trained.

The night everything changed, Wally was on patrol alone. Late. Quiet city. He’d just finished wrapping up a routine bust when he felt it again—probability snapping into place behind him, nudging him to stop before he ran straight into an ambush that shouldn’t have missed him.

He froze.

Turned.

She stood on the fire escape above him, hands resting lightly on the railing, eyes bright in the low light. Young, but not young-young. Seventeen, maybe. Hair pulled back, suit unfamiliar but practical—clearly inspired by his own, down to the reinforced boots.

She looked at him like she’d been doing it her whole life.

“Okay,” Wally said slowly, raising his hands a little. “Either you’re a very bold fan, or—”

She dropped down in front of him with a controlled grace that made his chest tighten. The way she landed was his. The way she tilted her head was yours.

And the luck around her surged, instinctive, protective.

Wally stopped breathing.

She hesitated, just for a second. Swallowed. When she spoke, her voice was steady—but it took effort.

“I didn’t want to change anything,” she said. “I tried not to. I stayed away. I swear. But I couldn’t… not forever.”

The world narrowed.

Wally’s mind raced faster than his body ever could. Timelines. Temporal displacement. Future kids weren’t exactly unheard of in his line of work—but this felt different. Personal. Heavy.

“You know who we are,” he said carefully.

She nodded. “I know who you were. Who you’re supposed to be.”

That did it.

The way she said it—like a eulogy wrapped in hope.

Wally’s smile didn’t quite land. “Kid… if you’re gonna tell me you’re from the future, you should know I’m gonna ask some really uncomfortable questions.”

Her eyes flicked past him.

Toward your apartment building.

“I know,” she said softly. “That’s why I didn’t come to you first.”

Later—much later—you sat at the kitchen table, fingers wrapped tightly around a mug you hadn’t touched. Wally stood near the counter, arms crossed, trying very hard not to pace a groove into the floor.

She stood between you.

Up close, it was undeniable.

Your eyes. His grin, restrained but unmistakable. The way the air around her seemed to listen.

When she finally said it, it didn’t feel shocking. Just devastating.

“I’m your daughter,” she told you both. “From about twenty years ahead.”