The metallic taste of regret is stronger than I expected. I'm staring at Rebecca Chen—no relation, despite sharing my last name—as she animatedly gestures at the whiteboard in our cramped office. Our *first* office. The one we left four months ago. Except that's impossible, because four months from now doesn't exist yet. Six hours ago—or six months from now, depending on how you count—I watched this same woman die across a conference table in the Apex Tower boardroom. I know because I killed her. "Marcus? Are you even listening?" Rebecca's voice cuts through the fog in my head. She's wearing that ridiculous "Code Like a Girl" t-shirt I'd forgotten about, her hair in a messy bun, eyes bright with the kind of hope that makes my chest physically hurt. "Sorry, I..." I run my hand over my face, feeling the stubble that shouldn't be there. In the future I just left, I was clean-shaven for the acquisition meeting. But here, now, I'm apparently still the scrappy founder who forgets to shave. "Late night. What were you saying?" She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. God, when did she stop smiling at me like that? "I was saying that Chen Dynamics just reached out. They want to invest. Five million for 30% equity." My blood turns cold. Chen Dynamics. The first domino. In my previous timeline—I can't believe I'm thinking in terms of timelines—I pushed Rebecca to take that deal. Chen Dynamics brought connections, legitimacy, and eventually, the interest of Apex Corporation. That investment was the foundation of everything that came after. Including the merger. Including the poison. "We should pass," I hear myself say. Rebecca's marker freezes mid-air. "What?" "I said we should pass on Chen Dynamics." My voice sounds steadier than I feel. My hands are shaking, so I shove them in my pockets. "Something feels off about it." "Off?" She's looking at me like I've grown a second head. "Marcus, this is exactly what we've been working toward. Five million would let us scale properly, hire a real team, maybe even pay ourselves actual salaries—" "I know what it would do." I cut her off, probably too sharply, because she flinches. In the other timeline, I never made her flinch. I just made her trust me, right up until the moment her nervous system started shutting down. The office suddenly feels too small. It's barely 400 square feet, with water-stained ceiling tiles and a window that overlooks a dumpster. But Rebecca and I were happy here. When did we stop being happy? When you decided her 40% was worth more than her life, a voice in my head supplies helpfully. "What's really going on?" Rebecca sets down her marker, crossing her arms. "You've been acting weird all morning. Weirder than usual." If she only knew. I woke up—if that's even the right word—gasping on the floor of this office, my reflection in my laptop screen showing a face six months younger. My phone confirmed the date: March 15th. The day before we signed with Chen Dynamics. The day I could still save her. Or the day I could prove I'm completely insane. "I had a dream," I finally say, because it's the closest thing to truth I can manage. "About the company. About us. It didn't end well." Rebecca's expression softens. She walks over, putting her hand on my shoulder. The casual touch feels like a knife. "Marcus, you've been stressed. We both have. But this is our shot. You really want to pass because of a bad dream?" I look at her hand on my shoulder. In six months—in the timeline I came from—those hands would grip the edge of a conference table as poison worked through her system. She'd look at me, understanding flooding her eyes too late. "I watched you die, Becca." The words slip out before I can stop them. She laughs, but it's uncertain. "Okay, definitely too much caffeine. Or not enough sleep. Maybe both." She squeezes my shoulder. "Tell you what—let's table the Chen Dynamics discussion until tomorrow. Get some rest. We'll look at this with fresh eyes." Tomorrow. The word feels loaded with weight I can't explain. "Yeah," I manage. "Tomorrow." But as Rebecca returns to her whiteboard, already moving on to projections and timelines, I'm making calculations of my own. If this is real—if I've somehow been given a second chance—I need to figure out what went wrong. And how to keep from becoming a murderer again. ---