We Left Our Voices Where Time Could Not Reach Them

The log entry timestamp advanced without her touching anything. One second replaced another and the system behaved as if permission had been granted. The sound of it was small but final.

Temporal Analyst Serin Mae Hollis sat with her hands folded beneath the console and watched the numbers change. The chamber smelled faintly of dust and ozone and the kind of cold that lived inside machines that never slept. The echo from the last calibration still lingered in the air and then it thinned and vanished. The experiment window had closed. The return path had sealed itself without drama.

She did not look up right away.

A shadow shifted near the doorway. Someone had been standing there long enough for the waiting to matter.

Julian Everett Cross stepped into the room and stopped beside the wall instead of approaching her. His name existed in her thoughts as it did on every clearance form and briefing packet. Complete. Formal. A shape meant for distance. He watched the console until the meaning settled.

It synchronized he said.

She nodded. The future they had been measuring no longer included the one they had planned.

Outside the chamber the station continued its slow orbit around the temporal field like a cautious animal circling something that might still bite. Light bent oddly along the glass corridors. Time inside the station moved correctly. Elsewhere it did not.

They resumed work because work still responded. Serin archived the data with careful annotations that avoided implication. Julian recalibrated stabilizers and logged energy loss that could not be recovered. Their movements were quiet and practiced. When they crossed paths they did not touch.

Later they sat opposite each other in the observation ring watching the temporal field ripple like water struck by distant rain. The sight made Serin stomach tighten. Julian leaned back with his arms crossed and stared without blinking.

It is strange she said finally. How something can end without collapsing.

Julian nodded. Maybe collapse is just easier to notice.

Waiting took on a different texture after that. Hours folded inward. The station lights cycled gently. The field outside continued its slow impossible motion. Serin found herself listening for Julian footsteps. Julian noticed how Serin breath caught whenever the field brightened unexpectedly.

They began sharing meals out of habit rather than need. The table was narrow and bolted down. Conversation came in fragments. A memory of a childhood room where the clock always ran fast. A bridge Julian remembered crossing at night where the city lights looked like spilled stars. These moments did not connect cleanly. They did not need to.

On the twelfth cycle the field destabilized briefly and sent a low vibration through the station. Serin reached for the console automatically. Julian was already there. Their hands collided lightly. Neither of them moved away at first.

Sorry he said.

Do not she replied.

The word stayed between them.

The projections updated quietly. Temporal shear would increase. The station could not remain whole. One escape capsule remained shielded enough to pass through the edge of the field without losing coherence. It could carry one person.

They reviewed the equations together standing close enough to feel the warmth of each other presence. There was no argument. Understanding arrived slowly and settled with weight.

It should be you Julian said.

Serin closed her eyes. Agreement felt like stepping off a familiar ledge.

The final hours were gentle. Serin walked the corridors touching the walls lightly memorizing their texture. Julian followed at a respectful distance. Neither of them rushed. There was nothing left to outrun.

In the capsule bay the craft waited lit softly from within. The field outside shimmered brighter than before painting the room in unstable light. Serin turned to face him.

Say it she said.

He spoke her full name carefully as if placing it somewhere safe. Temporal Analyst Serin Mae Hollis.

The name felt distant and complete and no longer hers. She stepped into the capsule.

The hatch closed. The station released her without ceremony. Time bent.

As the capsule moved away Serin watched the station distort and thin. She felt the moment Julian was no longer there as a pressure behind her eyes. She did not look back again.

Far behind her Julian Everett Cross remained in the observation ring watching the field continue its impossible motion. The clocks still advanced. The station still breathed.

Their voices were gone from the present.

But time remembered where they had left them.