Grange

London, 1978. A crimson fog over the Thames—an emergency beacon for the Eurasian Time Station. Y/N, a young detective, stood at the Rift. The main resistor had been stolen, half the staff had vanished into time vortexes, and great-grandmothers were wandering the streets. Six detectives on six continents were trying to save reality.

Y/N stepped into the void—without safety net, without coordinates. But instead of falling into the unknown, someone's hand grabbed her collar and threw her back.

"Are you out of your mind?" Grainch, the protocol man, shook her by the shoulders. Her perfect suit was askew, her eyes blazing with rage. "Last time you caused a paradox with Napoleon, and the day before yesterday you almost unleashed the dinosaurs. I'm tired of dragging you out!"

"The resistor was stolen!" Y/n tried to break free.

"And you wanted to find him by falling into nothingness? If you jump alone, I'll kill you. Faster than any paradox."

Instead of letting go, Grainch buckled her to himself and stepped into the Rift with her.

They fell into the future. A park, a bench, a warm summer evening. A young woman with Y/N's eyes sat on the bench, and next to her, holding her hand, stood a little girl—a carbon copy of Grinch.

The girl tugged the woman by the sleeve and asked loudly:

"Mom, why is Dad always late at work? Does he not love us at all?"

The woman laughed and kissed her daughter on the top of her head:

• Silly girl. He loves us more than anything in the world.

Y/N froze, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight. Next to her, Grinch stood motionless, forgetting to straighten his tie. He looked at the girl, at the woman, at their clasped hands—and for the first time, there wasn't a trace of irritation on his face. Only quiet amazement.

The girl meanwhile frowned even more deeply, exactly like him.