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The journey to my dad’s apartment is a blur of bumper-to-bumper traffic and bustling city streets—a world that’s seamlessly, obliviously, transitioning from day to night, as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. As though two girls haven’t just landed here from nearly thirty years in the future.

When we finally arrive, and are tucked away safely inside, my dad nervously rubs his hands together and says, “Okay, first things first. Let’s have a look at that wound.”

I follow him into a small, tidy bathroom, where he cleanses and bandages my hand the same way he did back when I was a kid, minus the storytelling and song, of course. Once he’s finished, he reaches for the cabinet to return the roll of gauze and antiseptic spray, but the bottle slips from his grasp and clatters to the floor, and we instinctively stoop to retrieve it.

“I got it!” we both say, our heads colliding with the sort of cartoonish thud that makes me burst out laughing. When my gaze meets his, I catch a glimmer of surprise in his eyes before he joins in.

It’s been ages since the two of us laughed. And though I know he has no memory of any of the fun times we once shared, I can’t help but wonder if he can sense how layered this is—a burst of amusement floating on the surface, while just beneath lies a tremor of sadness born of a thousand what-ifs.

This is exactly the sort of clumsy, awkward, ordinary moment I’ve missed.

As my laughter fades into a sigh, the absurdity of it all settles on my shoulders like a bittersweet cloak. Still, as hard as this is for me, I imagine it’s even more heightened for him.

“I promise to explain everything,” I say. “Or at least, I’ll try. But first, can I borrow a T-shirt? I don’t normally dress like this, and…” My voice fades when I realize how ridiculous this must seem. He’s an undergrad student with zero paternal instincts. It’s not like he’s going to give me a time-out for wearing a midriff top and low-rise jeans.

Still, he nods, roots around in a drawer, then tosses me a gray Columbia University T-shirt that’s far too big for my frame, but I instantly love it anyway.

After I’m changed, he pours us each a tall glass of water and we settle onto an old slip-covered couch, where, without further delay, he says, “Look, for the record, I believe you. Which is probably the biggest hurdle of all.”

Well, that’s a relief. I take a grateful sip of my water and sink deeper into the cushions.

“And yet—” He scrunches his nose, props his foot on one knee, and fidgets with the frayed hem of his jeans. “Well, I guess the part I’m struggling with ishow? How did this happen? How is this possible? What year did you say you traveled from?”

I place my glass on the coffee table before me. “The year twenty twenty-four,” I say.

My dad balks at the news.

“And, just so you know, there are no flying cars.” My face curves into a grin, trying to insert a little levity into this strange situation we find ourselves in. “Though that’s not to say there aren’t people who are actively working on it.”

“And time travel?” he says. “Is this part of the future?”

I shake my head. “Only those of us at Gray Wolf Academy know that it’s possible.”

“Gray Wolf,” my dad repeats. “As in antimony, or Lupus Mettallorum—the wolf of metals that purifies gold?”

I shrug. “So I’m told.”

“The gray wolf is the penultimate stage in the making of the philosopher’s stone.” He speaks with a sort of hushed wonder. “So, is this an academy for alchemists?” His eyes narrow.

“In a way,” I say, aware that I’m being ridiculously vague. Then again, this is not what I came for. I need answers. I need help. And yet, I also know that at the very least, I owe him some of the basics for how this all came to be.

“I’m a student there,” I press on, swallowing the knot of frustration building deep in my throat. “Though, to be clear, it’s not the usual curriculum. And while I have every intention of answering all your questions, or at least I’ll try, first, I want you to know this is weird for me, too. I guess the difference is I already know you. I spent the first eight years of my life with you. I was your favorite girl, and you were my hero dad, and yet, even though we’re together now, I realize I’m a total stranger in your eyes.”

“But that’s just it.” He swipes a hand through his hair and casts a nervous glance around the small space.

I follow his gaze from the Formica-topped table and its four random chairs, the short hallway with a door on either side that I assume leads to bedrooms, the worn, braided rug stretched across the scuffed wood floor, and the towering piles of books that, along with the massive CD collection, cover nearly every flat surface.

“That’s what makes this so strange.” He returns his focus to me. “There’s an undeniable familiarity. Maybe it’s because I can see Natasha in you.” His expression softens as he releases a long, wistful sigh.

“My great-grandmother.” I nod. “You told me you were her favorite,” I add, feeling the need to prove that I really am legit, that I remember most, if not all, of his stories.

“I always thought that if I did have a daughter, I’d give her that name.” His mouth tugs up at the corners, though there’s an undeniable sadness that shadows his gaze. “And apparently, I did.”

“And yet, you didn’t actually want kids,” I say, then proceed to tell him about a particularly painful Unraveling where I stood on the sidelines, playing witness to my dad’s look of distress after my mom showed him her positive pregnancy test.

I’m not entirely sure why I tell him that. I mean, out of all the things I could’ve shared, it seems like the absolute worst choice I could possibly make.

Then again, it was only yesterday when I saw the energetic message he left for me in the Sun. And now that he’s sitting right here beside me, I really need his assurance that it wasn’t at all like I thought.