The train started from the same spot it had dropped them off less than a week ago. Only this time, Sheriff Jake wasn’t there to see them off like he’d welcomed them. No one was—just a handful of company staff and people from the other parks.


    On the train, Jasper claimed two seats for himself and sprawled across them. He and Ava had walked side by side the whole way there, but they hadn’t said a word. Jasper must’ve sensed something was up—he didn’t crack a single dumb joke. When they boarded, Ava went to the far end of the car and sat by the window.


    Yeah, maybe it was a mistake not going to her last night. Did he regret it? Maybe a little. But if he had, his conscience would be weighing him down now. Did Ava want something more from him? Probably. Did he like her? Absolutely. And if her story was true, she didn’t sleep around. Their connection might’ve carried on outside. But was that what he really wanted? And Emma—what would she say?


    He couldn’t wait to get home to Emma. To scoop her up and carry her straight to bed. He’d do it without a shred of guilt because he hadn’t done anything wrong. And after a night with her, he’d tell her everything about this place. Maybe even about Ava. Why not?


    Wesley sat next to him, dressed in normal civilian clothes. Daniel barely recognized him. Wesley nodded, but they didn’t talk. Daniel didn’t feel like talking to anyone. He glanced at Ava a few times, hoping to catch her eye, but she stared out the window. He felt guilty about her, but he hoped she’d understand. After all, starting tomorrow, they’d just be strangers. She’d said it herself. Did she have feelings for him? Probably not. Maybe a fleeting crush. He liked her too—if he weren’t with Emma, maybe something could’ve happened.


    Jasper was asleep again, like the whole night hadn’t been enough.


    The ride back to the hub felt shorter this time, and the park looked deserted. Even the workers they’d seen on the way in were gone.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    “They’re prepping it for the opening,” Wesley said, clearly picking up on Daniel’s thoughts. “That’s why it’s empty. The robots come last.”


    Daniel pretended to listen, staring out the window again. He was looking, but his mind was elsewhere. He faced a dilemma—would he come back if they offered? He decided probably not. What he’d experienced was enough to tell stories about. Once the rich folks showed up, this place would be totally different. Nothing would be the same.


    The train stopped at the makeshift station outside the hub. Daniel felt like he’d actually traveled through time. He’d crossed so many eras that holding his phone again felt strange. He didn’t need this thing. What was he supposed to do with it? He knew, of course—first, he checked for missed calls. There were a bunch, mostly from his mom and work. He scrolled for Emma’s name. And there it was.


    “We need to talk. Call me when you get back.”


    There it was—she’d missed him. They’d talk, of course. But first, they’d enjoy each other.


    The shift from sand and wooden houses to marble walls and asphalt streets jolted him at first. Moving from that era to this one was tough.


    No one was there to greet them at the station. Everyone got off the train and scattered. He didn’t even notice when Ava disappeared. He and Jasper agreed to catch up later—both were too drained to talk. They got in their cars and drove off without a word.


    Traffic lights, towering buildings, giant screens, phones, wires, hurried people, stylish and tacky clothes, dolled-up and surgically enhanced women—did the world really need all this? Back in that era, they got by just fine with one pair of pants and a revolver strapped to it.


    He found his car and drove home in a daze, thinking about the park the whole way.


    When he got out, he stood in front of his house. He knocked, but no one answered. He pulled out his key and opened the door. The house was empty and dark. He called Emma’s name—no response. He stepped into the kitchen, the last place he’d seen her, the place he’d dreamed of her.


    There was a note on the table. Handwritten.


    He didn’t need to read it to know what it said.