OKAY I HAD TO DO LIKE THE LAST TOUCHES OF THIS CHAPTER, ITS SLOPPY, I HAVE WAY TOO MUCH TIME ON MY HANDS IVE BEEN SICK FOR DAYS

Harlow had been in the psych ward for what felt like an eternity. The cold, white walls and the sterile smell of disinfectant made her skin crawl. It was nothing like the apocalyptic wasteland she'd just escaped, but somehow, this place felt worse. At least out there, she had the freedom to move, to run. Here, everything was locked down, controlled.

The adults didn't believe her when she told them she was from the future. She'd tried to explain how she got there, how she had fallen through time and landed in 1963. They'd just looked at her with blank, pitying faces, like she was spouting some kind of fairy tale. The more she insisted, the worse things got.

"I'm telling the truth!" she had shouted at one of the doctors earlier, her fists balled up in frustration. "I'm not making this up! You have to believe me!"

But all they did was nod and scribble something down in their little notebooks.

They thought she was crazy. Hell, maybe she was. But she knew what she'd seen. She knew she didn't belong here.

It didn't help that the other kids in the ward were just as messed up as she was. Some of them rocked back and forth, muttering things to themselves. Others screamed in the middle of the night. Harlow did her best to stay out of their way, her sharp edges hidden beneath the surface—for now.

Until today.

She had been sitting at one of the small tables in the common area, minding her own business and trying to focus on anything but the gnawing fear that she might be stuck here forever. She was sketching something—a half-formed memory of the ruins she'd left behind—when she heard footsteps approaching.

"Hey, freak," a voice called from behind her.

Harlow tensed immediately. It was one of the boys, maybe ten years old, with a scowl permanently plastered across his face. His name was Tommy, and he had made it his personal mission to harass every kid who crossed his path. He'd left Harlow alone up until now, but apparently, her time was up.

She kept her head down, trying to ignore him, but he wasn't having it.

"I'm talking to you, freak," he said, louder this time.

Harlow's jaw tightened, but she didn't respond. She'd learned a long time ago that reacting to bullies only made things worse.

Tommy walked up to her side, sneering down at her. "What's wrong? You too crazy to talk?"

Harlow gripped the crayon in her hand a little tighter, her knuckles turning white. She could feel her pulse quickening, that familiar surge of anger rising in her chest.

Without warning, Tommy snatched the crayon from her hand. "What's this? A little art project? You think you're some kind of artist or something?"

Harlow's eyes snapped up to meet his, her face hardening. "Give it back," she said, her voice low and dangerous.

Tommy smirked, twirling the crayon between his fingers. "What if I don't? What are you gonna do about it, freak?"

Before she could respond, Tommy lunged at her, jabbing the crayon toward her arm like it was a knife.

Instinct kicked in. Harlow grabbed his wrist with lightning speed, twisting it hard enough to make him yelp in pain. The crayon fell from his hand, clattering to the floor. But Harlow didn't stop there.

All the pent-up fear, anger, and frustration that had been building inside her since she woke up in the apocalypse exploded in that moment. She tackled Tommy to the ground, her fists flying as she aimed for his face, her teeth bared in a snarl. He barely had time to react before she was on him, her fists pounding into him with the ferocity of a cornered animal.

Chaos erupted around her. Kids were screaming, nurses rushing toward them, but all Harlow could see was red.

Tommy's terrified face blurred beneath her fists as she pummeled him, her vision swimming with rage. She wasn't in the psych ward anymore—she was back in the ruins, fighting for survival, desperate and alone.

It took three nurses to pull her off him, and even then, she fought back, her limbs thrashing wildly as they restrained her. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her breath coming in ragged, angry gasps.

"Let me go!" she screamed, kicking out at the nearest nurse. "I'm not crazy! I'm not—"

The world spun as they forced her arms behind her back, strapping her into a straight jacket. Her chest heaved, panic setting in as she struggled against the fabric, her body twisting and jerking to break free.

"You don't understand!" she shouted, her voice cracking as they dragged her toward one of the empty rooms. "You don't know what I've been through!"

But her words fell on deaf ears.

They forced her onto a cot, and she felt a sharp prick in her arm. Almost immediately, her body began to relax against her will, her muscles going limp as the sedative took hold. The room blurred around her, the bright lights fading into soft, hazy shapes.

As she drifted into unconsciousness, a single thought echoed in her mind.

"I'm not crazy..."

Harlow lay on the narrow bed in her room, her limbs heavy from the sedative, the straight jacket they'd put her in earlier now removed but leaving her feeling trapped all the same. The sterile white walls felt like they were closing in on her, the dim light from the small window offering little comfort. The fight with Tommy had taken everything out of her, and now all she had was the gnawing feeling that no one believed her—that she was really stuck here. Forever.

She curled up on her side, staring at the ceiling, her mind drifting in and out of foggy thoughts. Her body ached, both from the fight and from the way the nurses had manhandled her into submission. She hated it here. She hated how powerless she felt, how small and insignificant the adults made her feel.

The door creaked open softly, and Harlow didn't bother looking up. It was probably another nurse checking on her, or maybe a doctor coming to poke and prod at her mind, asking the same dumb questions they always asked.

But then a voice cut through the silence—one she hadn't expected.

"Well, well. They've got you locked up tight in here, don't they?"

Harlow tensed, her eyes narrowing as she slowly sat up. There, standing in the doorway with an almost amused look on her face, was Lila. She was dressed in civilian clothes, not a uniform, her dark hair tied back loosely, eyes sharp and observant. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, like she was sizing Harlow up.

Harlow blinked, her mind slow to catch up with what she was seeing. "What are you doing here?" she asked warily, her voice hoarse from earlier.

Lila smirked. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm here to get you out of this place. You didn't really think you'd be stuck here forever, did you?"

Harlow's eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into her voice. "Why should I trust you?"

Lila stepped further into the room, her movements smooth and calculated, like a predator that knew exactly when to strike. "Trust me, kid, I'm not here to hurt you. But if you don't want to rot in this hellhole, you're gonna have to trust someone." She paused, her expression softening just a little. "Look, I know things are messed up. I've been where you are—feeling like no one's on your side, like you're all alone. But you're not. I'm offering you a way out."

Harlow studied her for a long moment, her hands gripping the edge of the bed. She'd learned not to trust people easily, especially not in this place. Everyone here was either broken or trying to break her, and she wasn't about to fall for some stranger's trick. For all she knew, Lila was just another one of the doctors' experiments, a mental patient who had wandered into her room, looking for company.

"Why me?" Harlow asked, her voice sharper now. "Why are you trying to help me?"

Lila raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at her lips. "Because you're important, Harlow. You've got something no one else here has. And if you come with me, I can help you figure out what that is."

Harlow clenched her fists, her jaw tightening. She hated how much she wanted to believe Lila, how much she wanted to get out of here, but the fear gnawed at her. "I don't believe you," she said, though her voice wavered.

Lila sighed, stepping closer until she was right in front of her. "Listen, I get it. You don't trust anyone here, and you've probably got good reason for that. But if you stay, they'll keep drugging you, keep locking you in these rooms until you really do lose your mind." She tilted her head, her eyes softening. "You're not crazy, Harlow. I know what you are. And I'm the only person who can help you."

Harlow felt the weight of Lila's words sinking into her chest. There was something about the way she said it—the certainty, the knowing—that made her pause. She wanted to get out of here. She needed to get out. But the thought of trusting someone, especially someone she didn't know, made her stomach twist.

Still, staying here wasn't an option. They'd already put her in a straight jacket once, and it was only a matter of time before they did it again. And maybe Lila was telling the truth. Maybe she really could help her.

"What's the plan?" Harlow asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The whole place was chaos. Harlow's heart pounded in her chest as she sprinted beside Lila, dodging rubble and debris, her breath coming in short, frantic bursts. She tried not to think about how close they'd come to being caught, how the shadows seemed to stretch and reach for her like fingers. Lila kept a firm grip on Harlow's arm, dragging her along whenever her legs threatened to slow. They skidded to a stop, panting, eyes scanning the wreckage of bodies scattered around them like broken toys.

Harlow's pulse quickened when she spotted the man up ahead. He was in the middle of it all, standing over a pile of unconscious guards, fists bloodied and bruised. The guy was built like a tank, muscles tense, and even from a distance, Harlow could tell there was something wild about him—something barely controlled and dangerous. He was crazy-strong, and Harlow didn't need to get close to see it.

Lila suddenly pushed her back behind a wall, shoving her roughly into the shadows. "Stay down, kid," she hissed, her voice urgent but playful, like this was just another game. Harlow frowned but did as she was told, peeking out from behind the corner to get a better look.

"Hargreeves, what are you doing out here?" A nurse asked, his voice strained as he confronted the man.

Hargreeves? That was her last name. Harlow's stomach twisted. It couldn't be.

"Sleepwalking," the man replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. That voice. Harlow felt like she'd been hit in the chest. She knew that voice.

Before she could get a proper look, the nurse lunged, shoving the man to the ground hard. Harlow's anger flared, hot and fierce. Who did this guy think he was, pushing around some random guy? But the pit in her stomach told her it wasn't just some random guy. She could barely see past the tangle of bodies, but she knew. She knew.

"You sure like to run your mouth," the nurse sneered, towering over him. "It's gonna be hard after I break your jaw."

Before Harlow could think, Lila shot forward, hitting the nurse upside the head with a solid thwack, her laugh ringing out like a battle cry. Harlow followed instinctively, sprinting out from behind her hiding spot. She needed to see him, needed to know for sure.

The man struggled to sit up, his face still hidden in the tangle of his arms. But when he heard Lila, his voice was ragged and familiar. "Lila?" he rasped, eyes flicking from Lila to Harlow with a confused squint. "And a kid?"

"You're not the only one who wants out, wolf man," Lila giggled, bouncing on her feet like this was just another adventure. She rushed over to help him up, being mindful of his shoulder. "Watch my shoulder."

Harlow stared, her eyes wide, everything clicking into place in one jarring moment. The man was finally upright, and when his face turned toward her, there was no mistaking it. The wild curls, the stubborn jaw, the fierce, defiant eyes that matched hers perfectly. "Dad?" Harlow breathed, her voice barely a whisper. She felt like the ground had fallen out from beneath her feet.

Diego shot her a quick, pained glance, his expression flickering between surprise and something softer before Lila yanked his arm back into place with a sickening crack. "Come along, Harlow!" Lila howled playfully, her voice echoing in the hallway as she pulled Diego to his feet.

Harlow's mind was spinning, but there was no time to think. Diego was limping, his movements stiff and labored, and Harlow found herself half-dragging him along with Lila as they stumbled forward. She kept glancing up at him, a million questions burning on her tongue, but the words wouldn't come out. She just couldn't wrap her head around it—this was her dad? The guy she'd heard stories about, the one she never thought she'd see face-to-face. And here he was, bloody and bruised and running for his life with her and Lila.

They turned a corner and came face-to-face with three men, all armed, their guns raised and ready. Harlow's breath caught in her throat. She'd seen guns before, but not like this, not pointed at her dad. The men shouted something, but Harlow couldn't hear it over the roaring in her ears. She clamped her hands over them, trying to block out the deafening noise of gunfire as they sprinted away. The shots echoed like fireworks, too loud, too close, and Harlow's steps faltered as fear clawed at her. She hated the feeling, hated being scared, but she couldn't help it.

"Who are those guys?" Lila yelled over the chaos, not even bothering to hide the excitement in her voice.

"No idea," Diego grunted, his voice strained as he pushed himself to keep going, his limp slowing him down.

They burst into a room, Diego slamming the door behind them, breathless and desperate. Harlow glanced up at him, her heart hammering. "What are we doing? We gotta keep going!" she snapped, frustrated at every second they weren't moving.

Diego ignored her, eyes scanning the room until he spotted a lever on the wall. "We need a distraction," he muttered, yanking it down. Alarms blared instantly, red lights flashing overhead. He didn't wait to see the chaos he'd caused, just turned and bolted back out the door. "Follow me!"

They sprinted down another hallway, weaving between pipes and ducking under obstacles. Harlow's lungs burned, and her legs felt like jelly, but she refused to slow down. Not when Diego was still fighting to keep going, every limp a reminder that he wasn't giving up on them.

They skidded to a halt at a crossroads, multiple paths branching off into the unknown. Harlow's chest heaved as she looked from left to right, her eyes darting back to Diego, who seemed just as uncertain.

"Which way?" Diego asked, his voice laced with urgency.

"Right!" Lila declared, pointing with confidence.

"Why right?" Diego shot back, clearly skeptical.

"Why not?" Lila shrugged, already making the decision for them as she took off down the right corridor.

They followed, feet pounding against the floor until they suddenly found themselves surrounded by police. Harlow's heart sank as she spotted their uniforms, guns raised and eyes cold. "Thank God you're here!" Lila blurted out, trying to sound frantic and scared. "Three men just tried to attack us!"

But the lead officer didn't buy it. He leveled his gun, his voice harsh. "Put your hands up, now."

Harlow's arms shot up instinctively, her fear flaring. She was quick to obey, her anger momentarily smothered by fear. Diego stayed on the ground, his hands reluctantly raising, eyes darting around for any escape. "Wait, you don't understand, we're not the bad guys," he tried to explain, but the officer cut him off.

"Shut your mouth and stay on the ground!" the officer barked, moving closer.

Harlow's anger reignited at the way they treated her dad, but before she could react, Lila stepped in, swift and precise. She kicked the officer's knee, sending him stumbling, then punched him hard enough to knock him out cold. Harlow stared, wide-eyed, as the officer crumpled.

Diego blinked up at Lila, half-impressed, half-shocked. "Where'd you learn how to fight like that?"

Lila smirked, brushing her hair out of her eyes as they all started running again. "My mother," she said simply, as if that explained everything.