The rumble starts as a whisper beneath the ground—a vibration so faint that it could be imagined. Most commuters are too distracted to notice it. Serena Tempus isn’t paying attention either. She stands on the crowded platform of Grand Central Station, earbuds jammed in, music dulling the noise of the city’s relentless heartbeat.

Around her, the air is thick with the smell of damp concrete and oil. People shuffle in their routines—typing on their phones, adjusting bags, murmuring about meetings and deadlines. Someone sneezes. A child whines. It’s all so normal.

But normal doesn’t last.

The vibration deepens, climbing through the soles of Serena’s shoes like the first hint of a storm.

The fluorescent lights overhead flicker once, twice. She frowns, tugging out one earbud. The station’s hum sharpens. The screech of brakes from an approaching train cuts through the low thrum of voices.

Her skin prickles. Something feels wrong.

The ground shifts, and the platform lurches beneath her feet.

And then everything falls apart.

---

It happens all at once.

A deafening roar rips through the station, drowning out the gasps and screams of the crowd. The train barrels into the platform, moving too fast, its brakes screaming in protest. Sparks explode as its wheels leave the track, the massive steel body careening sideways into the waiting crowd.

Concrete shatters. The platform crumbles. Bodies tumble into the darkness below, swallowed by the collapsing floor. Dust fills the air, choking Serena’s lungs as her own scream tears free.

She stumbles back, but there’s nowhere to go.

The ground beneath her splinters. A deafening crack echoes through the station, and the staircase at the far end collapses, taking dozens of panicked commuters with it.

She feels herself falling.

The world spins, her body weightless for one terrifying moment before pain explodes through her ribs. Dust and debris rain down, pressing her into the cold steel of the derailed train. Somewhere above her, the ceiling groans.

It crashes down, and her world goes black.

---

I wake up gasping.

The polished tiles of the platform gleam under steady fluorescent lights. There’s no dust, no screams, no collapsing ceiling.

The commuters are still here, phones in hand, conversations buzzing like white noise.

It’s as if nothing happened.

But it did.

The memory of the impact—of falling, of pain—clings to my body like a phantom weight. My hands shake as I press them against my chest, half-expecting to feel the cracks in my ribs, the bruises from my fall.

Nothing. I’m whole. Unscathed.

But I’m not fine.

The train’s headlights glow faintly in the tunnel ahead. The same train. The same scene.

The vibration starts again.

This time, I notice it immediately.

“No,” I whisper, backing away from the platform’s edge. My heart slams against my ribs, the weight of what’s about to happen sinking in.

---

"I first looped when I was thirteen."

The memory surges forward, dragging me under like a riptide. The subway isn’t the first time this has happened.

It started years ago, in a moment I couldn’t comprehend at the time.

The first disaster. The first death. The first time I opened my eyes to find the world reset.

---

I’m thirteen, standing in the marble lobby of my brother’s office building.

The air smells of fresh coffee and polish, mingling with the faint perfume of passing workers in crisp suits. Ethan, my older brother, towers beside me, absorbed in his phone. He mutters something about an important client meeting, barely glancing up.

“You’ll love the view,” he says. “The conference room’s on the fortieth floor. Best part of the building.”

I nod, clutching the straps of my backpack. My stomach twists, nerves buzzing in my chest. Everything here feels too big, too polished, too far from the life I know.

We step into the elevator. My heart stutters as it begins to climb, the city stretching out below us like a glittering sea. Ethan barely notices. I can’t stop staring.

The elevator dings. Fortieth floor.

We step into another gleaming lobby. The sun spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting everything in sharp, golden light. Ethan leads the way, but I hesitate. The view is mesmerizing.

Then I smell it.

Burning plastic. Faint at first, like a whisper in the air.

The explosion comes without warning.

---

The floor shakes. A roar splits the air, louder than anything I’ve ever heard. Glass shatters, raining down in jagged shards. Fire and smoke erupt from somewhere nearby, filling the room with chaos.

People scream. Ethan grabs my arm, pulling me toward the stairwell, but the ceiling groans.

It collapses before we reach the door.

There’s no time to think. The impact swallows me whole.

---

When I open my eyes, I’m standing in the lobby again.

The marble floors are flawless, the air heavy with the scent of coffee and polish. Ethan is beside me, muttering about his meeting.

I freeze, my body trembling.

“Serena?” His voice is sharp, confused. “What’s wrong?”

I can’t speak. My chest heaves as I take in the scene around me. It’s exactly the same.

It happens again.

And again.

The explosion kills me every time, and every time, I wake up. Whole. Untouched. Stuck in the same loop, trying to escape, trying to stop it.

---

Eventually, I notice the pattern.

The burning smell. The faint hum of something electrical near the stairwell. The fire starts there.

In the next loop, I grab Ethan’s arm the moment I wake up.

“There’s going to be an explosion,” I say, my voice trembling. “We need to get everyone out.”

He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Just trust me!” I shout. “Please!”

Something in my voice convinces him. Together, we shout for people to evacuate. Most ignore us, but enough listen. Enough follow us out of the building.

When the explosion comes, I’m standing outside, gasping as flames engulf the upper floors.

I saved them.

---

For a long time, I think it’s over. I think it was a nightmare, a one-time event that ended when I escaped.

But as I stand on the subway platform, the ground trembling beneath me, I know the truth.

This is my life now.