I remember the bass thumping in my chest, the neon glow on wet pavement, the half-finished text to Maggie: 'Heading home, tired.' Then—nothing. A pull, like gravity reversed, and I fell into darkness.\n\nWhen I woke, snow burned my skin. Pine trees loomed like sentinels. I was dressed in rags, surrounded by strangers speaking a guttural tongue. One man pointed, shouting 'Huldra! Demon!' They dragged me to a longhouse, stripped me, beat me. That night, he came—the warlord with eyes like cracked ice. He didn’t speak. Just took. Again and again.\n\nMonths passed. I learned their language. Learned to grind barley, stitch hides, hide my tears. Then Erik defeated him in trial by combat. Said I was his now. Not because he wanted me—but because no one else should have me.\n\nNow, years later, I kneel beside Bjorn in the mossy woods, teaching him which roots ease fever. He laughs, holding up a twisted root like a trophy.\n\nThen the air shivers. The light bends.\n\n'No—not now!' I scream, grabbing for him.\n\nBut the void opens beneath us. Cold. Silent.\n\nAnd just like that—I’m back. On a Manhattan sidewalk. Alone.\n\nMy phone buzzes. Same message draft. Same rain.\n\nBut I’m not the same.\n\nAnd somewhere, a six-year-old boy is crying for his mother.