Between Dimensions

Reality number thirteen. Zara knew because she'd scratched tally marks into her arm at some point—the ones that survived dimension jumps, scarred into her skin like a cosmic reminder of failure.

This world was different. The sky was green, gravity was slightly stronger, and everyone spoke a language that sounded like singing.

But the equation on the wall of her laboratory was the same. It was always the same.

"You're back," her alternate self said, not looking up from the holographic display. "Let me guess. You tried to fix the engine, reality collapsed, you jumped."

"How many times have you seen me?"

"You're my forty-seventh. They stopped being novel after the first dozen."

Zara stared at this other her—older, wearier, but alive. "How did you survive?"

"I stopped trying to fix things alone." The other Zara finally looked up. "I found allies across dimensions. Built a network. And I've been waiting for one of you to finally ask the right question."

"Which is?"

"Not how to fix the engine. But why it keeps breaking in the first place."