Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cool ocean breeze swept over me as I walked along the shoreline, the waves crashing softly in the distance. The night was ours—Lilly, Duncan, Veronica, and me—free from the pressures of Neptune High, free from the world that often seemed too small for our lives. We were drunk on champagne, drunk on life, and drunk on the heady feeling of youth.

I was the first to walk, holding up the camcorder, capturing the laughter and drunken antics of my friends. Veronica, wearing that long pink dress, was behind me, trying to keep up, her laughter light and carefree. Duncan and Lilly walked a little behind her, the siblings looking just as carefree despite the tension always simmering between them. Lilly was in that sparkly golden dress, the one that always turned heads, showing off too much and yet making her look like she owned the world. She had always been the brightest thing in the room.

I turned the camera toward her as she called out, her voice playful. "Come on, Veronica, it's your turn. Do not blade out."

Veronica, holding her glass of champagne, hesitated before speaking. "Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. I've never..." She paused, looking for something to confess. The rest of us eagerly awaited her answer.

I took a swig of champagne, only to turn and spit it out into the water, laughing as I watched Veronica continue.

"...gone skinny dipping."

The others gasped in unison. Duncan’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked at Veronica as though she'd just announced she'd never heard of water. He asked, incredulous, "What?"

Lilly and I sipped from our glasses, pretending to be the experienced ones in the group. We had gone skinny dipping before.

Duncan followed suit, raising the bottle to his lips. He wasn’t about to let his best friend and girlfriend have all the fun. Only Veronica, her glass still full, just stared at us, as though we were the aliens.

Lilly shook her head, as though this was some personal failure on Veronica's part. "That's just unacceptable. We're having something to do, Veronica Mars."

I looked at Lilly, an amused smirk playing on my lips. "Oh, oh okay." I raised the camcorder and began to record the whole thing, capturing every moment. Then, with a glint in my eye, I said, "I've never taken matters into my own hands in the boys' locker room after watching the cheerleader tryouts."

The entire group froze. Duncan and Veronica both went still, the fun suddenly evaporating in an awkward silence.

Veronica's mouth dropped open as she gasped. Duncan, on the other hand, was staring at me like I'd just confessed to some unspeakable crime. He said, in a voice laced with disbelief, "Dude, you are so dead."

Lilly and I burst into laughter. Veronica was still stunned, her wide eyes darting between us.

Lilly’s voice cut through the laughter. "How pervy, Duncan! I am a little impressed though."

I couldn't help but laugh harder. This was too good. I turned to Duncan, holding the camcorder steady. "You must drink, comrade."

Duncan sighed heavily, the weight of the moment finally sinking in. He raised the bottle to his lips, but just before he could take a swig, Veronica put a hand on his arm.

"Wait!" she said. "Please tell me that was before we started dating."

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. My giggle turned into full-on laughter, and Duncan, red-faced, muttered, "Of course."

I turned to look out toward the horizon, the alcohol making everything feel fuzzy. And that’s when I saw it.

A blue police phone box. Standing right there on the beach.

I blinked, confused. Police phone boxes weren’t supposed to be on beaches. I rubbed my eyes, thinking I was seeing things. But no, it was still there, a bright blue anomaly against the dark beach. My curiosity flared.

"Hey, guys," I said, turning back to Lilly, Duncan, and Veronica. "Look at that."

I pointed toward the strange object, but before any of them could react, it suddenly vanished. Just disappeared in the blink of an eye.

"Did you see that?" I asked, turning back to them, wide-eyed.

Lilly raised an eyebrow and laughed. "Logan, you must be so drunk that you're seeing hallucinations."

I stared at the empty space where the box had been, still trying to wrap my mind around what I’d just seen. Maybe Lilly was right. Maybe it was just the alcohol messing with me. I was definitely drunk.

I shrugged, telling myself it was nothing. Just an illusion.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that something strange had just happened.

Something bigger than just a wild night at the beach.

One year. One whole year since that night at the beach. One year since everything started to feel… wrong. Everything since then had felt like a blur—like a twisted, tangled mess of emotions I couldn’t untangle. My mom was dead. At least that’s what everyone kept telling me.

The funeral party had just ended at my place. The people who showed up were either fans of my parents or paparazzi who cared more about the money in my family’s name than the life we lived. I was the one who broke the camera of one of those annoying reporters. My anger issues, they called it. I was angry, alright. Furious. But what else could they expect when my mother was dead, and my father—my piece-of-shit, narcissistic father—was still out there, still breathing?

My mom had jumped off that bridge a year ago, leaving her red convertible abandoned on the side. No body. Just a story, a rumor, an assumption. They said she killed herself. I didn't believe it. There was no way. Not my mom. She hated my dad—she hated everything about him. She wouldn’t go out like that. She was just… gone. She escaped him. That’s what I believed. She was alive. She had to be.

That’s why I was here, driving through Neptune in my yellow Nissan Xterra, my mind swirling with thoughts of my mother, with thoughts of everything. I was going to see Veronica Mars.

Yeah. Veronica Mars. The same Veronica I’d spent countless hours tormenting over the past year. My nemesis. My occasional punching bag. My high school rival. But there was something about her, something I couldn’t ignore. Something that had shifted in the way I looked at her. I never told anyone this, but I’d developed this… attraction to her. It was ridiculous, I know. She was the girl I spent half my time trying to get under her skin, but after last Christmas, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to her than I’d ever given her credit for.

I’d seen her work before, though. Help a kid find his father when the kid thought his dad was dead. Solve a mystery at my own family’s Christmas party, when someone stole money from the poker game. And Troy Vandegraf’s car? That was all Veronica. She was good at what she did—at solving mysteries, at finding people, at seeing things no one else could. And right now, I needed her.

I needed her to find my mom.

As I drove past Sunset Cliffs Apartments, I saw it. That damn blue box. The one I’d seen on the beach that one night. I told myself it was just a drunk hallucination back then. But now? Now I knew better. I hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in hours, and there it was again. A police phone box standing in the middle of Neptune. A damn police box.

I blinked, rubbed my eyes, hoping it was some weird trick of the light. But it wasn’t. It was real. Just like it had been on the beach.

I parked my truck, my heart pounding a little faster than normal. I stepped out, my eyes never leaving the spot where the blue box had been. And just like that—it disappeared. Just like that. Gone, as if it had never been there.

What the hell was happening?

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. This wasn’t the time to freak out over some strange blue box. I had a mission. I needed Veronica.

I walked up to her apartment, my footsteps heavy on the concrete. I knocked, the sound echoing in the still night air. The door opened, and there she was. Veronica Mars, looking like she had just rolled out of bed—green hoodie, blonde ponytail, looking as surprised to see me as I was to see myself standing here.

"Logan," she whispered, voice soft with shock. "What are you doing here?"

I stood there for a second, staring at her, my arms crossed over my chest. The words I had been rehearsing in my head felt foreign, almost absurd, but I couldn’t back out now.

"I want you to find my mother," I said, my voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside my chest.

She blinked, her eyes searching mine, trying to read me, trying to figure out if I was being serious.

I was. I needed her help. And right now, she was the only person who could get me the answers I wanted.

The world had a way of screwing with me.

I’d spent the last year stuck in a haze of grief, anger, and denial. I didn’t believe my mom was dead. No body, no proof. And now, standing outside Neptune High, trying to process what that freshman filmmaker had just told me, I wasn’t sure whether I felt validated or more lost than ever.

I stormed out of the school, my mind running circles, the heat of the California sun doing nothing to warm the ice in my chest. Then I heard her voice.

“Logan! Logan!”

Veronica Mars. The girl I spent so much time fighting that I never realized when the hate turned into something else. She caught up to me, breathless, her blue eyes filled with something close to urgency.

“Your mom’s missing credit card was just used.”

The world tilted slightly. My heart slammed against my ribs, but before I could say anything, before I could even process what Veronica just told me, something even weirder happened.

A girl—probably seventeen, maybe younger—appeared out of nowhere. Short brown curly hair, big brown eyes, holding some strange flat rectangle in her hands. A camera? At least, that’s what it looked like, but not like anything I’d ever seen. Not like the grainy flip phone cameras people at Neptune High were obsessed with.

She lifted the device, tapped on the screen, and suddenly, we heard a loud clicking sound, like an old-school camera shutter. I flinched. Veronica tensed. Then the girl did something else—tapped the screen again and turned it toward us.

On the screen was a picture of Veronica and me, clear as day, high resolution, better than anything even some professional photographers could pull off.

She looked straight at us, eyes a little too knowing, and said, “See? After three days you will believe me.”

Then she walked away, leaving us standing there like idiots.

I blinked. “Okay. What the hell was that?”

Veronica frowned, still staring after the girl. “I have no idea.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Because if Veronica Mars didn’t know something… that meant something was really, really off.

Chapter Text

The banner over the school entrance read: "Total Eclipse of the Heart." Duncan had gone all out for the Valentine’s Day party. I wasn’t exactly in the mood for all the pink hearts and glitter, but I wasn’t going to miss the chance to be near Veronica Mars.

I found her outside at the cafeteria, inspecting a record in her hand. She had that sharp, focused look she always got when she was solving a case.

“Your mom had fourteen credit cards in her name at the time of her disappearance,” she said, holding up the paper for me to see. She pointed to something. “This is the only one that's been active. No-limit platinum card.”

I leaned in, scanning the page. “Be my mom's weapon of choice.”

“This is also the only one that is still registered under her maiden name, Lester. Maybe it's just a coincidence.”

“Or maybe she's trying to hide, huh?” I asked, the possibility gripping my chest.

Veronica nodded. I exhaled, a half-smile tugging at my lips before I looked away.

She flipped through the papers. “It's hard to know for sure.” Then, her eyes flicked over another page, her tone shifting. “There's only been one purchase so far, a rental car.”

I glanced down at the document. “What kind of car?” I asked, urgency creeping into my voice.

“Benz. Red convertible.”

My stomach tightened. Mom’s signature red convertible. She was alive. I knew it.

Veronica hesitated before adding, “I-I'll let you know if she strikes again.”

“Yeah.”

Before I could say anything else, a girl approached our table. She had short, curly brown hair and brown eyes, and she looked about a year younger than us. She seemed shy, awkward even, and something about her told me she wasn’t the usual Neptune High crowd.

She turned to Veronica. “Are you Veronica Mars?”

Veronica gave her a cautious look. “Yeah.”

The girl introduced herself. “Elle Martin.” Her voice was quiet, but firm. “I need your help. Someone's blackmailing me.”

Veronica straightened, instantly intrigued. “Blackmailing you for what?”

Elle hesitated, her eyes flickering to me before she swallowed. “I’m… I’m gay. Someone texted me, saying they’d tell everyone.”

That got my attention. It wasn’t like I had a soft spot for sob stories, but something about the way she looked at me made me pause.

“I’m sorry,” Elle said suddenly, her gaze meeting mine. “About your mom. I read about it in the news.”

I clenched my jaw. “She’s not dead,” I said firmly. “She just escaped.”

Elle studied me for a moment before nodding. “I understand how it feels to lose someone.”

Veronica and I exchanged a look. There was something oddly familiar about Elle, though neither of us could place it.

I leaned back, crossing my arms. “You’re new, right? I saw you yesterday, taking a picture of me and Veronica with that weird flat camera. You said, ‘See? After three days you will believe me!’”

Veronica frowned. “Yeah, I saw you too.”

Elle’s face scrunched in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never saw you before today.”

That was weird.

I tilted my head, studying her. “What brought you to Neptune?”

“I just transferred from Pan High.”

Veronica slid her papers into her bag and stood. “Let’s start with those messages. We’ll find out who’s behind this.”

I watched as Elle followed her, still trying to shake the feeling that something was off. I didn’t believe in coincidences. And something told me Elle Martin wasn’t just another case.

I stumbled into the neon haze of the gymnasium, the bass thudding in my chest as Spandau Ballet’s "True" crooned over the speakers. Couples swayed in a slow dance, lost in the artificial romance of an 80s-themed Valentine's ball. I barely registered them.

Duncan, in his infinite wisdom, had thrown this little shindig, and here I was—drunk, pantless, and basking in my utter lack of dignity. The Risky Business look was bold, sure, but I didn't really care. Not after today. Not after finding out that my mother was really gone.

I wasn't crying this time, though. No breakdowns on Veronica’s shoulder. No pathetic, shuddering gasps for breath. I had reached the part of grief where everything felt unreal, where the only thing that made sense was drowning myself in liquor and bad decisions.

And then there she was.

Elle.

She stepped into my line of sight like some kind of ghost from a John Hughes nightmare. Messy brown hair teased into an 80s aesthetic disaster, blue blouse, grey cardigan, fake blood on her forehead, and a cigarette dangling from her fingers. Veronica Sawyer from Heathers. Fitting.

I smirked. "You look like hell."

Elle arched a brow, then deadpanned, "I just got back." She paused, then added awkwardly, "I look bitchin’. And you look like you’re without pants, daaa... damn, gross."

Something about the way she stuttered made me pause. Like she almost said something else. But the ‘gross’ part? That hit.

I scoffed, feigning offense. "Charming."

Then I noticed the cigarette in her hand. "Wait—are you actually smoking?"

Elle rolled her eyes. "It’s fake, genius."

"Good. Because that’d be disgusting."

"Geez, chill out, dude. I get that you lost your mother, but it's not an excuse to be such an asshole."

I blinked. That was... blunt. Most people either avoided the subject altogether or tiptoed around it. But Elle? She just threw it out there like she was stating the weather.

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to punch a wall or laugh.

Instead, I did what any self-respecting emotionally unstable rich kid would do—I made a scene.

I stumbled onto the stage and bellowed into the microphone, "I love the eighties!"

The crowd barely reacted. Not good enough. I needed more.

"Come on, everyone! Let’s wang chung tonight!" Silence. I spotted some poor guy near the front, grabbed his sunglasses, and chucked them to the floor. "What, everybody wang chung tonight!"

"Dude, don’t touch me," the guy muttered, clearly unimpressed.

The moment soured. My high of reckless abandon fizzled. Whatever. I turned and staggered out of the gym, my mind buzzing.

It wasn’t long before Veronica caught up to me in the school corridor. And, of course, she wasn’t alone.

"Come on, Logan," Veronica murmured as she patted down my shirt, searching for my car keys. "Just give me your keys. Leo, can you follow us in your car?"

Leo. The guy in the stupid 80s suit with dark brown hair. I narrowed my eyes at him, suddenly irritated.

"Hey, who’s this dude?" I asked, slurring slightly.

Before Veronica could answer, Elle appeared beside us, arms crossed. She eyed Leo, then tilted her head at Veronica like she was reading her mind. "Yes, exactly, who is this guy, ugh..."

Rhetorical. But the way she said it? Like she really didn’t like the guy.

"As I have told you now three times," Veronica said, exasperated, "this is the friendly officer of the law—"

I snorted.

"—who is going to overlook your underage public drunkenness."

I squinted at Leo. "Crockett or Tubbs?"

Before he could answer, something weird happened. My car keys, which had been firmly in my shirt pocket, suddenly flew out and clattered to the ground.

Veronica and Leo looked at me like I’d just summoned a demon. Then Elle shot me a look and smirked. "It's still gross seeing you not wearing pants. Ugh." She made a gagging noise for extra effect.

Veronica actually laughed. Even Leo chuckled.

I was not amused.

"Not funny," I muttered.

Veronica ignored me, swiping my keys off the floor. "Come on, Logan. Let’s go."

I threw off her hand, but she grabbed my sleeve, tugging me toward the exit. I grumbled under my breath but let her lead me out.

As we approached my car, I froze.

That damn blue box was there again.

Third time. I’d seen it before—once when I was about to drive to Veronica’s to ask her to find my mother. Again, on some random street corner. And now? Here?

I glared at it. "I see that damned blue box again."

Veronica glanced at it, then back at me. "Logan, it’s just a phone box."

Yeah. Sure. Just a phone box.

I climbed into the backseat of my car, letting Veronica take the wheel. I stared at her as she adjusted the mirror, my vision swimming. She looked good. So damn pretty in her black 80s Madonna dress. I opened my mouth to say something—something stupid, probably—but then—

I puked all over the floor of my car.

Veronica sighed. "Happy Valentine’s Day to me."

Yeah. Happy freakin’ Valentine’s Day.

I rolled my eyes as I walked into the science classroom, Veronica right behind me, all confident as usual, like she could take on the world. Honestly, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here today. I mean, after the disaster that was Mr. Rooks recently, I was kind of expecting a repeat performance. That guy was a walking, talking trainwreck. But, who knows, maybe today would be different.

When I stepped in, I noticed a guy standing by the front desk, wearing glasses, a brown suit that looked a bit too cool for school, and white sneakers. He was about as far from Mr. Rooks as you could get. My first thought was: This guy looks like he should be teaching a class on time travel or secret agents, not physics.

Veronica leaned in, glancing at the guy with that usual curiosity she had. “New teacher?” she whispered, not really expecting an answer but still checking him out, as she did with everything new.

I gave her a shrug. “Let’s find out.”

The guy—John Smith, according to the name tag—looked up from his papers, and I had to admit, he had a presence. I mean, the guy wasn’t wearing a crazy bowtie or trying too hard to be “cool,” but there was something about the way he stood there like he owned the room that made me pay attention. He cleared his throat, then spoke in a smooth British accent that definitely wasn’t what I was expecting. It almost made me think we were in some British sci-fi show or something.

“Good morning, class,” he said, making eye contact with each of us. He sounded like he’d be the guy to pull off a James Bond monologue if you asked him to. “I trust we’re all sitting comfortably? I’m Mr. Smith, and I’ll be your physics teacher this year.”

A few of the kids exchanged glances. Physics. Normally, that subject was about as exciting as a week-old sandwich, but there was something about the way he said it that made it sound... interesting.

He turned to the board, writing out Physics with a flourish, then paused. “Now, I know most of you probably think physics is all about formulas and things you’ll never use again in your life,” he said, the kind of tone that made you feel like he was reading your mind. “But if you give it a chance, there’s something far more exciting about it—how the world works at its most basic level.”

Veronica gave me a sideways glance, her brow raised, clearly intrigued.

“Alright, let’s start with something simple,” Mr. Smith said. “Imagine you’ve got two identical strips of nylon. You charge them with static electricity and hang them from a string. What happens if you bring them near each other?”

It was like he threw out a challenge without even meaning to. A few hands went up immediately. Duncan Kane, always Mr. Know-It-All, was the first to speak.

“They repel each other, because they have the same charge,” Duncan said confidently, like he’d solved the world’s biggest puzzle.

Mr. Smith grinned, looking impressed. “Correct. But what if I told you there’s more to it than just ‘repel’? If you get them close enough, you can actually see how the forces between them interact. It’s kind of like watching a dance... but, you know, with electrons.”

I raised an eyebrow. Okay, maybe I misjudged this guy. He had a way of making even static electricity sound cool.

Mac, who was sitting next to Wallace, whispered something to him, and he nodded, looking at the teacher with a newfound respect.

“Let’s try something a little more interesting,” Mr. Smith continued, pacing slightly, his eyes scanning the class. “I’ve got a coil of microwire and a glass of water here. I’m going to turn on the electricity and measure the change in temperature. What do you think will happen? And, more importantly, how would you measure the electrical power?”

Mac’s hand shot up, and I couldn’t help but grin. She was the kind of person who would make physics look easy. She was so quick with this stuff, I half expected her to solve this experiment before Mr. Smith even finished explaining it.

“I’d use an ammeter to measure the current and a voltmeter to measure the potential difference,” Mac said, and she didn’t even sound like she was showing off. It was just a casual statement of fact.

“Right again,” Mr. Smith said, giving her an approving nod. “You’ve got the idea. See, physics isn’t just about memorizing equations. It’s about understanding how things work—and if you can see that, the rest comes easy.”

I caught Veronica’s eye again. She was smiling, actually enjoying this, and I was almost shocked to admit that I was too. This guy had an effortless charm about him, the kind that made you think maybe, just maybe, this whole “science” thing wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined.

Mr. Smith spent the rest of the class discussing how different forces and energies worked, making it sound like we were solving real mysteries of the universe instead of just calculating the velocity of falling apples. Hell, even Duncan, who usually found any non-sport subject beneath him, looked interested for once.

By the time the bell rang, I’d almost forgotten it was time to leave. Mr. Smith had managed to make a class about physics feel like the most interesting thing I’d done all day.

As I walked out with Veronica, I had to admit it. “Okay, I’ll give him credit. He was actually... kind of cool.”

Veronica smirked. “I knew you'd come around.”

And, you know, maybe I had.

It was the first time I didn’t dread coming to class after a teacher walked in the door.

I stared at the file in front of me, the dim light of Mars Investigations casting long shadows on the desk. Veronica was sitting across from me, her legs crossed, fingers tapping on her notepad as she skimmed through the information about Elle Martin. The name sounded so... ordinary, but nothing about her was ordinary.

"She’s not in the school database, Logan," Veronica said, breaking the silence. Her voice was sharp, focused, like always. "I checked every lead. Pan High? Nothing. Her background is clean—too clean."

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. "So, what? She’s some kind of ghost?"

"Not exactly," Veronica said, her eyes narrowing. "But she’s definitely hiding something. And I don’t trust her. Not yet."

I ran my hand through my hair. "Yeah, I’m not sure about her either. She’s... different. Did you notice how she acts? She’s not like other girls."

Veronica raised an eyebrow. "Not like other girls? That’s a bit cliché, even for you, Echolls."

I smirked, but I wasn’t entirely joking. "No, seriously. There’s something off about her. She walks around like she knows more than she lets on—like she’s from... I don’t know, another time?"

Veronica’s eyes flashed, intrigued. "Another time?" She leaned forward. "What are you talking about?"

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Remember at the ball? When we were looking for my keys, and they just... flew out of my shirt pocket? Like someone was using telekinesis or something?"

Veronica frowned, obviously not remembering the exact details. "Yeah... but I thought you were just drunk and imagining things."

"I wasn’t imagining it," I shot back, then paused. "The weirdest part? Elle was there. She didn’t even flinch. It was like... like she knew exactly how to handle it."

Veronica’s lips parted in surprise. "Logan, that’s a little disturbing. Did you ever think maybe—"

"Maybe she’s just some freak from Neptune High?" I interrupted, shaking my head. "No. She’s something else, Veronica. Something not... normal."

She looked at me, her eyes scanning my face as if searching for any hint that I was just making stuff up. "I know you’re not a fan of conspiracy theories, but—"

"I’m not," I cut her off, "but something about her doesn’t sit right. She doesn’t belong here, V. And it’s not just the weird stuff that happened at the ball."

Veronica put the file down and leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. "What do you mean?"

I glanced out the window, my mind going back to the moments that had been bugging me all week. "Remember when we were playing 'Never Have I Ever' at homecoming? I was drunk off my ass, but I swear I saw something... a blue police box by the beach. Three times now, Veronica. I’ve seen it. And Elle was always in the area. First at the ball, then by the beach, and then again when I came to your place last night."

She stared at me, her lips slightly parted. "A police box?" Her voice dropped to almost a whisper, like she was trying to make sense of it.

I nodded. "I know, it sounds insane. But it was real. It was standing right there. It couldn’t have been a coincidence."

Veronica was silent for a moment, processing. Then, her eyes sharpened again. "Elle. She’s always nearby when these things happen, isn’t she?"

"Exactly." I rubbed my temples again. "And she’s always got this... vibe. Like she’s just observing everyone. Like she knows something we don’t. Like she’s waiting for something."

Veronica gave me a sideways glance, but her expression softened. "Okay, so what now? We keep an eye on her?"

"That’s what I was thinking," I said, exhaling sharply. "But there’s one thing I need you to do, Veronica. I need you to find out who she is. Really."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "You want me to do some digging on her?"

I leaned forward. "Yeah. I don’t care what it takes. Just figure out who she really is. And how she’s connected to everything. I know she’s hiding something. She has to be."

Veronica looked at the file, then back at me. "You think Elle is involved in Lilly’s murder somehow?"

I didn’t have an answer to that, not yet. But something told me that Elle Martin wasn’t just some random student. She was connected to something bigger. Something that didn’t fit into the normal world of Neptune High.

"I don’t know," I said quietly, "but I think we’re about to find out."

Veronica exhaled, her eyes narrowing with determination. "Alright. But you owe me one for this, Logan."

I smirked. "Wouldn’t dream of letting you down, Mars."

As she turned back to the files, a strange thought flickered in my mind. Was Elle from the future? It didn’t make sense—time travel, alternate realities—but there was something undeniably... out of place about her. Something that didn’t fit the rules of the world I knew.

And Elle? She was the key to figuring it all out.

I couldn’t get the sound of Veronica’s laugh out of my head as I made my way to journalism class the next day. It echoed in the quiet halls like a warning that something was about to go down. I wasn’t wrong.

I walked into the classroom and saw Veronica sitting at our usual spot, her eyes bright with excitement. She looked like she’d been up to something, and I couldn’t wait to find out. She barely waited for me to sit before sliding a stack of papers across the table. “You won’t believe what I found, Logan,” she said, her voice low and conspiratorial.

I glanced at the papers, intrigued. “What is it this time? Another weird class assignment?”

“No,” Veronica grinned, “something way more interesting.”

She flipped through the papers and pulled out a book. The cover was plain—nothing to raise an eyebrow about at first glance—but as soon as I saw the title, I froze. Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.

“What?” I stared at the book, then at her. “How is that even possible? There are only five Harry Potter books, Veronica. I know that for a fact. What kind of prank is this?”

She just smiled, leaning in closer, her voice hushed. “I broke into Elle’s locker this morning.”

I leaned back in my chair, processing her words. “Elle? Are you serious? What the hell would she have with—”

“Exactly!” Veronica cut in. “That’s the weird part. There’s no way she should have this.” She flipped the book open, but I didn’t need to look inside to know something was off. Harry Potter and the Cursed Child had only come out in 2016, years after we were supposed to be living. The timeline didn’t make sense.

But Veronica wasn’t done. She reached into her bag and pulled out something else—an iPod. A new iPod, something I definitely didn’t recognize. The screen was slick and smooth, way different than the chunky versions I used to have back in the early 2000s.

“Check this out,” she said, tapping it a few times before handing it over to me. The thing powered on immediately, and I felt a strange sense of nostalgia mixed with confusion. I scrolled through the songs, half expecting to find some obscure music from the '90s or early 2000s—stuff I could vaguely recall. But instead, what I found was completely bizarre. Taylor Swift? Olivia Rodrigo? Billie Eilish? These weren’t the artists from the time I knew. This iPod was... futuristic.

I clicked on one of the songs. Apple by Charli XCX. The electronic beats hummed through the earbuds, and I found myself not hating it. It wasn’t exactly my kind of music, but there was something strangely captivating about it. The voice was sharp, British—definitely Charli’s. The lyrics started, and I couldn’t help but focus on them.

“I guess the apple don’t fall far from the tree / ‘Cause I’ve been looking at you so long / Now I only see me / I wanna throw the apple into the sky / Feels like you never understand me / So I just wanna drive…”

It hit me. The song was all about generational trauma—about how the child is shaped by the parent, no matter how hard they try to break free. The apple, the tree—yeah, I knew what that meant. It reminded me of my dad. The way I kept trying to get away from him, but always finding myself following the same mistakes.

I handed the iPod back to Veronica, who was grinning at my reaction. “Not your usual taste, huh?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What, you’re trying to get me into pop music now?”

She shrugged, but there was a glint in her eyes. “Maybe. But here’s the weirdest part.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s another weird thing,” I said, half-laughing, half-serious.

“Not just another thing,” she said, leaning in with a dark look on her face. She pulled out a few printed photos and spread them across the table. “Look at these.”

I studied the images. There was Elle, looking all normal as usual, with Mr. Smith—the teacher who’d always seemed too cool for school, but harmless—standing next to her. They were standing by what I could only describe as a blue box. The next photo showed the same scene, except this time, the box was closed. Then, in the last photo, the box was gone entirely.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Veronica muttered, tapping the last photo. “One minute it’s there, the next, it’s just... gone.”

I stared at the images, my mind racing. “I don’t get it. Mr. Smith? He was always the cool teacher, the kind of guy who just liked teaching... but this? This is...”

“Suspicious,” Veronica finished for me. “I don’t know if we’re dealing with something supernatural or if it’s just some crazy tech, but there’s something going on, Logan. And Elle’s involved.”

I felt my stomach tighten. “You don’t think it’s some kind of... time-travel thing, do you?”

She shrugged, looking uncertain but also sure of herself. “I wouldn’t rule it out. I mean, this”—she waved her hand over the photos and the iPod—“isn’t normal. There’s more going on here than we realize.”

I leaned back in my chair, letting the bizarre pieces fall into place in my head. “This is getting crazier by the minute.”

Veronica smirked. “Welcome to my life, Logan.”

For a moment, I just stared at her, realizing that Veronica Mars had a knack for dragging me into things I never expected. And somehow, I always ended up in deeper than I ever wanted to be.

But damn, I kind of liked it.

Chapter Text

There’s something off about the new girl.

It’s not that she’s weird in the usual Neptune High way—no flashy cars, no designer bags, no desperate social climbing. It’s not even that she stares at me, because, let’s be honest, I’m used to that. But there’s something different about her staring. She watches me like she already knows what I’m going to do before I do it. Like she’s memorizing my greatest hits and waiting for the encore.

So, naturally, my first thought? She’s into me.

I mean, it makes sense. I’m a catch. Tragic backstory? Check. Smoldering good looks? Double check. A reputation that says, yeah, he’s trouble, but maybe I could fix him? Triple check.

She never outright acts like she’s into me, but the lingering glances, the way she always seems to be nearby, the fact that she clearly gives a damn about what I do—it’s enough for me to assume she’s harboring some kind of secret crush.

And, well, who am I to deny her the full Logan Echolls experience?

I catch her near her locker, leaning against the metal like I own the place (which, let’s be real, I kinda do). She’s organizing her books, moving with this casual confidence that doesn’t quite fit with the new-girl label.

“So,” I say, flashing my signature smirk. “Are you gonna keep staring at me like I’m the last donut in the box, or are you actually gonna talk to me?”

She glances up, unimpressed. “You do realize I have eyes, right? And that they just… look at things?”

“Oh, sure, but you don’t just look at things. You observe.” I tap my temple knowingly. “And I gotta say, I’ve been observed before, but usually with a little more subtlety.”

She exhales sharply, not quite a laugh, not quite irritation. “You think I’m obsessed with you?”

I grin. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

She tilts her head, eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then she says, completely deadpan, “Logan, I told Veronica—in front of you—that someone tried to blackmail me into outing myself as gay. I asked her to find out who it was and make them stop.”

I stare at her, brain stalling like a bad transmission.

Wait. Hold on. She did say that, didn’t she?

…Oh.

I rub the back of my neck, suddenly aware that I just hit on someone who is very much not interested in me. Which is a rare experience, by the way. Not one I’m used to.

“Well,” I say, laughing a little, “guess that means I don’t have a shot, huh?”

She just raises an eyebrow. “Not even in an alternate dimension.”

“Damn.” I place a hand over my heart, mock-wounded. “And here I was, already planning our dramatic, will-they-won’t-they slow burn.”

“More like ‘they won’t, ever, because one of them is gay and the other one has a weird savior complex.’”

“Hey, that complex has layers,” I say, wagging a finger at her. “And for the record, I’m not used to people actually rejecting me.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

I watch her for a moment, intrigued despite myself. Most people either love me, hate me, or tolerate me because they have to. But Elle? She doesn’t fall into any of those categories. She’s just… there. Watching. Waiting. Like she knows something I don’t.

And for some reason, that bugs the hell out of me.

I sprawled out across one of the red cafeteria tables, lazily stabbing at my untouched lunch with a plastic fork. Neptune High’s courtyard buzzed with the usual lunchtime chaos—cliques grouped up, voices rising and falling, fake laughter echoing off the concrete. I was about to make a snide comment about Elle’s latest weird habit of watching me when she slid onto the bench across from me, her arms crossed and that knowing look in her eyes.

“You don’t have to keep staring,” I said, flashing her my signature smirk. “I get it. I’m devastatingly handsome. You don’t have to be shy about it.”

Elle rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “Yeah, that’s not it.”

“Oh?” I leaned in slightly, feigning intrigue. “Then what is it?”

“I see through your act.”

That made me pause. No teasing comeback, no sarcastic remark—just the simple truth in her voice that somehow felt heavier than the air between us. I recovered quickly, scoffing. “Right. And what act is that?”

“The one where you pretend you don’t care,” she said simply, picking at the edge of the table. “Where you act like nothing gets to you, when really, everything does.”

I laughed, but it felt hollow. “You don’t know me.”

Elle met my gaze, steady and unreadable. “I know guys like you.”

“Oh, so I’m a stereotype now?” I shot back, shifting uncomfortably.

She tilted her head slightly. “No, you’re grieving. And instead of dealing with it, you’re using every bad coping mechanism in the book. You push people away, you drink, you pick fights—”

“I know how to fight,” I cut in, defensive.

“No,” Elle countered, leaning forward. “You know how to throw punches. You fight because you’re angry, not because you know how. There’s a difference.”

I clenched my jaw. “And what, you do?”

She nodded. “Jiu-jitsu. I had to learn.”

I frowned. “Had to?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Kids at my old school weren’t exactly the most accepting when they found out I was gay. I was thrown in dumpsters, lockers, treated like garbage. One day, I got tired of feeling weak, so I did something about it.”

Something twisted in my gut at that. I’d been a bully before. I knew what it was like to be on the other side of that equation. And hearing it now, from her, it didn’t sit right.

“So, what?” I asked. “You’re telling me to take up martial arts and all my problems will magically disappear?”

“No,” Elle said, shaking her head. “I’m saying you need better outlets. And maybe therapy.”

I barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Elle didn’t back down. “You ever hear of Elton John? Eminem? Robert Downey Jr.? Prince Harry?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What’s this, a pop quiz?”

“They all went to therapy,” she said, undeterred. “They had trauma, addictions, self-destructive behavior. And they got help.”

“Prince Harry lost his mom when he was young,” she added after a beat, voice softer now. “Everyone knows how Princess Diana died. You were, what? Ten?”

I stiffened. I didn’t like where this was going.

Elle pressed on. “You lost your mom, too.”

I swallowed hard, trying to shake off the sudden lump in my throat. “Yeah, well, therapy’s not my thing.”

Elle didn’t push, just reached into her bag and pulled out a small green ball, rolling it across the table toward me. I picked it up, turning it over in my hands.

“What is this? Some kind of toy?”

“Anti-stress ball,” she corrected. “If you ever feel like punching something, try squeezing that instead.”

I scoffed. “And this is supposed to help?”

“One day,” Elle said, standing up, slinging her bag over her shoulder, “you’ll thank me for it.”

She walked away before I could come up with a snarky reply.

I turned the ball over in my hands again, then experimentally squeezed it. It was softer than I expected, molding to my grip instead of resisting.

I didn’t know if it would help. But for some reason, I didn’t throw it away either.

I twirl the stupid stress ball between my fingers, feeling the soft rubber bend and mold under my grip. It’s been in my jacket pocket all day, and I don’t know why I haven’t just tossed it in the trash yet. Maybe because Elle would smirk that insufferable little smirk if she saw me without it. Maybe because part of me wonders if she’s right.

I shake my head. Nah. Therapy, deep talks, self-reflection—that’s not my thing.

Instead, I do what I always do: shove my hands in my pockets and keep moving. Keep going. Keep acting like I don’t feel like I’m constantly running from something I can’t outrun.

By the time I get home, the weight of the day settles on me like an anvil. It’s always worst at night. When the distractions are gone, when I don’t have a fight to pick, a party to crash, or a bottle to drain. When it’s just me and the silence and the ghosts I pretend don’t exist.

I collapse onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. The room is too quiet. Too still. The kind of stillness that makes my skin itch, my chest tighten. I reach for my phone, scrolling mindlessly, but nothing sticks. It’s all just noise.

My fingers find the stress ball again, rolling it over in my palm. I squeeze it once, then again. Harder this time, feeling the tension coil and release. It doesn’t fix anything. Doesn’t erase the ache in my chest or bring back the person I lost. But it gives my hands something to do. A way to ground myself when everything inside feels like it’s spiraling.

I close my eyes, exhaling slowly.

Maybe Elle isn’t completely full of shit.

Not that I’d ever tell her that.

A few nights later, I find myself in the parking lot behind Neptune High, leaning against my car, watching as a group of guys from the lacrosse team start shit with some scrawny sophomore. Normally, I’d step in—not to help, but because it’d be an excuse to swing at someone. To feel that rush of adrenaline that drowns out everything else.

I take a step forward, fists clenching—then I stop.

Elle’s voice echoes in my head. You fight because you’re angry, not because you know how.

I exhale sharply and take a step back. Shove my hands in my pockets. Grip the stupid stress ball until my knuckles ache. I hate that she’s in my head. Hate that I hesitate.

I hate that she’s right.

Instead of throwing a punch, I mutter a warning to the jocks and walk away before they can respond. It doesn’t feel satisfying. It doesn’t feel like a win. But it also doesn’t feel like a loss.

I don’t know what it means. Not yet.

But for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m completely drowning.

The mirror doesn’t lie.

I stare at my reflection, gripping the sink so hard my knuckles turn white. The dim glow of the bathroom light casts sharp shadows on my face, making the exhaustion beneath my eyes even more obvious. I look like shit.

The usual distractions should’ve drowned it all out by now. The party was the same as always—Dick making an ass of himself, Beaver tagging along, bodies pressed together, music loud enough to rattle my skull. I drank. I flirted. I laughed in all the right places. But something was off. The buzz wasn’t hitting right, and for the first time, I felt like I was going through the motions instead of losing myself in them.

And now, standing here, all I can hear is my own breathing. My own thoughts.

Elle’s words echo in my head, sharp and relentless. You fight because you’re angry, not because you know how.

I scoff under my breath, shaking my head. I don’t know why I let her get to me. Why I hesitated in that parking lot. Why I walked away instead of throwing the first punch like I always do.

Except, I do know.

I push away from the sink, running a hand through my hair. My fingers brush against my jacket pocket, and I feel it—the stupid stress ball Elle shoved at me. I almost want to laugh. I should’ve thrown it out days ago, but here it is, still with me. Still something I reach for without thinking.

I sink onto the edge of my bed, rolling it between my palms. Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. Release.

It’s a small thing. A stupid thing. But for some reason, it keeps me grounded when everything else feels like it’s slipping away.

I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything. That I’m not actually changing, that I don’t need to change. But the next time I find myself at another party, another fight about to start, I feel it again—that hesitation. That awareness that maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to be this guy anymore.

And then there’s Elle.

She doesn’t pull punches, doesn’t let things slide. She sees right through me, and the worst part? She doesn’t even look disappointed. She just looks at me like she expects better. Like she knows I’m better.

That should piss me off. Instead, it makes my stomach twist in a way I don’t like.

The breaking point comes sooner than I expect. It’s a fight I shouldn’t have picked, or maybe it’s a conversation I shouldn’t have had. Maybe it’s the way Elle looks at me when I snap, her expression shifting from sharp-eyed determination to something softer. Something like pity.

That’s what does it. That’s what finally makes me stop and think.

I don’t go to therapy the next day. Hell, I don’t go the next week. But the idea isn’t so impossible anymore. And when I get home that night, the bottle of whiskey on my nightstand stays sealed.

Instead, I sit on my bed, staring at the ceiling, squeezing the damn stress ball like it’s the only thing keeping me from unraveling.

Maybe it is.

I tell myself I’m not going to do it.

The idea of therapy has been rattling around in my head for days, wedged between the usual static—parties, fights, pretending I don’t feel like I’m coming apart at the seams. I keep telling myself it’s ridiculous. Therapy is for people who don’t know how to handle their shit. Therapy is for people who talk about their feelings.

And I don’t do that.

But at night, when everything quiets down, when I’m alone in my room and the weight of everything presses down on me like a cinder block on my chest, I find myself scrolling through therapist listings. My thumb hovers over a name, reading the same bio over and over again. Trauma specialist. Adolescents and young adults. Years of experience.

I snort under my breath. Like someone with a framed piece of paper on their wall is going to magically fix what’s broken in me. I lock my phone, toss it onto my nightstand, and roll onto my side. I tell myself I’m fine.

But the thought lingers.

The next day, I feel off. Not just tired, but drained in a way that’s different. Usually, my anger burns hot—sharp, explosive, something I can throw into a fist or a bottle. But lately, it’s just heavy. Like I’m walking around with weights tied to my chest.

At school, I don’t have the energy to throw my usual snark. Dick notices, of course.

“Dude, what’s with the brooding? You writing emo poetry now?”

I should have a comeback. I should roll my eyes, shove him, give him something ridiculous so he’ll drop it. But I just shrug, shoving my hands into my pockets, rolling the stress ball between my fingers. It’s stupid, but it helps.

Later, I find myself on the edge of another fight. Some asshole jock bumps into me in the parking lot, says something he shouldn’t, and before I can think, I feel my hands clench. The old me would’ve swung without hesitation. Let the anger out, let it take over, because at least it made me feel something.

But I don’t swing.

Not because I’m scared. Not because I’m second-guessing.

Because I’m exhausted.

That night, the weight of everything—the grief, the abuse, the endless cycle of trying to outrun my own thoughts—becomes unbearable. I sit on my bed, staring at the therapist’s number on my phone. My fingers hover over the call button. I tell myself this is stupid. I don’t need this.

But Elle’s voice is in my head again. That sharp-edged honesty, the way she looks at me like she expects me to be better. Like she actually believes I can be.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I press call.

The next morning, I get in my car and drive to the address they texted me. My stomach twists as I pull into the parking lot, my fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles go white. This is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. I could still turn around and no one would know.

I sit there for ten minutes, drumming my fingers against the wheel, my heart pounding. I don’t do this. I don’t sit in waiting rooms and spill my guts to strangers.

But then I think about Elle. About the way she doesn’t pity me, just sees through my bullshit and calls me on it.

And somehow, that’s what gets me out of the car.

The waiting room is quiet, painfully sterile. The receptionist barely looks at me as she slides a clipboard across the counter.

Name. Age. Reason for visit.

I stare at the paper, fingers tightening around the pen. The words blur together. I could still walk out. I could pretend this never happened.

But I don’t.

For the first time in a long time, I do something different.

I sign my name.

The thing about therapy is, it's supposed to make you feel better. Or at least, that's the sales pitch. Me? I'm still waiting for the part where I don't feel like someone's prying my ribs open with a crowbar just to take a peek at all the ugly inside.

So maybe that’s why, when I see Elle stepping out of that blue police box, I wonder if I’ve finally cracked.

Not just cracked—full-on, out-of-my-mind, hallucinating. Because that box? It’s not the first time I’ve seen it. And it sure as hell doesn’t make sense that Elle—sweet, slightly awkward Elle—just walked out of it like she was stepping off the goddamn school bus.

I go still, watching from the safety of my car. She doesn’t notice me. The wind tugs at her hair as she pulls the door shut behind her, glancing around like she’s checking to see if anyone saw. Well, congrats, Elle. You’ve got an audience of one, and I’ve got questions.

That box. I know it.

I’ve seen it before, always in the periphery, always at moments that should have nothing to do with each other. Lilly, Veronica, Duncan, and I were playing “Never Have I Ever” on the beach, half-drunk, laughing until our faces hurt. The box was there then, just beyond the firelight. I saw it again when I went to Veronica’s, desperate for her to find my mother. And again, after the 80s ball, when she had to drive me home because I was too wasted to see straight.

I’d written it off every time. Too much alcohol, too much grief, too much something. But now? Now I’m dead sober, and it’s right there in front of me. And Elle was inside it.

My skin prickles. I want to believe it’s just some bizarre coincidence. Maybe a prop for a movie set. Maybe I’m losing my mind. But when Elle walks away, stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets like she didn’t just step out of a literal impossibility, I can’t let it go.

Did Elle follow me all this time?

The idea sends a chill through me, but my gut says no. She’s never acted like a stalker. No cryptic mind games, no weird obsession. She’s kind, warm in a way I haven’t felt in years. She reminds me of my mom. That’s the worst part—because the people who remind you of love? They’re usually the ones who end up hurting you the most.

I let her disappear down the street before I get out of my car. Approaching the box feels like stepping toward a waking dream. I place a hand against the wood. Solid. Real. My heart kicks against my ribs as I pull on the door—

Locked.

Of course.

Elle’s secret is safe for now. But that’s the thing about secrets. They don’t stay buried forever.

I drive straight to Mars Investigations.

Veronica’s perched behind her desk, flipping through a case file when I storm in. She barely glances up.

“You look like someone just told you Aaron Echolls won Father of the Year. Should I be concerned??”

I drop into the chair across from her, dragging a hand through my hair. “We need to talk about Elle.”

That gets her attention. She closes the file. “Go on.”

I exhale sharply. “It’s getting weirder and weirder. You were already suspicious—no records at Pan High, that book published in 2016, an iPod filled with songs from the 2010s and 2020s. I mean, what the hell is a ‘Chappell Roan’?”

Veronica smirks. “Not ringing any early 2000s bells.”

“Yeah, no kidding. And now? I just saw her step out of that blue police box.”

Veronica’s smirk fades. “The same one?”

I nod. “The same one.”

Silence stretches between us. We don’t believe in magic. We don’t believe in time travel. We live in a world where the monsters are human and the ghosts are just memories we drink to forget. But this? This isn’t normal.

Veronica leans forward, eyes sharp. “We confront her.”

I nod. “Yeah. It’s time to find out who Elle really is.”

Chapter Text

The air in Mars Investigations was thick with tension. Veronica was pacing around the room, flipping through files like a woman on a mission. I was sprawled on the couch, watching her, while my eyes kept darting to the girl sitting in front of us. Elle Martin. Her posture was stiff, her eyes darting around, a combination of unease and… something else. It was like she was trying too hard to pretend she didn’t belong here, yet, the more I watched her, the more I was convinced that she didn’t belong here. At all.

Veronica dropped a book on the desk between us—Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. The cover was unmistakable, but the date printed on the back? That was what caught my attention. 2016. I raised an eyebrow.

Elle’s eyes widened when she saw the book. She flinched. A nervous smile appeared on her face, but it was hollow, fake.

"You’re gonna tell us what this is, Elle," Veronica said, her voice sharp, but not unkind. "How is it that you’re carrying around something from the future? Something that wasn’t even published until 2016?"

Elle shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn’t say anything at first, but I could see the gears turning in her head, working hard to come up with an answer that wouldn’t give her away. But Veronica wasn’t done.

"And then there’s this," Veronica added, pulling out a small, sleek iPod from her bag. I almost couldn't believe it. This wasn’t one of the older models—this was way beyond anything they had in 2005. This wasn’t just an iPod; it was a futuristic model, one that hadn’t even been dreamed up in this decade.

Elle looked at it, and for a moment, I saw the briefest flicker of panic in her eyes before she quickly masked it.

"Where did you get this?" Veronica pressed, crossing her arms, looking triumphant.

Elle’s breath hitched. I could see her jaw clenching. Then she snapped, "Geez, mo... mma mia!" She caught herself, but there was a split-second look of surprise on her face, as if she almost said something she didn’t mean to. The weirdest part was that it sounded almost like she was about to say… "mom."

It was a small slip, but it felt significant. Something about it was off.

Then she spoke again, her voice rising slightly in panic. "I was looking for my iPod. I couldn’t find it, okay? I need to listen to my music. I was literally about to lose my mind without it. It’s not—" She paused, cutting herself off as if she realized how desperate that sounded. But I got it. I’d never seen someone this obsessed with technology. I mean, I knew kids loved their gadgets, but this… this was something else.

Veronica arched an eyebrow. "You’re telling me you can’t survive without it? That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?"

Elle shot her a glare that could’ve cut through steel. "You ever heard of boundaries?" she snapped, her tone icy and completely savage. "Just because you’re a private eye doesn’t mean you can go rifling through people's stuff. You don’t have a P.I. badge, so don’t think you have the right to be this nosy."

I blinked. What the hell? Veronica wasn’t the type to take that sort of sass lying down, but for a second, she just stood there, blinking at Elle, completely thrown off. I wasn’t even sure if Veronica knew how to respond to that level of coldness, but it was clear—Elle wasn’t about to roll over for us.

"Uh, wow," I muttered, leaning back in my seat, raising an eyebrow. "Didn’t know you had it in you, kid."

Elle didn’t even acknowledge me. She was too busy glaring at Veronica. It was like watching a cat and a dog ready to fight, and for once, I couldn’t predict who was going to win.

Veronica recovered quickly, though, and didn’t back down. "Okay, fine, boundaries. Let’s talk about Pan High, then. You said you were from there. But I looked you up, Elle. You’re not even in their records. You never went there. So explain that, please."

Elle’s expression hardened, and she straightened in her chair, as though she was bracing for something bigger. "Pan High… that’s the thing. I am a student of Pan High," she said slowly, but with a seriousness that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Just not in the 2000s."

Veronica blinked, clearly trying to process what she just heard. "What does that even mean?"

Elle didn’t flinch. Instead, she looked us dead in the eye, and her voice dropped an octave. "I’m from the future. 2035, to be exact."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. I could feel my heart rate pick up, but I couldn’t even process it. Veronica was staring at Elle like she was a ghost, and I couldn’t blame her.

Elle continued. "You won’t find anything about me in your database because I don’t exist here, in this time. I was born in 2018. I don’t come from this year."

I tried to form a response, but my mouth went dry. "Wait. So… you’re saying… you’re from 30 years in the future?" I asked, unable to stop myself from asking. My voice came out rough, like I didn’t even believe it myself.

"Yes," Elle said flatly. "And I know how this sounds, but you’ll just have to trust me on that one. And I can prove it."

I felt the air thicken around us. Veronica’s face was a mask of skepticism, but also... curiosity. She didn’t believe Elle, not yet, but I could see the little cracks forming in her confidence.

Elle stood up suddenly. "You don’t have to believe me, but I’m going to prove it to you. Just give me some time."

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the office, leaving Veronica and me alone, staring at each other, still trying to process what the hell had just happened.

This wasn’t just some weird girl who liked to play games. She was telling us she was from the future. And if she was telling the truth… well, things were about to get a whole lot weirder.

Veronica finally broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. "What just happened?"

"God knows," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "But if she’s telling the truth… we’ve got more problems than we can count."

Veronica and I are standing in Mars Investigations, still processing everything that just happened, when the door swings open. Elle steps in, looking like she’s just stepped out of a science fiction novel. And, well, I guess that’s the point.

She holds a thin, flat camera in her hand, and I can’t help but raise an eyebrow. Not that it’s strange for her to carry weird tech—she’s been doing that since she showed up—but this thing looks like it came from an alien spacecraft or something. It’s sleek, shiny, futuristic.

"Alright," Elle says, her voice filled with purpose. "I said I could prove it, and I will."

She taps a few buttons on her strange camera, and the screen lights up. Within seconds, she’s holding up a picture of Veronica and me standing outside Neptune High. The photo is so clear, it's almost surreal. The lighting is perfect, the details crisp, and... wait, hold on. That was three days ago. How—?

Veronica and I both freeze as we see the same image on Elle's camera. It’s us, in the same exact positions we were in three days ago, looking confused in front of Neptune High. And the weirdest part? We’re wearing completely different outfits than we are right now. I mean, I don’t remember getting a picture taken, and I certainly don’t remember Elle being there.

“What the hell is that?” Veronica asks, her voice incredulous.

Elle smirks. “It’s a picture I took three days ago, right after you two interrogated me. Funny thing is, you didn’t even know me then.”

I blink. That’s... true. We had no idea who Elle was. And now, there’s this picture in front of us, like she’s some kind of ghost or time traveler or whatever the hell she is.

I glance at Veronica, who’s staring at the image with a look that mixes confusion and fascination. "What is this?" she asks, the edge of her voice softening just a little.

Elle gives a nonchalant shrug. “It’s a camera. Well, actually, it's not just a camera. It’s a phone."

"A phone?" I repeat, my eyebrows furrowing. "What the hell kind of phone takes pictures like that?"

Elle smiles, like she’s been waiting for this moment. She pulls out what looks like a sleek, futuristic version of a phone. It’s slim and smooth, with a completely flat screen. No buttons. Nothing. Just a touchscreen.

Veronica and I pull out our flip phones instinctively, both of us comparing them to Elle’s phone, which is completely alien in comparison. My flip phone feels like a dinosaur next to her device. I press a button, then another, but there’s nothing like the smooth, seamless design of Elle’s phone.

Logan, ever the practical one, points to her phone and asks, “Where are the buttons?”

“On the screen,” Elle replies casually, tapping the flat surface with her finger. “It’s called a touchscreen. It’s a Samsung Galaxy. It won’t be available until 2009, though.”

Veronica and I exchange a glance, our minds racing. A Galaxy? We know about Samsung, sure, but it wasn’t like that back then. No one had phones like this.

“Wait, so... that’s a phone?” I ask, disbelieving. “You can just... do anything on that?”

Elle grins and taps a few more buttons. “Yep. It’s got everything. I can take pictures like the one I showed you, record audio, write notes, you name it. I can do all my detective work right here. It’s a portable supertool.”

She taps her phone a few more times, the screen coming to life with the picture of us in front of Neptune High. She shows us the date it was taken: February 16, 2005.

“See? Same day you guys interrogated me.” Elle's smile is smug as she watches our faces. “I can prove I’m from the future. This is nothing compared to what I can show you.”

I glance at Veronica, who’s still trying to wrap her mind around all of this. We both know there’s something real going on here. The technology, the picture, everything about Elle is... well, it’s just too much to ignore.

“What the hell is happening?” Veronica mutters.

I’m still trying to process the sheer weirdness of it all when Elle casually takes another picture of Veronica with her phone. She’s got a steady hand, and I notice how effortlessly she snaps the shot.

I quickly do the same, trying to capture Veronica from the same angle with my flip phone. When I compare the pictures, my jaw drops. Veronica’s picture on my flip phone looks grainy and blurry, while Elle’s phone shows the image in pristine detail. It’s crystal clear.

Veronica takes a step back, glancing at me. “Logan, do you...?”

I don’t even know what to say. But the difference between her photo and mine is undeniable.

“What the hell kind of technology is this?” I ask, still in shock. "It’s like the future... but... how is this possible?”

Elle seems pleased with our response, but she doesn’t give us the satisfaction of a long-winded explanation. Instead, she says, “Technology in my time? It’s way better. In 2035, we’ve got everything figured out. It evolved a lot over the last 30 years. This is just the start of it.”

Veronica and I exchange a look. This is insane, but it’s also starting to feel... real. Elle’s really from the future.

Elle shrugs and pockets her phone, looking back at us. “Anyway, there’s more to me than just cool gadgets. I’m trying to figure something out. Someone in the future. I don’t know who he is yet, but I’ll find out.”

I nod slowly, still processing the craziness of it all. "Okay, but let’s talk about something else for a minute. We have a few pictures here of you with our new science teacher, John Smith." Veronica pulls out the printed pictures of Elle walking with him near the blue box.

Elle’s eyes widen, but she laughs a little. “Oh, you mean Mr. Smith? Well, he’s not really ‘Mr. Smith.’ His name’s not even John, it’s Doctor.”

"Doctor who?" I ask, teasing.

Elle laughs softly. “Just... Doctor. That’s his name. He’s a time-traveling alien. The blue box is his ship. He’s from another planet. And he’s probably the reason I’m here in the first place. He travels through time and space with his companions, and sometimes he pops by Earth to check on things.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Wait. So, you’re telling me your science teacher is an alien?”

Elle nods, completely serious. “Yep. And he loves humans, which is why he’s always here. His whole planet was destroyed, and now he just travels. Sometimes, he brings me along for the ride.”

I feel a little dizzy from everything that’s happening. But then, I remember something.

"Alright, but you still didn’t answer my question from yesterday,” I say. “But I saw my keys levitating... Did you do that?”

Elle’s face shifts, like she knows I’m not going to let it go. “Fine,” she says with a sigh, squeezing her eyes shut, focusing hard. “I’ll show you.”

I watch as the stapler on Veronica’s desk suddenly lifts off the table, hovering in the air. Elle’s face tightens as the stapler wavers, then falls to the ground with a loud clatter.

Veronica stares at the stapler in shock, and I can only mutter, “Holy crap, that’s real.”

Elle adjusted her hair, looking almost embarrassed. “Yeah, I have... powers. Telekinesis. It’s not a big deal.”

Veronica picks up the stapler and sets it back on the table, still processing. “You’re like... Carrie, but... less terrifying?”

Elle smiles. “More like Jean Grey from X-Men.”

I chuckle, finally letting myself relax for the first time in what feels like forever. “Okay, yeah. That’s kinda cool.”

Veronica nods slowly, still shaking her head in disbelief. “This is insane.”

Elle shrugs again. “You asked.”

I couldn't believe it. I really couldn't. Veronica and I had spent the past hour trying to get some answers out of this Elle girl, who had already blown our minds once by pulling out this sleek, glowing phone that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. She’d shown us pictures, high-definition, like nothing we had ever seen, of us—before we even met her. As if she knew us. And then the kicker: she confirmed she wasn’t from around here. Not even from around now.

When she started talking about the Doctor—John Smith, our cool science teacher who was clearly hiding something—I thought she was just some weird conspiracy theorist. But she kept proving it, piece by piece, showing us things from the future with that damn futuristic phone, making us question everything we thought we knew.

It wasn’t until she said she’d show us the “real deal” that I got the full picture. I couldn’t have known how ridiculous things were about to get.

We followed her, almost hesitant, through the streets of Neptune, trying to wrap our heads around everything she’d just dropped on us. She led us to a quiet alleyway, and as we walked, I caught Veronica’s skeptical look. She was on edge. We both were. This couldn’t be real. But the way Elle had predicted things? It was hard to argue.

And then, there it was.

A blue police box. In the middle of the alley.

I blinked.

"No way," Veronica muttered beside me, just as stunned. "This is a joke, right?"

Elle turned to us, a grin tugging at her lips. "This," she said, arms wide, "is the TARDIS."

I looked at her, then at the blue box, then back at her. "A what?"

"The TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimensions In Space," Elle explained, clearly getting a kick out of our disbelief. "It's a time machine. And a spaceship."

Veronica and I exchanged a look, like we were both trying to make sense of the absurdity of it. A time machine. In the form of a police box. In the middle of Neptune.

"You're serious?" I asked, incredulous.

Elle didn’t flinch. "Watch." She walked right up to the door and pushed it open.

I half expected the thing to collapse on her or start buzzing with fake lights and sound effects. But instead, she stepped inside, and I caught a glimpse of... well, it wasn’t what I expected.

Veronica was quick to follow, but I stayed back for a second. Was this some kind of elaborate prank?

Then it hit me.

The inside of the box? Way bigger than the outside.

My eyes were wide as I stood frozen, staring. It was like looking inside some kind of futuristic warehouse. There were consoles, screens, and buttons I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

I stepped inside. Veronica had already started looking around, but I was still in disbelief. "It’s... bigger on the inside."

Veronica, equally speechless, just nodded. I didn’t know what to say. Nothing made sense anymore.

"Impossible," I whispered to myself.

"Impossible is kind of the point," came a voice from behind me. I turned to find the Doctor standing at the controls, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Well, go on," he said, like we were supposed to just accept this as normal. "Pick a time. Where do you want to go?"

Veronica shot me a look, and I could tell she was deep in thought. "The past," she said finally, her voice laced with excitement. "I’ve always wanted to see it—like, really see it. Before everything got... messy."

I raised an eyebrow, a grin creeping up my face. "The past? You sure about that? I’d rather see the future. Find out how things turn out."

Veronica crossed her arms, clearly not happy with my choice. "Of course you’d want to see the future. Always thinking ahead."

"Someone has to," I shot back, my grin widening.

"Alright, alright," Elle stepped in between us, clearly trying to mediate. "Why not both?" She looked at the Doctor. "We can go to the past first, then to the future?"

The Doctor nodded, a smile breaking across his face. "I like the way you think. Allons-y!"

And then the madness began.

I grabbed onto a handrail as the TARDIS started to hum, the room shaking as if the entire box was about to be torn apart. The noise swirled around us, deafening at first, until it suddenly stopped.

I opened my eyes, and we were somewhere else. Not Neptune anymore. Not even California.

We stepped out of the TARDIS into what looked like ancient Rome. The sun blazed overhead, and the sounds of the city, distant but real, were everywhere. I blinked, trying to process. It looked like something straight out of a history book. Only... better. More alive.

"This is... this is insane," Veronica breathed, her voice full of awe.

"Welcome to the past," the Doctor said, already moving toward a set of ancient ruins. "Have a look around. You’re in real history now."

We spent what felt like hours walking around, exploring, taking in everything that felt so surreal. Eventually, we made our way back to the TARDIS. It was time for round two.

"Ready for the future?" the Doctor asked, his grin infectious.

We all nodded. No turning back now.

The Doctor said it again, the words practically bouncing off the walls: "Allons-y!"

The TARDIS started up again, the familiar sound filling the air, shaking us as we held on. The swirling noises and shakes grew louder, then faded away.

When we stepped out this time, we weren’t in ancient Rome.

We were in space.

There was Earth. But not like I’d ever seen it before. We were on a spaceship, looking out at the planet like it was a marble beneath us. It was stunning.

And the technology around us was so different—futuristic video games, consoles with holograms. I had no idea what half of it did, but that didn’t stop me and Veronica from diving in.

We spent hours playing the games. Veronica was ridiculously competitive, but I was just as determined to win. Eventually, Elle and the Doctor came over, giving us a playful side-eye as we got absorbed in the games.

Eventually, we got back to the TARDIS, and the Doctor gave us one final smile.

"Well, I guess this is where I leave you," he said, as if we had just spent a casual afternoon in another dimension. "Back to 2005, same day, only... five minutes have passed."

Veronica, for once, had nothing to say. I didn’t either. This whole thing? It was way beyond what we were prepared for.

But I couldn’t help but wonder—what else was out there?

I leaned back in Veronica’s office chair, balancing it on two legs as Elle sat across from us. The girl from the future. Future Girl, as I liked to call her, much to her annoyance.

"So," I said, propping my feet on Veronica’s desk, "do we have flying cars yet?"

Elle rolled her eyes. "No, but we have self-driving cars and electric cars."

I glanced at Veronica, raising an eyebrow. "That's kind of a letdown. I was expecting some Fifth Element-level hovercrafts by now."

Veronica smirked. "Guess we’ll just have to settle for Teslas and disappointing reality."

I turned back to Elle, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she was literally from the future. "So, Future Girl, tell me—do you at least have a hoverboard? Like Back to the Future?"

Elle groaned. "Oh my God, can we not? Marty McFly didn’t have half the problems I did. He just had to make sure his parents fell in love and not screw up his own birth. I had actual issues."

Veronica nodded, intrigued. "So, who do you relate to then?"

"Chris Halliwell," Elle said without hesitation. "From Charmed, season six."

I blinked. "Never saw it."

Veronica tilted her head. "The time-traveling guy with the family drama?"

"Exactly," Elle said, pointing at her. "Except, you know, no demons, no witches. Just a screwed-up family and a whole lot of emotional baggage."

I whistled. "Sounds like a blast. Speaking of Back to the Future comparisons, what about the Doc? The Doctor is basically Emmett Brown, right?"

Elle's expression turned deadpan. "Oh, he hates that comparison."

Veronica leaned forward. "Really? Why?"

"Because Emmett Brown is just a human scientist who built his time machine. The Doctor is an alien. He didn’t build the TARDIS; he stole it. From his planet. During a war."

I let the chair legs drop back to the ground with a thud. "Okay, that is so badass and cool."

Elle smirked. "Yeah, it kinda is."

Veronica tapped her pen on the desk, her detective instincts kicking in. "Okay, future girl. You clearly know things. Do you know who killed Lilly?"

Elle stiffened. "I don’t have to answer that."

My heart clenched for a second, but I forced a smirk. "But you do know."

Elle sighed. "Yeah. I know the whole story. I even listened to a true crime podcast about it."

Veronica and I exchanged confused glances. "What’s a podcast?" Veronica asked.

Elle sighed, like she was explaining this to two cavemen. "It’s like a radio show, but instead of music, people just talk about stuff. Like true crime. I listened to a lot of them. Read a lot of mystery books too. I had a lot of time."

Something about the way she said that caught my attention. "Why?"

Elle’s expression darkened for a second. "Because I was bored. And because my family wasn’t really a family to me. I wanted to figure out why."

Veronica looked like she wanted to press further, but I beat her to it. "So why not just tell us who killed Lilly? Save us the trouble?"

Elle shook her head. "Because I can’t ruin the timeline."

Veronica frowned. "But if you could tell me—"

"I won’t," Elle interrupted. "This is your life path, Veronica, not mine. You have to figure it out yourself. Besides…" She smirked. "It would be too easy if I just told you. And easy is boring."

I snorted. "She’s got a point. You love the thrill, the suspense, the chase."

Veronica narrowed her eyes at me. "I love justice, Logan."

I shrugged. "Same thing."

Elle checked her watch—or whatever futuristic gadget she had—and stood up. "I gotta go."

I smirked, unable to resist one last joke. "Try not to make your mom fall in love with you, McFly."

Elle shot me an unimpressed look. "Highly doubt that’ll happen, considering my mom isn’t into girls. She’s into guys." She looked me up and down pointedly. "The kind of guys like you."

Veronica burst out laughing, while I just blinked. "Wait, should I be flattered or concerned?"

Veronica grinned at Elle. "So do we need to make sure your parents fall in love, or…?"

Elle just smirked. "Oh, you’ll see it pretty soon enough."

Veronica and I exchanged a confused glance. "Wait—what does that mean? Who are your parents?" Veronica pressed.

Elle just grinned. "Spoilers."

And with that, she walked out, leaving us both staring after her.

I let out a low whistle. "Okay. I’m officially freaked out. And also kinda impressed."

Veronica nodded, tapping her pen against her desk thoughtfully. "Yeah. I think Future Girl just out-mystery’d me."

Chapter Text

Standing in front of my locker, I was minding my own business, which is a rarity, I know. Usually, my business involves making sarcastic comments at Veronica, annoying my dad, or seeing how many detentions I can rack up in a single semester. But today? Today, I was just existing. Being chill. Keeping it low-key.

And then, of course, Wallace had to disrupt my perfectly relaxed morning by casually starting a scandal.

He was leaning against the lockers, munching on a biscuit like he was the main character in some kind of snack-based action movie. Veronica was next to him, sorting through her locker with that patented Mars intensity, which, by the way, I’m 80% sure is how she organizes her sock drawer, too.

A guy walked by, gave Wallace a nod. "Good game, Wallace."

Wallace acknowledged him with a subtle head tilt, biscuit still firmly in hand. Cool guy behavior. I respected it.

And then Jack, one of Wallace’s teammates, appeared out of nowhere, eyes wild, voice raised like he was announcing the end of the world.

"Yo, Wallace! You hear some guys from Pan High stole our parrot? Do not take this lying down!"

I blinked. Excuse me. What?

Wallace froze mid-bite. His eyes widened in shock. "They stole Polly?" he croaked, like someone had just informed him that his pet goldfish had been brutally kidnapped.

Jack, still dramatically lingering for effect, delivered the final, devastating blow. "Gone."

And then—just to really nail home the drama—he turned on his heel and vanished into the crowd like some tragic, basketball-playing ghost.

I walked over, eyebrows raised. “Wait. Polly was stolen?” I asked. “Our parrot? Like, our actual parrot?”

Veronica turned to me, utterly unfazed, as always. “Yes, Logan, our actual parrot. Not a metaphorical parrot. Not a parrot-shaped hallucination. A real, feathered, possibly traumatized parrot is missing.”

"Well," I said, leaning against the lockers, "that’s pretty shocking. Who knew our school had a parrot, let alone that it was valuable enough for an inter-school heist?"

Wallace, meanwhile, was still trying to process the betrayal. “Me and Polly, we bonded,” he muttered, voice tinged with pain. “It’ll eat right from my hand.”

Before I could offer my condolences on his deep and meaningful friendship with a bird, some random dude walked up and gave Wallace a casual nod. "What’s up, Wallace?" he said, completely unaware that Wallace was in the middle of a personal crisis.

Wallace barely acknowledged him. He was in mourning.

“So, let me get this straight,” I said, turning to Veronica. “Someone at Pan High swiped our school’s bird, and you, in your infinite wisdom and inability to say no to chaos, have decided to investigate?”

Veronica smirked. “Principal Clemmons asked me to. If I find Polly, I get a letter of recommendation and a new locker location.”

“Oh wow, what a bargain,” I said dryly. “So basically, you’re playing Find the Feathered Felon for an easier walk between classes?”

“Correct.”

“Cool, cool, totally normal.”

At that moment, Elle came bounding over like a human Labrador retriever, her expression bouncing between excitement and concern. “Hey, what was stolen?”

“Our school mascot,” I told her. “Polly the Parrot. Apparently, Wallace had an emotional bond with it.”

Elle nodded, completely serious. “Tragic.”

Veronica turned to her, a new glint in her eye. “Wait a second. Didn’t you say you would be in Pan High?”

Elle froze. “Uh. Yeah. Why?”

“Because,” Veronica said, “I need your help. Logan and I are going undercover at Pan High to investigate. We’re going in disguise as Archie Comics characters. I’ll be Betty, Logan will be Archie—because, let’s face it, he already has the rich boy privilege and the questionable decision-making skills.”

“Hey,” I objected, mildly offended. “I resent that. My decision-making skills are very questionable, but strategic.”

Elle, meanwhile, looked deeply intrigued. “So I get to go undercover, too?”

“Obviously.”

She grinned. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Veronica nodded. “Great. We’ll meet you at Pan High.”

And just like that, I had been roped into yet another ridiculous Veronica Mars investigation. My life choices were clearly spiraling. But, hey. At least this one involved disguises.

What could possibly go wrong?

Undercover missions are supposed to be serious, stealthy affairs. Infiltrate the enemy, gather intelligence, blend in. You know, classic spy stuff. But when you throw Veronica, Elle, and me into the mix, it turns into a sitcom on steroids.

Veronica was going for the classic "girl-next-door infiltrating the jock table" look. Pink hoodie, check. Cute skirt, check. A look that screamed "I'm totally approachable and absolutely not investigating you"—also, check.

Me? I had the most obvious disguise ever. Letterman jacket, smug jock grin, the whole "I live for high school sports" persona. If acting was a real career option for me, I’d win an award for how convincingly I threw myself into the role of an obnoxious, overenthusiastic transfer student who just loved school spirit. I even gave high-fives to strangers. STRANGERS.

But the real showstopper? Elle.

She showed up looking like she was auditioning for a reboot of Mulan but without the musical numbers. She had a cool t-shirt under a denim jacket with a fur collar, black jeans, a flannel shirt tied around her waist, and her hair tucked under a gray knitted hat. Normally, Elle’s style leaned more toward tomboyish-but-girly, but tonight? 100% tomboy. Like, full-on I-just-walked-out-of-a-grunge-band-reunion levels. Veronica and I didn't recognize her at first.

"Future girl, is that you?" I squinted at her.

Elle smirked. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I look like a guy. It’s perfect. No one will suspect a thing."

I pointed a dramatic finger at her, quoting the dragon Mushu from Mulan. "Dishonor on you, dishonor on your cow, dis—"

She groaned. "Oh my God, Logan."

"No, seriously," I grinned. "You really commit to the bit. Is this your 'pretending to be a guy' phase? Because, I gotta say, you pull it off."

Elle rolled her eyes. "I have masculine facial features. It works."

Veronica crossed her arms. "But why not wear something a little more… I don’t know, feminine?"

Elle shrugged. "Because I don’t feel like it. Also, screw gender norms."

Veronica and I exchanged glances, both impressed and slightly taken aback. Elle was just casually rewriting the rulebook of social expectations like it was no big deal. Respect.

Then came the main event: infiltrating the jock table.

We made our way over, and just as planned, Veronica worked her magic. A jock (who would probably struggle to spell his own name on a good day) spotted her and wasted no time inviting her over.

"Got some room over here!"

She flashed a perfectly calculated smile. "Oh, wow, thanks! I was just scouting for a place to sit."

This guy, whose name turned out to be Richie, stood up and gestured like he was rolling out a red carpet. "This is a good choice, I promise."

Curtis, a tall Black guy sitting next to Richie, nodded. "How you doin’?"

"I'm Betty," Veronica said sweetly.

I immediately followed with, "And I’m Archie. Betty’s boyfriend."

Elle, still pretending to be a guy, threw up a peace sign. "Jughead."

Veronica didn’t even blink before playing along. "So, you guys all play basketball?"

"Curtis and I do," Richie said.

"I’m the team manager," Zeke added. "Which is like being on the team."

"Which is like being near the team," Richie corrected with a smirk.

I had to admit, I liked these guys already.

"I love basketball!" Veronica gushed. "I'm kind of a freak when it comes to sports. I totally get into it."

"Same!" I said, way too enthusiastically. "I would love to try out!"

Elle, keeping the charade going, nodded. "I, uh, write sports articles."

Richie, clearly enjoying our company, leaned forward. "Are we talking face paint?"

Veronica didn't miss a beat. "Face painting, hair streaking—at my old school, I was Horny."

Curtis choked on his drink. Richie blinked. I nearly died. Elle covered her mouth, but I could hear her snort.

"We were the Rhinos!" Veronica quickly clarified. "I was the mascot."

Richie, recovering, asked, "What school was that?"

"Riverdale," Elle blurted.

Richie frowned. "Never heard of it."

Good. No way did this dude read Archie Comics.

Before we could enjoy the victory of Veronica's near self-sabotage, Richie leaned in, lowering his voice. "Hey, did you guys hear? Someone stole the Neptune parrot."

Elle and I exchanged glances. Suspicious.

The rest of the table reacted excitedly, as if stealing a high school mascot was the equivalent of winning the lottery.

Veronica arched a brow. "Parrot? And you thought rhino was weird?"

"They're the Pirates," Zeke explained. "So, you know, their mascot's a parrot."

Richie grinned. "Whoever stole it is my hero. Neptune High sucks. Believe me."

I almost broke character. This fool was openly trash-talking my school. The disrespect! But I kept my cool, nodding along like a true undercover agent. I plastered on my best cocky grin and said, "Ugh, Neptune High? The worst."

"Totally," Veronica said, playing along.

Richie leaned back. "We beat them every year."

Zeke smirked. "That was then. This is now. I tell you, that Fennel kid is amazing."

Veronica, momentarily forgetting that she was supposed to be Betty from Riverdale and not Neptune’s biggest Wallace Fennel fan, perked up. "He is? Really?"

I kicked her under the table.

She cleared her throat and batted her lashes innocently. "I mean, what, amazing? Really? I’m sure you’ll beat him in the game."

Richie nodded. "We’re not gonna lose. I guarantee it. We got something special up our sleeve for Neptune."

Okay. Now we were definitely onto something.

Before I could pry further, someone came running up to the table, practically gasping for air. "Hey, Richie! You're not gonna believe this! They’ve got our goat!"

Cue the collective "WHAT?!"

Richie shot up. "What?!"

The kid nodded frantically. "Neptune, man. Billy stole! It’s so on!"

And just like that, the table exploded into chaos. Jocks shouting, bets being placed, plans being made.

Meanwhile, Elle, Veronica, and I sat there, blinking in stunned silence.

Mascot wars. High school espionage. And me, trapped in a letterman jacket, watching it all unfold.

Just another normal day in our ridiculous lives.

The moment I see Veronica strutting towards Weevil like she’s got this whole thing figured out, I know this is about to be a disaster. Not that I don’t love a good disaster—I thrive in them—but this one feels extra cringeworthy.

Weevil and his boys are lounging at the bottom of the terrace wall, shooting the breeze, like they have all the time in the world. Veronica, always one to make an entrance, leans in close to Weevil and whispers something in his ear. I can’t hear her, but whatever it is, it makes him blink in confusion.

“Excuse me?” Weevil asks, tilting his head.

“You took the parrot, didn’t you?” Veronica says, her voice all confidence and accusation. “You’re taking the money on a team everyone thinks will win. Why would you have that unless you knew that Wallace, our best player, wouldn’t play?”

Weevil stares at her, then smirks. “You know, I always knew you had a thing for me, but I never thought you wanted me for my brain.”

Veronica scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I’m gagging on the inside.”

“Come on, Veronica. Do I look that smart? I’m just a simple bookie,” Weevil says, spreading his arms wide. “I got both sides of the line covered. And ask yourself this—why would I help you find the parrot if stealing the parrot was my secret plan, huh?”

Before Veronica can snap back, Elle steps forward. She doesn’t do the whole melodramatic buildup like Veronica. No slow-burn accusations, no coy games. Just… something weird.

She places her hands on either side of Weevil’s temples, closing her eyes like she’s channeling some next-level Jedi shit. Weevil, for some reason, just rolls with it, letting her do her thing. I half expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. After a few seconds, Elle lets go and opens her eyes.

“He didn’t do it,” she says, matter-of-factly.

Veronica crosses her arms, unimpressed. “And you know this how?”

Elle shrugs. “I just know. Call it a hunch. Call it being psychic.”

Veronica lets out a sharp breath, like she’s about to argue, but Elle cuts her off.

“This whole thing is messed up,” Elle says, turning to Veronica. “You came here already convinced Weevil did it. Why? Because he does some illegal stuff? Because he’s Latino?” She shakes her head. “That’s straight-up racist, Veronica.”

Veronica’s mouth opens, then shuts. No retort.

“Half of Neptune High does shady crap,” Elle continues. “And let me guess—most of them are white? But you go straight to Weevil. That’s a problem. If someone accused me of harassing a girl just because I’m a lesbian, that’d be homophobic. Same way assuming Weevil’s guilty because he’s a Latino guy who happens to run a betting pool is racist. You wouldn’t do this if he were some rich white dude.”

Damn. Future Girl’s got a way of cutting through the BS.

Weevil, for once, looks at a white girl like he’s genuinely impressed. “You’re alright,” he says, nodding at Elle. “What’s your name?”

“Elle,” she says simply.

“Weevil.” Then he shoots Veronica a look. “Maybe you should take notes.”

Veronica’s expression is somewhere between betrayed and furious, but before she can say anything, I decide to toss my two cents in.

“Damn, Future Girl,” I say, shaking my head. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Elle just shrugs. “Just don’t be racist or homophobic. Pretty simple.”

Veronica whirls on me, eyes flashing. “You’re taking her side?”

“Uh, yeah,” I say, deadpan. “Mostly because she’s right. And also, not gonna lie, you kinda suck at this Nancy Drew thing.”

Veronica glares, but it’s clear she knows she lost this round. She turns on her heel and stalks off, probably off to prove a different innocent person guilty.

Weevil watches her go, then glances back at Elle. “You ever need anything, psychic girl, you let me know.”

Elle just nods, completely unfazed. And me? Well, I just add one more reason to the list of why Future Girl is way more fun to have around than Veronica. This is going to be interesting.

I was leaning against the doorway, watching as Veronica and Elle made their way into the journalism classroom, the glow of computer screens illuminating students absorbed in their articles. Elle had that determined look in her eye, the one she always got when she was about to prove everyone wrong. And, for once, Veronica actually admitted she had been wrong.

“Okay, so maybe I jumped the gun on Weevil,” Veronica said, arms crossed. “We need more evidence. You were right.”

Elle didn’t gloat. She just nodded, as if she expected it.

Veronica turned her attention to Meg Manning, the ever-smiling, picture-perfect anchor of Neptune High's news program.

“Meg, this is Elle Martin,” Veronica said. “She’s…new.”

Elle gave a small wave, and Meg smiled politely before Veronica got straight to the point.

“We need to rewatch the video that interrupted your newscast.”

Meg nodded, pulling up the file on the screen. The grainy video played, showing the hooded figure making his dramatic threat to off Neptune High’s precious parrot if Wallace didn’t play in the upcoming basketball game. The quality was absolute garbage, though. It could've been anyone under that hood.

“Nothing stands out,” Veronica muttered, frowning.

Elle, however, had a different idea. “Meg, can I take this file? If I have a better version, I might be able to find something.”

Meg didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, of course.”

Elle plugged in her USB drive, transferred the file, and left the classroom. Naturally, Veronica and I followed her out.

“Okay, future girl,” I called, catching up. “What exactly are you going to do with that file? Wave a magic wand and suddenly get high-definition video from that pixelated mess?”

Elle shot me a look over her shoulder. “You forget I’m from 2035. My AI can clean up the video.”

Ah, yes. The whole "I’m from the future" thing. At this point, it was normal enough that I barely blinked at it.

Elle walked purposefully out of the school, and we followed her all the way to the blue police box parked out of sight. Otherwise known as the TARDIS.

Inside, the Doctor was already messing with buttons and levers.

“Where to?” he asked, glancing at Elle.

“2035. My place.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Any particular reason, or just nostalgia?”

Elle held up her USB drive. “I need my AI to enhance this video.”

“Ah! Excellent reason. Allons-y!”

Veronica, Elle, and I barely had time to grab the handrails before the TARDIS started up, shaking violently as it made that distinct swirling noise. Moments later, it stopped.

When we stepped outside, we found ourselves in an ordinary-looking bedroom.

“This is your house?” Veronica asked.

“Yeah. My mom’s at work, and my annoying stepdad is out of town. We’re good.”

I noticed something off. No family photos. That was…weird.

Elle wasted no time, heading to her desk and booting up the sleekest, most futuristic Mac computer I had ever seen. The thing made our school’s 2005 models look prehistoric. She plugged in her USB, opened a program I didn’t recognize, and got to work.

“What program is that?” Veronica asked, watching the screen as the video loaded.

“AI,” Elle said simply.

“Like the movie?” I asked, smirking.

Elle rolled her eyes. “Not exactly.”

We watched as the AI cleaned up the video, sharpening the blurry pixels into clear details. After about five minutes, the quality was significantly better. Elle zoomed in, scanning the image… until Veronica suddenly pointed at the screen.

“There! The sneaker. It has the number 13 on it.”

Elle took a screenshot.

“I need to call Meg,” Veronica said, but then frowned. “Wait, can I even call her from here?”

“Ooooh, time travel problem,” I teased.

The Doctor, however, had a solution. He took her flip phone, then pulled out his ridiculous silver and blue screwdriver-looking thing. He pressed a button, and it made some strange buzzing sound.

“What is that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Sonic screwdriver,” the Doctor said, handing Veronica’s phone back to her. “You can now call 2005 as if we never left.”

“Do mine too,” I said immediately. “What if Dick calls? He’d assume I got abducted or something.”

The Doctor sighed but repeated the process, handing my phone back.

Veronica, meanwhile, had already dialed Meg.

“Meg, I need a basketball program,” she said as soon as Meg answered.

And just like that, the mystery got one step closer to being solved.

I lean against the locker, my eyes fixed on Elle as she digs through her backpack, looking for something. I’ve been dying to ask her this for a while now, but every time I try, I feel like I’m stepping on some invisible line that I’m not supposed to cross. But I can’t ignore it anymore.

“So,” I start, voice casual, trying to keep it cool, “where do you live when you’re not at school?”

Elle freezes for a second, like she didn’t expect me to ask. Her back is still to me, but I can see her shoulders tense before she lets out a small sigh.

“I don’t really have a home here,” she says, her voice quieter than usual. It doesn’t hit me immediately, but when it does, I feel like someone just sucker-punched me in the stomach. I blink at her, waiting for more, but that’s all she says.

“Wait,” I say, my tone shifting to confusion. “What do you mean you don’t have a home?”

She turns around to face me, her expression unreadable, like she’s trying to decide if she wants to tell me or not. A quick glance at her eyes, though, and I know she’s not lying. Elle doesn’t lie—at least not to me. And that’s what makes this so... off.

I cross my arms, trying to keep my cool. “You don’t have a home... in 2005?”

Elle looks away for a second, and I can tell she’s thinking. “Nope. Not really. I mostly live in the TARDIS.”

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “The TARDIS? As in the TARDIS? Doctor’s TARDIS?”

She nods, looking embarrassed now, like she’s ashamed of it somehow. But why would she be?

I can’t help but chuckle. “Well, future girl, you’re kind of hard to pin down, aren’t you?”

Her lips twitch into a small smile at the nickname, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she mutters. “But I don’t sleep in the TARDIS much, you know? The Doctor’s always off on other adventures. And the TARDIS can’t always be in Neptune. So... yeah. Not much of a home life, I guess.”

My heart sinks a little. “That sucks,” I say before I can stop myself. I hate the idea of her just bouncing around, with no real place to call home. “You could... I mean, you could crash at my place. I’ve got a whole guest room that’s hardly ever used. You wouldn’t even have to put up with my dad.”

Elle’s eyes flash, and I can tell she’s immediately not into the idea. She folds her arms across her chest, giving me a look like I’ve just suggested she live with a bunch of serial killers. “Uh, no thanks,” she says. “Your dad gives me the ick.”

“The ick?” I say, furrowing my brow. “What the hell does that even mean?”

She sighs, rolling her eyes. “You really don’t get it, huh? Ick. Disgusting. Like, toxic narcissist vibes. Maybe even cheater vibes. Your dad is just... a walking red flag.”

I blink, trying to process that. “You really think that about him?”

Elle nods. “I’m telling you, Logan. He’s a major problem. Trust me on this one.”

It’s strange, hearing someone else say it so bluntly. But she’s right. I’ve known it for years, but hearing someone else say it out loud, especially Elle, who’s been around for... God, who knows how long, makes it hit different.

I think about it for a second, then offer up another solution. “Okay, okay. How about the poolhouse? It’s separate from the house, and you wouldn’t have to deal with my dad at all. You could sleep in one of the guest rooms, and it’s... quieter there.”

Elle hesitates, then shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I can deal with that. Poolhouse it is.”

I grin. “Alright, deal. And you know what? We can play video games there, too. I’ve got this amazing X-Men Legends game on my computer.”

Elle’s eyes light up at that. “X-Men Legends? I love X-Men! But... I’ve never played that game. Or really any X-Men video game, actually.”

I’m surprised. “Wait, what? How have you not played X-Men Legends?”

She shrugs. “Well, in the 2030s, X-Men aren’t really popular in video games anymore. It’s all about MCU stuff now.”

I stare at her blankly. “MCU? What’s that?”

Elle looks at me, her face suddenly doing that awkward “oops, I forgot” thing she does sometimes. “Oh. Right. You don’t know. The MCU—the Marvel Cinematic Universe. It’s this thing that starts in 2008 with Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, and Hulk. All those movies... they connect. Like, they share the same universe. There’s even an Avengers movie in 2012 with Iron Man, Captain America, Hulk, Black Widow, and Hawkeye, and it’s a team-up to fight Loki. And then... yeah. X-Men actually join the MCU later on, too.”

I blink. “Wait. X-Men join the MCU? But the X-Men movies were... their own thing.”

“Yup. It’s all connected now. Disney bought Fox in 2019, so now X-Men are part of the MCU. Isn’t that crazy?”

I can’t even process that. “So... you’re saying that Iron Man and Wolverine could, like, team up?”

Elle’s grin is wide now. “Exactly. In my time, it’s all about that. Avengers, X-Men, Spider-Man... it’s all mixed up.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Man, you really are from the future, huh?”

Elle just shrugs, looking completely at ease with the whole time-travel thing. “I try not to let it get to my head.”

I laugh, but something in me still feels heavy, knowing Elle doesn’t have a home... at least not one in this time. But I’ve got her back, and I can at least offer her some space. A place to crash, a place where she’s safe.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally show her how awesome X-Men Legends really is.

Chapter Text

I slouched on the worn leather couch in Veronica’s office, Elle beside me, both of us staring at the open laptop on her desk. My eyes flicked over the screen, scanning the endless folders. Names I knew. Duncan. Lilly. Me. Even Elle had a file.

“What is it with the Mars family?” I muttered, shaking my head.

Before Elle could respond with something undoubtedly sarcastic, Veronica stormed in, eyes blazing. She crossed the room in three long strides and slammed the laptop shut, yanking it toward her like it might vanish if she didn’t clutch it tight.

“God, Veronica,” I drawled, watching her with mild amusement. “And you really believe Lilly’s murder was some sort of vast conspiracy?”

Elle, leaning back against the couch, smirked. “Yeah, Veronica, I mean, you have files on everyone. Trust issues much? Or do you think I time-traveled here just to kill Lilly?”

Veronica’s expression didn’t shift. “There’s a file on everyone.”

I exchanged a glance with Elle before standing up. “Yeah. It’s thorough. And I’m glad my alibi held up.”

“Out of the country,” Veronica confirmed, her voice steady. “Two eyewitnesses. It’s airtight.”

Elle raised a hand. “And for the record, I wasn’t even here when Lilly was murdered. Wrong place, wrong time—literally.”

Veronica’s brows furrowed. “Then why did Logan see the TARDIS at the beach? When we were playing ‘Never Have I Ever’?”

Elle waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, the Doctor just wrote the wrong date on the console. I wasn’t supposed to arrive until February—Lilly was already dead by then. And besides, I didn’t even know her.”

I crossed my arms and studied Veronica. “Hey, what do you think Lilly would make of you investigating all the people who loved her?”

Veronica exhaled sharply, then pointed to her chest, her voice dropping to something softer. “I loved Lilly. Maybe if I didn’t, I’d be able to drop this.”

She sank into her chair, the weight of it all pressing down on her. Silence settled between us until Elle, uncharacteristically serious, spoke. “If my best friend could be murdered in my future, I’d do the same thing.”

I watched Veronica for a moment before reaching into my pocket. “Okay, I just came to give you this.”

I held out a folded check. Payment for finding my mother—or, more accurately, for finding out that she was really dead.

Elle did the same, handing over money for tracking down the blackmailer who’d threatened to out her to the entire school.

“Hey, thanks,” I said, my voice low, awkward. “For, uh, you looking for my mother.”

Veronica took the check, staring at it for a beat before folding it neatly. “Your mom was always nice to me,” she said, and then she tore the check in half.

I blinked. Surprised. Then, inexplicably, I smiled. A half-smile, sure, but still. Elle, ever observant, grinned at the exchange, her gaze flicking between me and Veronica like she knew something I didn’t—or at least, something I wouldn’t admit yet.

Without another word, I turned and left, Elle falling into step beside me as we walked through the streets of Neptune.

After a few moments, Elle bumped my shoulder. “So, you like Veronica.”

I scoffed. “What?”

“You like Veronica,” she repeated, sing-song. “Lo-gan and Ve-ro-ni-ca, sittin’ in a tree—”

I groaned. “I don’t like Veronica.”

Elle rolled her eyes. “Please. You totally do.”

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “Fine. Maybe I have a crush on her. Happy?”

Elle practically beamed. “I knew it! I’m so happy for you. You guys should totally date.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, except she’s dating that deputy—what’s-his-name—Leo.”

Elle’s expression darkened like a storm cloud rolling in. “Ugh. Leo is lame.”

I smirked. “Why do you hate Leo so much?”

Elle counted off on her fingers. “His smirk is annoying. His smile is creepy. He’s in his twenties, she’s seventeen—that’s predatory. Also, you are, like, a million times better than him.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “You’re really invested in this, huh?”

Elle nodded firmly. “Because you and Veronica are meant to be. It’s destiny. And I believe in true love.”

I didn’t respond, but her words stuck with me. Meant to be? Maybe. But Veronica Mars wasn’t an easy person to get close to. And I wasn’t sure she’d ever see me the way I saw her.

Still… I wouldn’t mind proving Elle right.

I step into the darkened classroom, the air cold with the kind of stillness that always makes me uneasy. The red lights flicker faintly, casting an eerie glow over the empty desks and scattered papers. Veronica’s here, standing in front of me with a look on her face that’s as sharp as glass.

"I’d like to know when you plan on telling Duncan and everyone how I’m psycho or, at least, unhealthily obsessed. I’d like to be prepared," she says, crossing her arms tightly.

I take a deep breath, swallowing back the words I almost said. I’ve got nothing to hide from her. I think. But there’s something about the way she’s looking at me now that makes me cautious. It's like she’s daring me to say something wrong.

"You know, something's been bothering me," I begin, my voice quiet as I try to keep my tone neutral. "About Duncan having whatever he has, that weird kind of epilepsy. Are you sure?"

Veronica raises an eyebrow. "About that?"

"Yeah," I reply, not letting my gaze wander from hers. She’s waiting for me to say something else, but I’m trying to keep my focus on the problem, not the hurt feelings. I’m not sure how this conversation is going to go, but I don’t want to screw it up.

"Yeah," she answers flatly. But it’s not just a simple response. It’s a shift. Something in her is... bracing.

I lean back against a desk, feeling the weight of the conversation settle between us. "I’ve known him since kindergarten. Why didn’t he ever mention it to me?" I feel like I should've known, like I should’ve seen the signs, but I didn’t.

Veronica steps closer to the light table, where old camera rolls are strewn about. The dim glow reflects in her eyes as she answers. "I don’t think he or his parents wanted anyone to know. I think they still want him to be president someday."

"Does that mean he has, like, fits or something?" I ask, the question sounding stupid as soon as it leaves my mouth. But I can’t help myself—something about this situation just doesn’t sit right.

"Possibly," Veronica says. "Other times, the attacks might manifest themselves as hysterical laughter or uncontrollable crying. Or a blind rage."

The words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. I feel the weight of them, the implications. Suddenly, my chest feels tight. It’s like everything I thought I knew about Duncan just shifted under my feet, and it’s hard to keep my balance.

"Does any of that sound familiar to you?" Veronica asks, her voice softer now, like she knows this is hitting me hard.

I push myself off the desk, sliding closer to her. I can feel the tension in my body, the confusion, the hurt. I want to keep my distance, but I can’t. Not now.

"I’m only telling you, okay?" I murmur, staring down at her, and I can see she understands. She knows this isn’t easy for me to say.

Veronica nods, silent, waiting.

"Last year when..." I pause, the memory rising up in me like a wave I can’t avoid. I look up, trying to push the heaviness out of my chest. "I was over at their place, I heard s-screaming from the next room. I heard Duncan’s voice and thought someone had broken into the house, and when I got there, I found him on the floor... and he—he had his hands around his dad’s throat. And I tried to pull him off. And all of a sudden, he went limp, and he was Duncan again."

The room is unnervingly quiet. My breath sounds too loud in the stillness. I feel her eyes on me, watching for every flicker of emotion. I look down, shaking my head slightly.

"What did Jake say to you?" Veronica asks, her voice barely a whisper.

I answer without hesitation. "Nothing. We helped Duncan to his room, and it was over. I tried talking to Duncan the next day at school, but he acted like he didn’t remember a thing."

She raises an eyebrow. "When Lilly died?"

"No," I say, my voice hollow. I stand up, the anger, the hurt, the frustration all pressing down on me. "It was the week you guys broke up."

I pause, and the air seems to freeze around us. "It’s weird, huh?"

Veronica takes a step closer to me, her gaze steady, unwavering. "Logan, I—I want to prevent Lilly’s murder. I want to save her from the murderer. Maybe it would be better if she were alive and safe."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. For a moment, I don’t know how to respond. She’s been talking about it for a while, but hearing it out loud like this... I feel something shift inside me.

"I want to do that with the help of Doctor," Veronica continues, her voice barely above a whisper. "We know time travel is possible. We’ve seen it—through the TARDIS. We’ve seen the past. We’ve seen the future, the year 2035... where Elle's from."

I shake my head, trying to process what she’s saying. The future. Time travel. It sounds insane, but I’ve seen it myself. We’ve both seen things that shouldn’t be possible.

"Are you sure you want that?" I ask, my voice lower now, with a nervous edge. "I mean, this could change everything. It could ruin the timeline or something like that."

Veronica meets my gaze, her eyes fierce. "Maybe time will just change, Logan. Maybe it’ll fix everything if Lilly’s alive. Then I won’t have to suspect anyone. Especially Duncan."

I run a hand through my hair, frustration mixing with confusion. "I don’t know, Veronica. It’s a huge risk. You want to go back and change everything... But what if it makes things worse?"

She stands taller, her determination unshakable. "We can’t just sit here and do nothing. We have to try. We can save Lilly."

I swallow hard, the weight of her words pressing down on me. "Alright," I say, my voice almost resigned. "Let’s do it. We’ll save Lilly."

I turn toward the door, my chest tight, my mind racing with everything I’ve just agreed to. I spare Veronica one last glance. "I’ll be there. Let’s go save her."

With that, I walk out, the door clicking shut behind me, and for a moment, I feel the quiet panic settle in. What did I just agree to?

I’ve done a lot of reckless things in my seventeen years—some for fun, some for revenge, and a few because I’m a total idiot. But this? This might top the chart.

We stepped out of the TARDIS like it was a casual trip to 2003. The same heat I remembered from Neptune’s autumn hit me like a slap, and there was the pool, sparkling in front of the Kane estate like a postcard from hell. And there she was—Lilly. Alive. Sitting there in her pep squad gear like nothing was wrong, flipping through a magazine like she didn’t have hours left to live.

Veronica was the first to speak. “I just want to talk to her,” she told the Doctor, her voice tight.

The Doctor looked at her like she’d said she wanted to wrestle a black hole. “Talk. Just talk.”

“Yeah,” she said, but I knew that tone. I’ve known Veronica Mars long enough to know when she’s lying—even to herself.

Elle stayed quiet, arms crossed like she could already feel the paradox boiling up.

But then V moved. And me? I followed her like I always do. Straight to Lilly.

“Lilly,” Veronica said, voice shaking just slightly.

Lilly looked up, squinted. “Ronnie?” She blinked, confused. “Wait—I just saw you like an hour ago. When did you get a haircut?”

I held my breath.

Veronica knelt beside her. “I’m not the Veronica you saw an hour ago. I’m… from the future. From 2005.”

Lilly stared at her like she grew a second head. “Okay, what?”

“We came back to save you,” Veronica said. “From being murdered.”

Lilly laughed. “You what? Logan, is this a prank? Are we filming this for something?”

I stepped forward. “Lilly, it’s not a joke. Someone was gonna kill you. We couldn’t let that happen.”

She eyed me with suspicion. “Oh, you couldn’t let that happen? What, suddenly you’re my hero? Last I checked, I remember how Veronica saw that you were too busy kissing Yolanda behind my back.”

Ouch. That stung more than I wanted to admit.

Before I could respond, Elle and the Doctor came storming up the lawn, both looking like they'd walked in on someone juggling nuclear warheads.

“WHAT did you do?” Elle snapped.

“You created a paradox!” the Doctor said, his eyes practically on fire. “This is a fixed point in time! You weren’t meant to change it!”

Lilly blinked, stepping back. “Who the hell are you people?”

“I’m the Doctor,” he said, tight-lipped.

“Elle,” Future Girl said with a short nod.

“Seriously, what is going on? You’re saying I was going to die?!” Lilly shouted. “And you came back in a freaky phone box to stop it?”

“We had to,” Veronica said, stepping in front of her. “You didn’t deserve to die, Lilly.”

“You don’t understand,” Elle growled. “This changes everything. You solving her murder made you who you are in 2005. You’re not a private investigator anymore, Veronica. You’re just… a teenager.”

Veronica and I exchanged a look. She looked like she was barely holding it together. “So what? She’s alive. That’s what matters.”

“It’s like with Rose,” the Doctor muttered.

I frowned. “Who’s Rose?”

“His ex,” Elle said flatly.

“Companion,” the Doctor corrected. “She saved her father from dying. Created a paradox. Time tried to heal itself—with monsters.”

Before I could ask what kind of monsters, Duncan strolled out of the kitchen like it was just another day in crazy Neptune.

Wearing his football uniform, he looked at the scene, blinking. “Uh… hey Logan. Veronica, what are you doing in my house? And who are they?”

No time for answers. Not when we heard the scream.

We all rushed outside toward the pool. That’s when we saw them.

Flying things. Not birds. Not anything that belonged to this Earth. They had red eyes, wings like broken glass, claws like knives, and scythe-like tails. Their mouths weren’t even on their faces—they were on their chests.

“What the hell are those?” I shouted.

“Reapers,” the Doctor said grimly. “They live in the Time Vortex. When there’s a wound in time, they come to clean it. Like bacteria attacking an infection.”

We stood frozen.

Then Jake and Celeste Kane came out of the mansion, looking equally confused.

“What is going on?” Jake demanded.

Celeste didn’t get time to finish a sentence.

One of the Reapers dove from the sky and ate her alive.

Lilly screamed. Jake froze. Duncan turned white.

Veronica clutched my arm, and I felt her shaking.

We didn’t just mess with time.

We ripped it open.

And now it was bleeding.

Chapter Text

The sky outside was not normal. Not cloudy, not stormy—wrong. Like the kind of wrong that makes your spine go cold. And those things—those Reaper things—were circling like vultures, only way more disgusting. Wings like bats, claws like knives, and those freaky mouths in the middle of their chests… I swear one of them smiled before it snatched Jake Kane off the lawn like he was a snack.

“RUN!” the Doctor yelled.

You didn’t have to tell me twice. Elle was already shoving us—me, Veronica, Duncan, Lilly—toward the house. Her eyes were wild, full of something between fury and fear. I grabbed Lilly’s arm, who was still frozen, staring at the spot where her dad had just been.

We slammed through the back door. Doctor rushed in behind and kicked it shut like it’d actually help. “Glass doors,” he muttered, his accent slicing through the tension. “Of course it’s glass. Rich humans and their aesthetic choices.”

Elle darted to the front, locking it. “They’ll get through those in seconds if they want to,” she snapped.

Doctor spun toward Lilly and Duncan. “You two—find anything old! Antique! Wooden! We need to reinforce both doors—tables, chairs, that creepy cabinet with the cherubs, now!”

Duncan blinked out of his shock and bolted into the hallway. Lilly stumbled after him. I helped Doctor drag an oak coffee table across the kitchen, adrenaline making me stronger than I should’ve been. It screeched across the tiles like it was screaming too.

“They can’t come in, right?” I asked, glancing out the window. The Reapers were still circling. Waiting. Watching. “They’re just... posturing?”

Doctor didn’t answer right away. His face was tight. Old. Worn in a way that made me realize how young the rest of us were. “They’re predators. You made a wound in time. They’re here to fix it. That means killing everything.”

I looked at Veronica, who was hugging herself in the corner. My throat tightened. “So what? We just sit here and wait to die? That’s the plan?”

“No.” Doctor’s voice turned sharp. “The plan is to survive long enough to fix this.”

From the other room, Lilly’s voice cut through the panic. “Did you see what they did to my mom?” she screamed. “Logan, they ate her!”

I didn’t know what to say. What could I say?

Duncan reappeared with a lamp and a thick wooden desk drawer. I helped him shove it against the back door, wedging it as best we could. Safety suddenly mattered more than the fact we were trashing a multi-million dollar mansion.

Then Duncan pulled out his phone. “I’m calling the sheriff,” he said, voice hoarse. “We lost our parents.”

“Wait—” I stepped forward, but he’d already hit dial.

His expression shifted. Confused. Disturbed.

“What?” I asked.

He handed me the phone. “Listen.”

I pressed it to my ear. Static. Then a broken, scratchy voice looping over and over.

“Watson, come here. I need you.”

“What the hell is this?” I muttered.

Doctor snatched the phone and tilted his head. “That’s the first telephone call. Alexander Graham Bell. The Reapers aren’t just attacking the present. They’re unraveling the entire timeline.”

Duncan’s hands clenched. “But—Keith Mars—he can help us. He’ll come. He has to.”

Doctor shook his head. “No, he won’t. Even if he did, they’d eat him alive like the Kanes. Phones are worthless now.”

Veronica stepped forward, eyes wide, voice shaking. “Don’t call my dad,” she said. “Please. I can’t lose him too.”

Elle looked at her, then at me. Her lips were tight, trembling. She hadn’t stopped shaking since we got inside.

“It’s your fault,” she said quietly, eyes locking on us like laser beams. “You created a paradox. You broke time to save one life, and now time is breaking back.”

Veronica stared at her. “Are you saying... this is my fault?”

Elle didn’t say anything. Just stood there. Silent. Angry. Hurt.

Veronica turned toward me like she was waiting for me to say something. But I didn’t know what to say anymore. Because the truth was?

We’d wanted to save Lilly.

And now the world was falling apart.

We stood in eerie silence, all five of us, eyes fixed on the sky beyond the tall windows. The Reapers glided like vultures dipped in oil and nightmares, circling the estate like they were waiting for the house to exhale.

Their wings beat against the wind without sound. Just motion. Silent death above Kane Manor.

Beside me, Veronica reached for my hand. I didn’t even notice I was trembling until her fingers wrapped around mine. Tight. Like she thought I might float away like one of those creatures. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I was too busy trying to wrap my brain around what the hell was happening to the world.

Lilly stood behind us, staring through the glass with her arms crossed, wearing that smirk she always wore when things got weird. Like this was just another episode in her ongoing drama series. Elle and the Doctor stood still, unmoving, like statues carved out of tension.

Then Duncan screamed from across the room.

“Logan! Veronica! Come here—now!”

My stomach dropped. We rushed over—me, Veronica, Lilly, Elle, and the Doctor—crowding behind Duncan, who was crouched by the back door. The one we barricaded with furniture so expensive it probably cost more than a year at Hearst.

I peered over Duncan’s shoulder.

And there he was.

My dad.

Aaron Echolls. Actor. Icon. Monster.

Walking slowly toward the pool like he was on set. Like this was just a scene from one of his movies. He was talking—to no one. Gesturing. Angry. And then, he picked up something from the poolside table.

An ashtray.

He swung it.

Hard.

At thin air.

And then he was gone.

Vanished.

And suddenly, he was back again, at the beginning of the walk, repeating it all. Over and over. Talking to no one. Swinging. Disappearing. Resetting.

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Duncan asked, his voice shaky.

Veronica’s hand went to her mouth. “That’s—he’s—he’s the one who… was supposed to kill Lilly.”

“What?” I turned to her, heart slamming in my chest. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She shook her head. “I—I don’t know. I don’t know how it makes sense. Why your dad?”

Lilly stepped beside us, like it wasn’t even shocking anymore. “He was looking for the tapes,” she said. Calm. Detached. “He knew I had them.”

Veronica turned, brows furrowing. “What tapes?”

“You remember the car wash?” Lilly asked, that glimmer of mischief back in her eyes. “When I said I had a secret—a good one?”

She leaned close and whispered something in Veronica’s ear. I couldn’t hear it. But I saw the way Veronica’s eyes widened like she’d just been stabbed.

“What?” I demanded, looking between them. “What tapes?”

Elle stepped in before Veronica could answer, her arms folded, her face tight with urgency. “It doesn’t matter. Not right now. We have bigger problems than a box of secrets.”

“But that’s my dad,” I said. “Out there. Looping. Beating someone invisible to death—”

Doctor cut me off. “He was never supposed to be seen here. That loop is a remnant. A fracture in time caused by the paradox. You weren’t supposed to know any of this yet.”

“You mean about him being the killer?” Veronica said. “So this was my mystery to solve.”

“Yes,” the Doctor said grimly. “It was your story. Your investigation. But now—everyone knows. Because time is bleeding out, and we’re standing in the wound.”

Lilly’s smirk faded.

“But if we fix the paradox,” the Doctor continued, “the timeline resets. The Reapers disappear. The Kanes survive. The world forgets.”

“And my dad?” I asked. My voice cracked.

Doctor glanced at me, sadness flickering in his eyes. “He’ll be what he always was. A secret buried beneath a mystery. Until it’s time for the truth again.”

I looked back out the window, where my father played his loop again—talking to a ghost. Killing a girl.

And for the first time since this nightmare began, I wasn’t sure what scared me more—

The monsters in the sky.

Or the ones we already knew.

The air in the kitchen felt thick, heavy. It was a weird mix of uncertainty and nostalgia—like all the memories I had of this house, of this moment, were both real and fake at the same time. We were standing in the heart of the Kane Estate, talking about the future, but it didn’t feel like we were in the right time at all. It felt like we were in the wrong place.

Lilly’s voice cut through the quiet.

“So… wait a minute. You’re saying that I’m dead in your future?” she asked, her eyes wide with disbelief. “And that’s what made you”—she pointed to Veronica—“become a teenage detective in Neptune?”

Veronica sighed, biting her lip. “Yeah,” she said, voice quiet. “I tried. I really tried to find out who killed you, Lilly. But… I was banned from the 09ers. I lost everything.”

Lilly blinked, her face full of confusion. “Wait—what? They just abandoned you? After everything, they just shut you out? You lost me and then they did that?”

“Yeah,” Veronica said softly, looking down. “My dad—he accused your dad of killing you. He thought the Kanes were hiding something. So everyone turned on me. It was… a mess.”

I couldn’t help the bitterness that rose in my chest as I looked over at Veronica. “I was mad at her, too,” I admitted, my voice tight. “I thought she chose her dad over her friends, over me. But I get it now. If my mom had done something like that... I’d protect her, too. Even if it meant losing everything.”

Veronica nodded slowly. “I didn’t want to choose, but I did. And in the end, it cost me everyone.”

Lilly’s expression softened. “That’s... unfair,” she said, and I could tell she was still processing everything. She was trying to piece it all together in her head, just like the rest of us. “But at least you became something... more.”

I shrugged, not knowing what to say. “Veronica helped a lot of people. She helped me find my mom.” I looked over at Veronica, my throat tight. “She helped me find my mom... but she was really dead. She’d been dead for a month.”

Lilly’s face fell as she absorbed that, and Duncan, who had been standing quietly in the corner, spoke up. “What happened to Lynn Echolls in the future? How did she die?”

I didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to think about it. But I had to. “She jumped off Coronado Bridge,” I said quietly. “It’s not easy to accept... but that’s how it ended.”

Duncan’s jaw dropped. “She… jumped?”

“Yeah,” I said, looking away. “It’s the truth. It’s… a part of the mess that is my family.”

Lilly didn’t say anything. Her face looked faraway, like she was thinking about the future, trying to imagine how it all fit together.

Then Duncan spoke up again. “So, how did you two end up here? In the past?” He looked at us like we were aliens from a different galaxy.

Veronica shrugged a little awkwardly, her hand running through her short hair. “We came here using a time machine,” she said, and I could tell she was trying to sound nonchalant. But I saw the way her eyes darted to me. We both knew how insane it sounded.

Duncan blinked, his voice full of disbelief. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I said seriously, keeping the tone of my voice steady. “We’re not joking. Time travel is real. We did come from the future.”

Lilly, ever the skeptic, raised an eyebrow. “How? How did you even find a time machine?”

“Funny story,” I said, glancing at Veronica. “We met this guy. The Doctor.”

Duncan stared at me, his expression confused. “Wait, who?”

“The Doctor,” I repeated. “He’s... an alien. He travels in a blue box. It’s also a time machine.”

Veronica grinned, clearly not holding back her sarcasm for once. “Yeah, and he’s also the coolest temporary physics teacher at Neptune High.”

“Wait, what?” Duncan asked. “A time-traveling alien is teaching at our school? Really?”

“Yeah,” Veronica said, looking amused now. “And it’s way cooler than Mr. Rooks ever was.”

“Mr. Rooks?” Lilly asked, curious now.

Veronica sighed. “Yeah, that history teacher? He got fired after everyone found out he was a pedophile. He got a girl pregnant. It was a whole thing, and now everyone knows about it.”

Lilly’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? And you’re telling me that guy is who they compared the Doctor to?”

I nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. Mr. Rooks was a disaster. The Doctor’s a thousand times better.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Duncan said, still trying to process it all. “But if you knew time travel was real... did you know those monsters were going to show up?”

Veronica and I exchanged a glance, both of us shaking our heads.

“No,” I said. “We didn’t expect them. We didn’t know about them. We still don’t know what the hell they are.”

“Just more problems in the timeline,” Veronica added quietly.

Lilly tilted her head. “What’s the future like, then?”

Veronica bit her lip, thinking for a moment. “It’s... not much different, honestly. Same corrupted Neptune. Same messed-up world.”

Duncan nodded. “What about me? What happened to me in the future?”

I took a breath, hating to say it. “In the future, Duncan... you’re lost. You’re so sad about Lilly that sometimes you just... snap. You have these angry moments. You’re dealing with your trauma. It’s really hard on you.”

Veronica added softly, “It’s a consequence of what happened to you. It’s not easy.”

Lilly, though, didn’t seem phased. She looked at Elle, who had been standing in the background, her face still locked in that angry expression she always wore when she thought we were messing things up.

“Who’s this?” Lilly asked, pointing at Elle. “She’s not from here.”

I nodded. “Yeah, she’s from the future. 2035.”

Veronica raised an eyebrow. “We don’t really know why she’s here. But we think she’s trying to save her family in Neptune. Maybe she’s like Marty McFly—trying to fix things so her parents don’t screw everything up.”

Lilly looked at Elle for a moment, considering. “She looks... like you, Logan.”

Veronica turned to me. “Yeah, I noticed that, too.”

Elle’s gaze flickered over to us, but she didn’t say anything.

And I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, in some other timeline, she was a part of my family, too.

It felt strange to stand in the living room of the Kane estate, like everything was happening too fast, like we were all caught in some tangled web of time we couldn't undo. I was still grappling with the chaos of being here, in the past, hearing Lilly talk about her death like it wasn’t already a painful memory to me.

Lilly, looking as fierce and alive as I remembered, paced around the room, her eyes bouncing between me and Veronica. I could tell she was trying to understand everything that had happened, but it was almost like she couldn’t wrap her head around it. And I couldn’t blame her. Neither of us could have expected what had happened, or what was about to happen.

“You two... you prevented my murder…" Lilly’s voice trembled, but her usual bravado was still there. "You really did it?”

I looked down at the floor for a second, trying to put my thoughts together. It wasn’t something I wanted to admit, but I couldn’t lie to her, not now.

“Yeah," I said quietly. "We did, but we didn't know what that would do. We didn’t expect this." I motioned vaguely to everything around us—the monsters, the Reapers. They still felt like a bad dream. "We didn’t think... We couldn’t have known."

Lilly tilted her head, her eyes widening in disbelief. “The timeline broke…” Her voice was strained, like she was piecing everything together. "What happened to my parents? What—what happened to them?"

I swallowed hard, my stomach tight with guilt. “I—I don’t know how to explain it. These things... these creatures... came out of nowhere." I motioned vaguely toward the sky, as if the Reapers would appear again. "And they just—they ate them.” The words sounded hollow, even though they felt like they were drowning me. “None of us expected this. We couldn’t have.”

Lilly looked shattered, and I could see her shaking. "I—I didn't get to say goodbye. My parents... they just... gone? Just like that?"

I could feel Veronica’s eyes on me, and I knew she didn’t know how to help either. Lilly had always been tough, like nothing could break her, but this? This was different. Lilly was afraid. Terrified. And for good reason.

I walked over to her slowly. “Lilly,” I said gently. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want this to happen. I didn’t want to lose you either. But you—" I hesitated, "You’ve got to know. It’s not your fault.”

But she cut me off before I could finish. “Don’t,” she said, her voice breaking. "This is too much. You’ve... saved me, but now my parents? My parents are gone, Logan. What am I supposed to do with that?”

I could feel the guilt in my chest, the weight of it pressing down like an anchor. There was nothing I could say to take this back. No magic words to fix it.

Veronica stepped forward, her voice steady but soft. "Lilly, we didn’t know it would go this far. But you have to know, we’re not giving up. We’ll keep looking. We’ll find out who killed you."

Lilly’s face fell for a moment, and I saw her get quiet, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re going to forget, though. You won’t remember who killed me. You won’t remember any of this, will you?” Her eyes searched mine, and I felt a pang in my chest. "Then what? What’s the point of me telling you this if it’s all going to fade away?”

Veronica nodded slowly. “We don’t know what the future holds. But we won’t forget you. I won’t.”

Lilly’s gaze softened, though her voice was still filled with that stubborn, determined fire. “Don’t. Don’t forget to have fun. Don’t shut everyone out, Veronica. Don’t let losing me make you forget what it means to live. You deserve more than that.” She shot me a quick look, her eyes hardening again, but softer this time. “And Logan? Don’t let this break you. Don’t let this make you so damn sad and self-destructive. You deserve better than that, too.”

I didn’t say anything at first. I just watched her, feeling all the weight of her words sink in. Lilly wasn’t just talking about herself. She was giving us advice for when she was gone. It made me feel like I’d been kicked in the chest.

Veronica, still holding her gaze, whispered, “I won’t forget, Lilly. I won’t.”

Lilly smiled faintly, a bit of the old spark in her eyes, before she turned toward the door. “Good. Then I can rest easy. You’ll figure it out. Just—just remember to have fun, okay?”

I watched her go, but I couldn’t move. I stood there, frozen, as she walked out toward the pool. A part of me wanted to follow her. But I knew what was coming. I’d seen it before.

The feeling of dread crept in as I stepped outside, following Veronica and the others. We all stood at the edge of the pool, waiting for the inevitable.

And there he was. My dad. Standing there like a demon from hell itself. His hands gripped an ashtray, his eyes dark with malice.

He didn’t even hesitate.

Lilly didn’t stand a chance.

The sound of the ashtray smashing against her skull echoed in the silence as she crumpled to the ground, her blood staining the concrete. My stomach churned, and I felt a wave of nausea hit me. I was too late. I couldn’t stop it.

I couldn’t stop him.

Veronica’s hand found mine, but it didn’t stop the helplessness flooding through me. My dad—my dad—just murdered her and ran away from the crime scene. And there was nothing we could do about it.

Lilly’s body lay still at the edge of the pool, and the Reapers, those terrible creatures, disappeared as if they were never even here.

Duncan came running. And that was when the chaos really began. He knelt beside Lilly, his hands trembling as he cried out her name.

Then the Kanes appeared, dragging us back into this nightmare, accusing Duncan of the very thing we all knew was impossible.

We had to leave. There was nothing more to see here. Veronica, Elle, the Doctor, and I walked back to the TARDIS. The sound of the engine starting felt like the only thing grounding me in reality.

And then the world shifted. The timeline reformed itself.

"I’m sorry,” the Doctor said softly, as if trying to apologize for everything. “I’m so, so sorry."

And just like that, the world was normal again.

I blinked and found myself standing there, back in 2005, everything seemingly as it should be. The timeline was fixed. The paradox was gone. But something—someone—was missing.

I turned to Veronica, and she gave me a small, uncertain smile. She didn’t know. I didn’t know.

We didn’t know who killed Lilly anymore.

The memories were fading into nothingness, like a distant echo of a nightmare we couldn't quite remember. It felt wrong. I could feel the loss, but I couldn’t place it. The details were gone.

And with them, so was the pain.

We had all forgotten. Forgotten who did it, forgotten how she died. Forgotten everything.

None of us would remember what happened.

Not really.

Chapter Text

I wasn’t expecting to be accosted by a time traveler today, but then again, Neptune High had a way of surprising me.

One second, I was leaving journalism class, rolling my eyes at yet another fire drill, and the next, Elle Martin was standing in the drama room doorway, looking like she’d just stepped out of Pride and Prejudice.

"Ah, my dear sir!" she called, her voice dripping in the kind of posh British accent that made you think of tea and repressed emotions. "Do tell, have you finally mustered the courage to ask Lady Veronica for her hand in courtship?"

I stopped mid-step, blinked, and took in the full picture—Elle in a deep red Victorian dress, corset and all, looking ridiculous and completely unbothered by it.

"Okay…" I said slowly. "What fresh hell is this?"

She smirked, dropping the accent like flipping a switch. "Drama club. You like?" She twirled slightly, letting the heavy skirts swirl around her feet. "I figured if I’m gonna be some 19th-century tragic heroine, I should commit."

I scoffed, crossing my arms. "And the corset?"

"Torture device. But hey, it builds character. Literally." She tugged at the bodice, making a face. "And it makes me look like a truly unlikely thing—a lady."

I had to give her that one. Elle was the last person you’d call ladylike. She was smart, sarcastic, and—like Veronica—had that unfortunate tendency of seeing through everyone’s bullshit, mine included.

Which was probably why I shouldn’t have been surprised when she tilted her head and went straight for the kill.

"So?" she asked. "Did you ask her out yet?"

My jaw tensed. "She’s dating Leo, remember?"

Elle waved a dismissive hand. "And? That’s temporary. You, my friend, are endgame."

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. "Yeah, sure. Right after I ride off into the sunset on my unicorn."

She just gave me a look, the kind that made it way too clear she wasn’t joking.

"I meant what I said before—Leo’s lame," she said matter-of-factly. "You? You actually get her. You challenge her. And I think, deep down, you wanna be better for her. And you can be."

That one hit. Hard.

I opened my mouth—whether to argue or admit she might have a point, I wasn’t sure—but before I could figure it out, the fire alarm went off, loud and blaring.

Elle sighed, deadpan. "Ah, the dulcet tones of our fine institution burning to the ground."

I chuckled despite myself as we turned toward the exit, shuffling out with the rest of the students.

As we stepped outside, Elle lifted her skirts slightly so she wouldn’t trip, walking like some out-of-place time traveler who had just landed in the middle of high school drama.

I shook my head, smirking. "You’re something else, Martin."

She just grinned. "I know."

I can hear Duncan before I even see him, footsteps heavy, slow. His eyes are already bloodshot, and I can tell from the way he's walking—almost like he's dragging himself—that he's been up all night, probably thinking about Lilly again.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. I’m not great with feelings, but when it comes to Duncan, I know his are a ticking time bomb. He’s been through hell, and whatever I’m about to drop on him will either make it worse or, if I’m lucky, give him a way to process everything that’s been happening lately. The last thing I want is to see him lose it again.

I shift uncomfortably, not quite sure how to start. But I have to do this, don’t I? He’s my best friend, and he deserves to know. Even if it’s going to suck.

"Hey, man," I say, leaning against the doorframe, trying to keep things casual. I probably look like an idiot, but I can’t help it. I’m not even sure where to begin.

Duncan looks up at me, his face tight. "What’s up?"

I bite my lip, pausing before I speak. This isn't easy, and I don't want him getting the wrong idea. It’s not like I’m trying to add fuel to the fire, but Veronica’s investigation... well, it’s starting to make things complicated.

"Look," I say, choosing my words carefully. "You’re gonna want to hear this from me, not from someone else. Veronica..." I stop myself. God, this feels like betrayal. "She’s got a folder on you. On your family. She thinks you’re involved in Lilly’s death."

I watch as his body stiffens, his face darkening. It's like I’ve just thrown a grenade into the room. He steps forward, his jaw clenched tight. "What the hell are you talking about?"

I keep my voice steady, trying to ease him into it. "It’s not like she’s accusing you outright, Duncan. But she’s investigating Lilly’s murder, and she suspects everyone. You, me, Koontz, your family—hell, even Weevil. She’s just doing her job."

Duncan’s face twists in disbelief, anger spreading like wildfire. "She’s investigating me? My sister’s dead, Logan, and now she’s poking around like I’m some kind of suspect?" His voice rises with every word, his fists balling up at his sides.

I step forward, raising my hands in a calm gesture. I can see the hurt, the confusion in his eyes, and I know it’s tearing him up inside. "I know, man. I know it’s messed up, but she’s just trying to find the truth. It’s not about you. It’s just... she’s looking at everyone who might’ve had something to do with it. And you’re... well, you’re close to this whole thing. But she doesn’t know everything, Duncan. Not the way we do."

Duncan looks like he’s about to explode. His breathing’s heavy, and I can see his mind racing. "She doesn’t know anything," he spits out. "She’s not my friend anymore if she’s going to accuse me of something like that."

I swallow hard, pushing myself to keep this together. "I don’t think she’s accusing you, not exactly," I say, though it sounds weak even to my own ears. "But you’ve got to know, she’s digging into things. And it’s hurting her too. She’s trying to get the truth, even if it’s painful."

He scoffs, turning away from me, but I can see the pain etched all over his face. "I don’t care about her damn truth. She’s not thinking about me. She’s not thinking about Lilly. She’s just trying to play detective while I’m over here falling apart." His voice cracks on the last part, and I can see it in his eyes—he’s barely holding it together.

I can’t let him spiral. Not like this. Not again. "Duncan, don’t do this to yourself," I say softly. "You don’t have to go through this alone. You’ve got me, and you’ve got Veronica, whether she’s making mistakes or not. We’re both here. But you’ve got to stop pushing everyone away. We’re not the enemy."

He turns back to me, his face flushed with anger. "How can you be so calm about this, Logan? She’s accusing me of something that I don’t even remember doing! And you’re just standing there like it’s nothing."

My chest tightens. I’m not calm. Hell, I’m anything but calm. But I have to be. For him. For both of them. "I’m not calm, man. I’m not. But I get it. I get why you’re angry. I just—" I stop myself. My throat tightens, but I push through. "I’m not taking sides. I’m just trying to make sure we all don’t fall apart, okay? Veronica’s got her own demons, and you’ve got yours, but we’re all still in this together. Even if it’s a mess."

Duncan’s gaze softens, just a little, but it’s still clouded with confusion. "I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know how to deal with any of this."

I nod, understanding all too well. "I know, man. I know. But we’ve got each other. That’s something, right?"

Duncan doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. But I can tell I’ve gotten through to him, just a little. It’s enough for now. But things are only getting harder.

The next morning, the school hallways were buzzing, but not with the usual high school gossip. No, this time, it was full-blown panic.

I heard it before I saw it—kids whispering in urgent tones, the rustling of newspapers being passed around, and the occasional "Holy shit, are we safe?" floating through the air.

Then I spotted Elle.

She was standing by her locker, frozen, gripping a copy of the Neptune Navigator like it had personally wronged her. Even from a few feet away, I could see the way her hands shook, her knuckles white as she clutched the paper.

Her eyes were locked on the headline: “Bomb Threats Force Evacuations.”

I took a step closer, watching as she read. No—processed. Like every single word was hitting her harder than it should. Then, without warning, she crumpled the newspaper in her hands.

Hard.

Like she wanted to destroy it.

"Elle?" I said, frowning.

She didn’t react at first. Just stood there, breathing too fast, too shallow. Then, finally, she blinked and looked at me, but it was like she wasn’t really seeing me.

"You okay?" I asked, my voice lower now, cautious.

Elle swallowed, forcing a smile onto her face—fake as hell. "Yeah. Just… pissed off at this article."

I raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Because?"

"Because this," she snapped, shaking the crumpled paper at me, "is irresponsible journalism. Veronica just made the entire school go into mass hysteria. Does she even think about how this affects people? How it feels to read something like this and wonder if—"

She cut herself off so fast it was like she’d choked on the words. I narrowed my eyes.

"If what?" I pressed.

But she shook her head, shoving the paper into her bag like she wanted to get rid of it. "Nothing," she muttered. "Forget it."

Yeah. Right. Like I was gonna let that slide.

But before I could push further, Elle turned on her heel and stormed down the hall, her pace just shy of a full-blown run. And because I had no sense of self-preservation, I followed.

When she found Veronica, it wasn’t a conversation. It was an ambush.

"Really, Veronica?" Elle snapped the second she got close. "You just had to run this story?"

Veronica barely had time to turn before Elle was in her face, fuming.

"Hey, good morning to you too," Veronica said dryly. "Something on your mind?"

Elle scoffed. "Yeah. Maybe the fact that you just sent the whole school into a panic? You didn’t think about how this would affect people? What if the threats come true? What if someone you care about dies because of this?"

Veronica’s expression didn’t change. "The article is factual. The school has been getting bomb threats. People deserve to know."

"People deserve not to be scared out of their minds over something they can’t control," Elle shot back. "You just made everyone feel like a walking target."

Something about the way she said it made my stomach twist. Like this wasn’t just about the article.

Veronica just gave her a look, arms crossed. "The truth isn’t always comfortable."

Elle exhaled sharply, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. "Yeah, well, maybe you should care more about people's feelings instead of just the truth."

Before Veronica could answer, Wallace’s voice cut through the tension.

"You won’t believe how insane the administration office is," he said, stepping up behind us.

Elle’s shoulders tensed. She was still glaring at Veronica, but I could see the cracks forming—the way her hands curled into fists, the way she looked like she wanted to say more but couldn’t.

Wallace, completely oblivious, kept going. "Phones ringing off the hook. Parents going off on Clemmons. He wants to see you in his office, by the way."

Veronica’s lips twitched into a smirk. "He does? I’m beginning to think he has a crush on me."

Elle’s face twisted in disgust, and I knew exactly why.

That joke? Considering Clemmons was, what, forty-something? Yeah. Gross.

She shook her head one last time before turning away, muttering, "Unbelievable."

As she walked off, I found myself staring after her, more confused than ever.

Something was going on with Elle. Something big.

And I was gonna find out what.

The cool afternoon air settled over Neptune High as I leaned back against the bench outside, flipping open my phone. I ran a hand through my hair, debating whether this was a good idea, but whatever—too late now. I dialed.

Veronica picked up after the first ring.

"Yeah?"

I exhaled. "Hey, it’s Logan."

A pause. Not a good one.

I shifted on the bench, watching students trickle out of the parking lot. "Hey, uh, just a—a heads up for you. Duncan knows about your files."

Another pause. Longer. I could practically hear her glare through the phone.

"He knows because you told him," she said flatly.

I laughed, but it was a little too forced, a little too tight. "Well, yeah, I mean, what was I supposed to do? He’s my best friend."

"Yeah, well, he took my head off," she snapped. "You would have loved it. Have you talked to him since school let out?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but then—

A noise.

The sound of a car door opening, quick and sharp. Then, Veronica gasped—loud, startled. Something clattered against the floor.

Her phone.

My stomach clenched.

Then, Veronica’s voice rang out, high and angry. "Oh my God, what do you think you're doing?"

I sat up straight. "Veronica?"

No response.

A man’s voice, calm but off. "Let’s go for a ride."

The call was still going. I was still listening. I didn’t breathe.

"Make a left at the next stop."

Veronica, her voice tight. "Where are we going?"

"You should know. You must’ve followed me there."

A pause.

Then, Veronica said, "The Camelot?"

Bile crept up my throat.

"Yep," the guy confirmed, like this was all some casual little outing. "I'll say this, Veronica. You're a pesky one. You're screwing everything up."

I gripped the phone tighter.

Veronica’s tone changed—softer, trying to reason. "Listen, I really think you’re making a mistake. I don’t know anything."

The guy snapped, "Quiet. I—I—I need to think for a minute."

The call was still live, but I couldn’t listen anymore. I snapped the phone shut, my pulse pounding against my temples.

I barely registered footsteps before Elle appeared next to me.

"Logan?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "What’s going on?"

I turned to her, my mind still catching up to what I’d just heard. "Some creep just broke into Veronica’s car and made her drive to Camelot Motel."

Elle’s face paled instantly. "What?"

"You heard me," I said, standing up fast. My heart was hammering now.

Elle pressed a hand over her mouth, her expression shifting from fear to something worse—understanding.

"I saw her watching that guy," she muttered. "Ben. At lunch. She was onto him."

I frowned. "Who the hell is Ben?"

Elle swallowed. "He’s—he’s dangerous. Crazy." Her voice shook, but not just from nerves. Something deeper, something raw.

"What do you mean, crazy?" I demanded.

Elle exhaled sharply, glancing around like she expected someone to be listening. "He’s got major J.D. vibes."

I blinked. "What?"

"You know. J.D. from Heathers."

Okay, yeah. Now I was paying attention. I’d seen Heathers. I knew how that story ended.

I clenched my jaw. "You think this guy is the one threatening people with bombs?"

Elle hesitated, then nodded once.

Shit.

Panic tightened my chest. My mind was already racing through possibilities, through worst-case scenarios, through the fact that Veronica was alone in a car with this lunatic.

Elle grabbed my arm. "Logan. We have to go. Now."

I didn’t argue. We both turned, bolting across the parking lot toward my car.

As I threw open the driver’s side door, Elle met my eyes. Her fear was different from mine—more personal, more haunted—but just as desperate.

"Good luck," she said.

I didn’t answer. I just started the engine and peeled out of the parking lot, heading straight for the Camelot.

I see him reach into his pocket, and that’s all the excuse I need. Fists first, questions later.

Ben never sees it coming. My knuckles connect with his jaw, and he goes down like a sack of bricks, taking Veronica with him. She stumbles forward, and something small and leather skids across the floor. His wallet. No—his badge.

Shit.

I barely register Veronica’s voice through the adrenaline pounding in my ears. “Logan, stop.”

I do. Not because I want to, but because it’s Veronica asking. She holds up the badge, her face tight with realization. “He’s a federal agent.”

The motel room smells like cheap detergent and regret. Ben sits on the bed, gingerly touching his jaw. I lean against the wall, flexing my fingers, still feeling the sting from the punch. He looks at me, and I stare right back, unblinking, daring him to say something.

From the bathroom, the sound of running water. Veronica emerges, a damp towel in her hands, and presses it into Ben’s. “You’re undercover at Neptune High?” she asks.

Ben looks at me again before answering. “Is it all right if he goes outside? I’d like to talk to you.”

I step forward before Veronica can answer, voice sharp. “Dream on, Jump Street. I’m not leaving you alone with her.”

Veronica places a hand on my arm, her voice softer now. “Logan, he’s the real thing. Just give us a minute, all right?”

I hold Ben’s gaze a moment longer, smirking. “Fine. Don’t close the door all the way. Yeah, I’ll be right out here.”

The night air is thick and sticky. I lean against the railing of the motel’s second-floor walkway, flipping open my phone when it buzzes in my pocket. Elle.

She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “What happened? Is Veronica okay?”

I exhale, rubbing a hand down my face. “She’s fine.”

Elle isn’t convinced. “Logan, I swear, if something happened—”

I cut her off. “Ben’s not some low-life. He’s FBI.”

A pause, then a breath of relief on the other end. “Oh, thank God.”

I frown. “Why are you so worried? Last time I checked, you were pissed at her.”

Elle hesitates. “Even if she made a mess with that article, I still care about her. I don’t want—” She stops herself.

I push. “You don’t want what?”

Another beat of silence. “I can’t talk about it.”

I grit my teeth. “Great. More secrets.”

“It’s not like that.”

I sigh. “Whatever. Look, don’t stress. She’ll be fine.”

Elle exhales. “Okay.” And then she’s gone.

The door creaks open behind me. Veronica steps out onto the balcony, closing it halfway behind her. Her face is softer now, like she’s actually grateful. I straighten as she walks toward me.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods. “Mm-hmm.”

She stops in front of me. Close enough to touch. Close enough to—

Before I can process it, she leans in, pressing her lips to the corner of my mouth. It’s not even really a kiss, more of a brush, but my whole body locks up. I straighten, staring down at her, and she stares right back, wide-eyed, like she just realized what she’s done.

She starts to pull away. I grab her arm, and she turns back just in time for me to crash my mouth onto hers.

It’s heat and urgency and something pent-up and messy. She presses into me, my hands gripping her waist, fingers sliding against the fabric of her shirt. We break apart just slightly, breathing heavy, still tangled up in each other.

And then something shifts in her expression. Reality crashing back in.

She steps away, fast. My hands fall awkwardly at my sides. I should say something, but what the hell do I say to that?

She turns and rushes down to her car. I watch her go, eyes locked on her even as she hesitates before getting in, looking back up at me.

There’s something unreadable in her face. A shiver, a shudder, a shrug—something I can’t name.

And then she’s gone, taillights disappearing into the night, leaving me standing there, still trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

I never thought Future Girl would actually ditch me.

Elle's been weird for days—weeks, even—but I figured it was just one of her moods. The kind that comes with knowing way too much about things she can’t talk about. But this? This was different. She wasn’t just moody. She was shutting me out.

At first, I thought it was the article in Neptune Navigator. Some dumb screw-up by the ATF, arresting the wrong guy for a bomb threat hoax. Big scandal, but nothing out of the ordinary for Neptune. Elle saw it and went pale, like really pale. Like, ghostly, Veronica’s-disapproving-stare pale. I asked her what was wrong. She didn’t answer.

Then she stopped talking to me altogether.

She still hung out with the drama club kids, still talked to Weevil and Wallace, but me? Nothing. It was like I didn’t exist. I tried to corner her between classes, get her to tell me what the hell was going on, but she just walked past me like I was air.

So, yeah. That stung.

Today, I finally tried again. She was outside, talking to Weevil, and I walked up, ready to demand some kind of explanation. But before I could say anything, Weevil stepped between us.

“If she doesn’t wanna talk to you, she doesn’t have to,” Weevil said, arms crossed. “Give her a break, Echolls. She’s been through enough spending time with you.”

That hit harder than I wanted to admit. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe not,” Weevil said, giving Elle a look, like he actually cared. “But I know what I see. And she doesn’t owe you a damn thing.”

Elle didn’t even look at me. Didn’t say a word. Just turned and walked away.

Fine. Whatever. I wasn’t going to beg.

But then, later that afternoon, as I was heading to my car, I saw her with the Doctor. They were standing near the parking lot, talking in hushed voices, and something about the way Elle’s shoulders were hunched made me stop. I ducked behind a car, close enough to hear but hidden enough that they wouldn’t see me.

“I can’t be friends with both of them,” Elle said. Her voice was tight, like she was forcing the words out. “Especially when my mission is over. I did my best, but I can’t pretend anymore. It’s too codependent. They’re both problematic, and I feel like their therapist. It’s weird to be friends with them… especially with him.”

That felt like a punch to the ribs.

The Doctor sighed. “Why do you treat him like he doesn’t exist?”

Elle hesitated. “Because he doesn’t exist in my future.”

I didn’t hear anything after that. Couldn’t. Because those words were ringing in my head, over and over.

“Because he doesn’t exist in my future.”

And then she was gone. Just like that. The TARDIS disappeared, and with it, the only person who might’ve actually understood me.

I stood there, staring at the empty space where she’d been, feeling like something had been ripped out of me. And I had no idea why.

Chapter Text

The hallways of Neptune High smell like floor polish and teenage desperation. I'm not really sure which one is stronger today. Veronica slams her locker shut and turns. She doesn't see me at first, but when she does, she jumps slightly.

"Oh! Hey."

I smirk. "Hey."

She looks at me like she's sizing me up, trying to gauge where we stand after yesterday. The kiss. The one we’re both pretending didn’t happen.

"So, uh, what do you think?" I ask, stuffing my hands in my pockets.

She narrows her eyes. "Like... in general, or is there a specific arena in which you'd like my opinion?"

I hesitate. My usual go-to would be to say something sarcastic, deflect, make her roll her eyes. But my mind is somewhere else. Duncan. He’s been gone for days, no word, no clue, nothing.

"Do you think Duncan, uh, is just cooling off, or is he, like, holed up in some hotel room pouring peroxide on his hair and trying to file his fingerprints off?"

Veronica's expression shifts, softer now. "Honestly, I have no idea."

That’s the worst part—none of us do. He just disappeared, and I'm left wondering if I should have done more.

She turns to walk away, and I follow, because of course I do. But before I can think of another excuse to keep her talking, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I flip it open—because yes, I’m still rocking the flip phone—and see a new voice message.

From Elle.

My stomach tightens.

The last time we saw her, she barely looked at me. She spoke to Veronica, sure, but it was like I was some kind of afterthought. She was distant, closed off. And then yesterday, just like that, she was gone. Off to whatever distant time or planet she and the Doctor decided to visit.

I press play.

Elle’s voice comes through, breathless and just a little awestruck.

"Hey, Logan, Veronica… it’s Elle. I’m here in London’s hospital in 2007 on the Moon—yes, the actual Moon—and I swear, every time I look out the window and see Earth, I feel like Rocket Man by Elton John, you know? I miss you both so much… It’s been way too long since I’ve been back to Earth. Being here feels like… well, it feels like I’m out in space, drifting, like a rocket man. Or should I call myself Rocket Girl? It’s a lot, but hey, I get to see a lot of weird stuff. Like, for instance, I met Martha Jones, she's a medical student here, and I think you two would get along with her. She's incredible—smart, brave, and a bit like you, Veronica. Oh, and we’ve got a bit of a situation here. There’s this woman, Florence, who—no joke—has a straw and is drinking blood from people. And some rhino-looking alien cops are here too… you know, Judoon. Honestly, this place is wild.

I miss Earth. I miss both of you. I know it’s hard for you to understand why I’m distant, but I promise, one day, you’ll get why I have to do this. I just wish I could tell you more, but it’s complicated. Anyway, tell everyone I miss them… especially you two."

The message ends, and silence stretches between me and Veronica.

"Well," I say finally, "I think that’s the weirdest voicemail I’ve ever gotten. And that includes the time Dick called pretending to be my long-lost twin, Ronan."

Veronica shakes her head, but she’s smiling just a little. "Elle’s on the Moon. Fighting space rhinos and vampire nurses. I… I don’t even know what to do with that information."

"Yeah, Future Girl’s really outdone herself this time."

"She said she misses us," Veronica murmurs, looking down at the floor like she’s thinking way too hard about it. "I guess she’s lonelier than she lets on."

I watch her for a moment, but before I can say anything, I glance up at the clock. Three… two…

The bell rings right on cue.

I grin. "See ya."

Veronica rolls her eyes, but I catch the corner of her lips twitching before she turns away. And just like that, she’s gone, leaving me standing there in the middle of the hallway, thinking about Elle’s voice in my head and a kiss I’m still pretending didn’t happen.

The sound of Dylan’s tires screeching against the pavement fades as I watch him disappear down the road. My dad really did a number on him. I should probably feel bad, but I don’t. The guy had it coming.

Next to me, Veronica exhales, eyes still on the retreating car. "Wow."

I smirk. "Father knows best."

We walk in silence for a moment, the weight of everything lingering between us. I glance at her, curiosity gnawing at me. "Do you think Lilly loved Weevil?"

Veronica hesitates before answering, her voice thoughtful. "I don't know. Um, Lilly never mentioned anything to me about Weevil. I was wondering when you were gonna ask me about that."

I let out a breath. "Yeah, well. I don't know. When he's caught in her bedroom, you know, I guess you gotta think."

By now, we’ve reached my yellow SUV. We stop, facing each other in the glow of the streetlights.

"You're handling it a lot better than I thought you would," she says, studying me.

I shrug. "I loved Lilly and Lilly loved guys."

She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, but I cut her off. "You know, she used to say that her..." I clear my throat. "... her parents worshipped Duncan and tolerated her. And if she couldn't please 'em, she was gonna go out of her way to piss 'em off. Weevil must have been perfect for that."

Veronica’s eyes soften. "I know Lilly loved you."

I shake my head slightly. "Well, it's just not like I loved her. It's okay. No, uh, you know, it kinda lets me off the hook, you know? I-I don't know, I don't have to feel guilty anymore."

Her brows furrow. "Feel guilty about what?"

I meet her eyes. "Moving on."

The air between us shifts. The space that’s always been filled with barbed words and tension is now electric, charged with something new. I reach out, letting my fingers brush against her cheek. She doesn’t pull away. And then, before I can second-guess myself, I lean in. Our lips meet, slow at first, then deeper. Passionate.

When we finally pull apart, I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in.

She whispers, "What are we doing?"

I grin. "No idea."

We kiss again, this time breaking into laughter mid-way.

Veronica pulls back slightly. "We need to talk about this."

I chuckle. "I know. I kn—" I laugh again, unable to stop myself.

She gives me a look, half-exasperated, half-smiling. "Maybe we should just keep it to ourselves for a while and see what happens."

I smirk. "Meet in mop closets? Pass each other secret notes in the hallway?"

Something flickers in her expression, and I notice. She looks away for a second, then back up at me. I don’t push. Instead, I press my forehead against hers again, letting the moment settle.

"Come on," I say, pulling back. "I'll drive you home on the back streets."

She smiles, and I open the door for her. Once she’s inside, I walk around the front and slide into the driver’s seat. Just as I put the key in the ignition, my phone buzzes. A voicemail. The name on the screen makes my breath hitch.

"Elle," I mutter.

Veronica leans in. "Play it."

I put the phone on speaker. Elle’s voice fills the car, bright, a little breathless. "Hey, Logan. And Veronica—yeah, I know you're probably together listening to this. So, uh, you're not gonna believe this, but I just met William Shakespeare. Like, the actual guy, in 1599. And, well... he’s kind of a flirt. With me. Which is weird. Really weird. Like, dude, I’m 17! But I guess in the 16th century, that was... normal? I don’t know, I couldn’t exactly tell him to back off because, well, he’s William freaking Shakespeare! And I respect him too much to tell him he's being a total creep. Oh, and his plays? All-male casts. So, yeah, I watched Love’s Labour’s Lost, and the 'women' were played by men. Classic.

Also, witches? Real. Like, actually real. Almost got hexed. The Doctor got hexed too, but, you know, he's an alien, so he has two hearts, and one got hit, but he's fine. And—oh my God—Martha, the Doctor, Shakespeare, and I totally shouted ‘Expelliarmus’ at them. Yes, as in Harry Potter. Not sure if that’s what saved us, but hey, it felt right in the moment.

And guess who else showed up? Queen Elizabeth I. And she hates the Doctor. Calls him her 'sworn enemy.' We just ran away from Queen Elizabeth I by TARDIS, because she wanted to behead him! So, obviously, I need to figure out why. Because I am that kind of person.

Anyway, just wanted to check in. Not that you guys would believe any of this, but—ugh, I miss you both. Even you, Logan. Try not to get into too much trouble. Well... try. Bye."

The message ends. Silence fills the car for a moment before Veronica and I burst into laughter.

"She screamed ‘Expelliarmus’ at witches?" Veronica manages between laughs. "In 1599? Oh my God."

I shake my head, grinning. "And Shakespeare flirting with her? She’s seventeen. Jesus."

"And Queen Elizabeth wanted to behead the Doctor? That’s… kinda surreal."

I exhale, still smiling, and turn the key in the ignition. "Future girl is outdoing herself. Again."

Veronica leans back in her seat, still amused, as I pull out onto the road. The night stretches ahead, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m standing in the shadow of the past. Maybe—just maybe—I’m finally moving forward.

The moment Veronica’s lips met mine, it was like flipping a switch. One second, we were talking. The next, we were tangled up in each other, moving as one, never breaking apart. We rolled—literally rolled—across the length of the sink area, lips locked, hands desperate. I lifted her effortlessly onto the counter, her legs wrapping around me as if we were made to fit this way.

And then, I pulled back, dropping my head with a heavy sigh.

Veronica’s fingers toyed with the collar of my shirt. “What? I blockaded the door. I hung an ‘Out of Order’ sign.”

I grinned, shaking my head. “No, this is wrong.”

She arched an eyebrow, glancing around dramatically. “A boy in a girl’s bathroom? So wrong, it’s right?”

I leaned in, my voice a whisper against her lips. “Yes.”

She didn’t give me time to expand on that because she was kissing me again, fingers twisting into my hair. I let myself get lost in it—until I sighed again, this time more serious.

“I’m sorry about Dick and those guys,” I murmured.

Veronica’s expression didn’t shift. “Dick and those guys don’t bother me.”

I laughed softly, and she grabbed my shirt, as if to emphasize her point. “Besides,” she continued, “you and I have to keep up appearances, because Duncan is gonna come home someday and…” She let her hands settle on my shoulders. “I don’t want him to hear about us—this—from someone else.”

Her voice held an edge of something I couldn’t quite place. A twinge of guilt, maybe. Or worry. The mention of Elle made her tighten her grip slightly. “And when Elle comes back from her time-traveling adventures, we should do the same.”

I nodded, glancing at my watch. Another sigh, this one exasperated. “I am beyond tardy for my physics class.”

She smirked. “Tragic.”

“And I miss Doctor being our science teacher. Physics was so much more interesting when he was explaining it.”

I leaned in, kissing her quickly before grabbing my books from the counter. “If I remember right, time travel is possible.”

I shook my head. “I could’ve aced this test if I had more time to study. Just travel back, study longer, then show up ready to crush it.” I scoffed. “I still don’t get how Elle just skips class with all that time-traveling.”

As if on cue, my phone buzzed with another voice message. The third one today. Elle’s voice poured out, sounding equal parts excited and overwhelmed.

“Hey, Logan, Veronica—so, uh… I think I just had the weirdest day of my life. And that’s saying something. Right now, I’m on a planet that isn’t Earth—it’s called New Earth. Yeah, real creative name. But we ended up in this city called New New York, which is basically a knockoff New York, even though I’ve never actually been to New York. Anyway—Martha got kidnapped. Long story. Doctor and I had to track her down, which meant jumping between cars stuck in a flying traffic jam that’s been going on for years. Seriously, people have been trapped in their cars for over a decade just trying to get to work. Kinda makes L.A. traffic seem like a dream, huh?”

I glanced at Veronica, who looked just as bewildered as I felt. Flying cars? Trapped in traffic for years? What the hell?

Elle kept going. “Oh, and I met a cat-man named Thomas and his wife Valerie. They’ve been driving for twelve years, but they have a whole bunch of kittens in their car, and—Logan, I swear, they are the cutest little things I’ve ever seen. You’d lose your mind. Anyway, traffic sucks, but at least your dream of flying cars kinda came true. Not sure how you’d feel about being stuck in one for years, though.”

Veronica snorted, shaking her head. “Cat-people. Of course.”

Elle’s voice dropped a little, the excitement giving way to something more serious. “So, we rescued Martha, but then I met someone... something... really old. The Face of Boe. He’s basically this giant face in a tank, and—look, I know how that sounds, but he was... wise. He said something to the Doctor before he died—something that really shook him. But he also said something to me. That I’m not as lonely as I think I am. And I guess… I don’t know. I’ve always felt like I had to keep people at arm’s length because of what I know. But maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t have to be alone.”

There was a long pause before she sighed. Her voice was softer now. “I should probably go. Doctor’s about to do his whole ‘running dramatically back to the TARDIS’ thing. Just… take care of each other, okay? And try not to get kidnapped by any flying car weirdos. Bye.”

Silence settled between Veronica and me. We were both stuck on Elle’s change in tone. We never really thought about how she felt before. Lonely?

“Well,” I said finally, “that was a ride.”

“Yeah.” Veronica nodded. “We should talk to her more.”

I performed a silly little skip toward the door, trying to lighten the mood. Veronica hopped off the counter and followed.

“By the way, about that physics test…” she started, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out a pad of slips.

I raised a brow. “Hm?”

“Tardy excuse slips. Date-stamped. Untraceable.” She smirked. “I know people.”

I peered out as she cracked the bathroom door, her body angled slightly in front of me. Then she turned, leaned back against the wall, and gave me a playful look. “It’s clear.”

I hovered over her, hand on the door. “Good luck in physics.”

She tugged my shirt again, pulling me in for one last kiss—but just as our lips were about to meet, she spoke against my mouth. “Remember…”

I laughed against her lips. So did she. And then we finished the kiss.

“Force equals mass times acceleration…” she murmured.

I kissed her again. “Mmm.”

“… light is a particle that can exhibit properties of a wave…”

I kissed her once, twice, then straightened up, looking down at her. “I’d learn more staying here with you.”

I leaned in to continue the ‘lesson,’ but she pushed me back with a grin. “I have things to do.”

I laughed, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before opening the door and heading off. As I left, I tapped the ‘Out of Order’ sign with a smirk.

Time travel or not, I was late. But hey, at least I had a killer excuse.

We crash through the door, still locked in a kiss, my hands gripping Veronica’s waist as I spin her into the living room. She laughs, that beautiful, genuine kind of laugh that makes my chest feel like it might explode.

We kiss again, because why wouldn’t we? The house is ours, and I intend to take full advantage of the moment.

“So the place is ours,” I say between kisses. “Dad’s at class...” I press a kiss to her forehead. “...and Trina’s at an extremely important purse store opening in Beverly Hills.”

Veronica pulls back just enough to smirk. “Your dad is taking classes?”

I release her waist and take a step toward the mantelpiece, gesturing vaguely. “Yeah, exploring the world outside himself. All part of the…” I throw a kick in the air, “new Aaron Echolls. Spanish, ceramics, Tae Kwan Doe, and today,” I lean against the mantel, eyes scanning the glassware, “glass blowing with Silvio Pirelli, master of Old World crystal.”

Veronica steps up beside me, staring at the glass piece I’m inspecting. “Nice, huh? Just two lessons.”

She tilts her head. “And he made a bong?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “An urn. For my mom.” The words come out more casually than they should, but my fingers tighten slightly on the mantelpiece. “You know, since there was no body and thus no ashes, he filled it with sea water. ‘Cause she jumped into the ocean, get it?”

Veronica’s expression softens slightly, but before she can say anything, I move forward, wrapping my arms around her waist. “At least it gets him out of the house.”

We kiss again, spinning toward the center of the room, her laugh against my lips making the world feel less heavy. We move toward the couch, but pause just before sitting.

Then Veronica says something I wasn’t expecting.

She tells me about Elle. About how, before she ran off with some Doctor in his magical time-traveling phone booth, she actually helped Veronica figure things out—about us.

I listen as Veronica recounts Elle’s words, the way she called me out for acting like nothing happened between us, for pretending like that night, that kiss, was just some random glitch. But it wasn’t. Elle knew it. Veronica knew it. And apparently, I’m the last idiot to fully accept it.

Then I laugh, because of course Elle had a hand in this. “You know, she actually helped me chase after you, too.”

Veronica raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah. She told me to keep an eye on Ben. Said he had, and I quote, ‘major J.D. vibes.’” I pause. “I assume she meant J.D. from Heathers, but honestly, her futuristic slang still confuses the hell out of me.”

Veronica frowns, clearly as lost as I am. “Major vibes?”

“No idea.” I shrug. “But she was right about Ben being shady. I mean, we figured out he was a fed, but still—dude literally framed some innocent guy to make it look like he had bombs in his car. That’s some next-level psycho.”

We both fall quiet for a second, exchanging a look. Then it hits me.

Elle was our matchmaker.

And yet, she ran. She helped push us together, but the second things settled, she took off with this Doctor guy and barely looked back.

Before I can dwell too much on it, my phone buzzes. A voicemail notification.

I glance at Veronica. “It’s Elle.”

It’s the fourth voice message she’s left. I press play, and her voice crackles to life:

“Hey Logan, Veronica—it’s Elle. So, I was just in 1930 during the Great Depression. Yeah, those were some dark times. People were starving, losing jobs, and honestly, it makes the 2000s look like paradise. We met Solomon, the leader of Hooverville—he was in the army during World War I, tough guy, really cared about his people. Doctor, Martha, and I got chased by these alien pig slaves—imagine pigs, but with human bodies. It was horrifying.”

Veronica and I exchange a wide-eyed look.

Elle continues, completely unfazed by how insane she sounds.

“We also met this 1930s singer, Tallulah—she had this thick accent, totally dramatic, but cool. Anyway, Martha got kidnapped, so we went after her and—get this—I saw actual Daleks. These creepy metal creatures that look like salt shakers with a plunger and a whisk. They’re not robots, but they are soulless. Honestly, even the PCHers would look like decent people compared to them.”

I let out a breathy laugh, but it’s more disbelief than amusement.

“And then there was Dalek Sec—he turned into this human-Dalek hybrid, all tentacle-face with one eye. And Solomon...he stood up to the Daleks. They killed him. Just like that. He died a hero.”

Veronica swallows. I can see the weight of it settling over her.

Elle’s voice is steady, but there’s something underneath it. Something heavy.

“Doctor got taken by the Daleks, so now Martha and I are trying to figure out how to stop them. Just another day traveling in time and space, right? Anyway, hope Neptune’s still standing when I get back. Later.”

The message ends. Silence settles between us.

Then—

“Holy shit,” I mutter.

Veronica just nods. “She fought aliens. In the Great Depression.”

“And apparently, Daleks make the PCHers look like preschoolers.”

We sit with that for a moment, trying to process it all. The danger she’s in. The fact that she casually left us this voicemail like she wasn’t literally in a war zone fighting alien pig-men and salt-shaker monsters.

I rub my face. “Well, now I feel like an asshole for complaining about my dad’s glass-blowing hobby.”

Veronica nudges me gently. “I think that’s still valid.”

We chuckle, but it’s a little hollow. Because beneath the humor, there’s something else.

We miss her. And we’re worried.

Wherever Elle is, we just hope she’s safe.

Sitting on the bonnet of Veronica’s LeBaron, I swung the keys between my fingers, watching as she stood in line for the school bus. The school bus. Veronica Mars, queen of snark, heir to a thousand cutting comebacks, was about to take public transportation like some peasant. I couldn’t let that happen.

“Ah, mass transit,” I called, grinning as she glanced up, already looking suspicious.

She followed the sound of my voice and spotted me, lounging on her car like it was a throne. I tapped the hood, smirking. “But why take the bus when you can drive your very own rustbucket? I had my dad’s driver pick it up.” I knocked on the bonnet for emphasis. “Full of fresh stolen parts, ready to go.”

I tossed her the keys. She caught them effortlessly—because, of course, she did—and walked over, joining me on the hood.

“Wow,” she said, mock-impressed. “I’ll just try to keep this little gesture in mind this weekend when you and Dick and the Beaver are off getting blasted and scamming cheerleaders.”

I stretched my arms behind me, leaning back. “Yeah…yeah. Actually, I had to tell Dick I’m not available, ‘cause I have other plans.”

She raised an eyebrow. “There are cheerleaders with low self-esteem available domestically?”

“Are you free Friday?” I asked, my tone casual. “Maybe we could go out.”

“Here? In Neptune?” She tilted her head, giving me that scrutinizing look. “What about our little secret?”

“Well,” I slid off the car, standing in front of her. “I thought we’d try a practice run in Catalina Island. So what do you think about us skipping school on Friday for a little ride on Dad’s boat? Dinner and a movie?”

She pretended to consider it. “I’ll pencil you in.”

“So it’s, uh… what’s the word?” I smirked. “A date?”

“Nice of your dad to let us use his boat.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think he actually likes you.”

And then, like the universe had decided our moment needed a little extra weirdness, a swirling loud noise filled the parking lot. The unmistakable sound of the TARDIS materializing.

Veronica and I both turned, watching as the blue police box appeared out of nowhere, right there in the Neptune High parking lot. And then, just as suddenly as it arrived, the doors swung open.

The Doctor stepped out first, all wild energy and barely contained chaos. And then Elle followed.

It had been four days. Four days without her, and somehow, it felt longer. Almost surreal, knowing where she’d been, what she’d done. I mean, four days ago, she was just here in Neptune. And now? Now she’d been to the Moon, met Shakespeare, screamed “Expelliarmus” at actual witches, barely escaped Queen Elizabeth I’s wrath, jumped across flying cars on a knockoff Earth, met cat-people, ran for her life during the Great Depression from aliens with pig faces, and fought creatures that made the worst PCHers seem downright cuddly.

She had been through all that in four days. And now she was just… back.

Elle stepped forward, and there was something different about her. More open, more settled in herself, but also changed in a way I couldn’t quite place. She gave us a small smile. “Hi.”

Veronica and I exchanged a glance before grinning. “Hey, Space Girl,” I said, my usual sarcasm softened by actual relief. “Miss us?”

The Doctor gave us a cheerful nod. “Hello, hello! Miss me in science class?”

I scoffed. “More entertaining than any other teacher we’ve had. Kinda hard to top blowing stuff up and making time-travel sound like a casual Tuesday.”

Elle laughed, and it was good to hear. But there was something else beneath it, something quieter. When she finally talked to us about everything, it wasn’t in some dramatic, life-altering speech. It was just… different. More real.

She told us about the ridiculousness—the witches, the spells, the Queen trying to behead the Doctor—like they were just funny road trip stories. But when she got to the danger, the real fear, the moments she thought she might actually die, her voice softened.

And I got it. Hearing about it through her voice messages was one thing. Seeing her now, knowing how it had shaped her, was another.

Elle wasn’t the same, not completely. She was still her—still sharp, still fearless—but something inside her had shifted. Maybe it was realizing how big and terrifying the universe actually was. Maybe it was the moment she thought she wouldn’t make it back.

Or maybe it was just realizing that, in the end, what mattered most wasn’t the adventure. It was having something—someone—to come back to.

Chapter Text

I check my watch again. Five minutes late. Then ten. Fifteen.

I let out a sharp breath through my nose, jaw tightening as I glance toward the dock. Still nothing. Just the gentle sway of the water, the hum of distant conversation from the Albacore Club, and the occasional call of seagulls overhead. No Veronica.

I clench my fists and exhale slowly. Don’t be that guy, Logan. Don’t be the guy who overreacts, who spirals. Maybe she’s stuck in traffic. Maybe she had to take her dad’s stupid rust-bucket of a car, and it broke down somewhere on the PCH.

Maybe she’s just not coming.

That thought digs into my ribs like a blade, but I ignore it, turning toward the back of the boat. The setup looks almost ridiculous now—champagne on ice, perfectly arranged plates of food I don’t even feel like eating anymore. It’s all so stupid. I grab the champagne bottle, twisting the foil and yanking out the cork. The fizz erupts over my hand, a mocking splash that only makes my irritation spike. I take a long, deep swig once the bubbles settle, the burn of alcohol not nearly enough to drown out the frustration gnawing at me.

I sink onto the seat, legs sprawled out, the bottle now carelessly set on the table beside me. My fingers drum against my knee. I should just leave. But I don’t.

Then I see her. Not Veronica—Elle.

She’s walking down the dock, her steps even but purposeful, her expression shifting as she catches sight of me. It softens, like she already knows something’s wrong.

“Hey,” she says, stepping onto the boat, her gaze flicking to the champagne and then back to my face. “What happened?”

I let out a dry, humorless chuckle, rubbing my hand over my jaw. “What happened? Oh, nothing much. Just got stood up on my first date with Veronica Mars.”

Elle doesn’t respond right away, just watches me, taking in the tension in my shoulders, the way my fingers tighten around the glass I haven’t even poured yet. Then, before I can react, she reaches for the champagne and plucks it right out of my hand.

“Hey—” I start, but she just gives me a look. One that says, This isn’t helping you.

And damn it, I hate that she’s right.

Elle takes a seat across from me, her eyes thoughtful. “Did she say anything? Call or text?”

I shake my head. “Not a word.”

She exhales, tapping her fingers against the glass. “Maybe something happened. Something unexpected. What if she lost her phone? Or…” She hesitates, but then her expression shifts, a crease forming between her brows. “What if something bad happened?”

I scoff, though the seed of doubt she just planted starts to take root. “Like what? She got kidnapped? This is Neptune, not a bad Lifetime movie.”

Elle doesn’t smile. “Logan, I’m serious. She wouldn’t just not show up for no reason. At least, not Veronica. You should talk to her. Ask her what happened before jumping to conclusions.”

I lean back, arms crossing over my chest. The irritation is still there, simmering under my skin, but now there’s something else. A sliver of unease. What if Elle is right? What if something did happen?

I stare out at the water for a long moment before sighing, rubbing a hand through my hair. “Fine. I’ll talk to her.”

Elle nods, satisfied. Then she reaches for a plate, picking up a small sandwich. “Good. Now, if we’re just sitting here wasting time, we might as well eat. It’d be a crime to let all this go to waste.”

I huff out a reluctant laugh. Maybe she has a point. Because right now, I don’t know what the hell is going on with Veronica. But I do know one thing—Elle’s right. The only way to find out is to ask.

Dick’s still going on about his damn surfboard. He’s cradling it like it’s an actual baby, and I can’t help but snort because, honestly, it’s hilarious. But then I see her—Veronica.

Blonde hair loose around her shoulders, moving quick, like she’s hoping I won’t notice. Like hell.

I take off after her, skipping steps to catch up. “Hey, Veronica. Hey, will you stop for two seconds?”

She ignores me, doesn’t even glance my way. Keeps moving.

Before I can reach her, a body steps in my path. Weevil. Right in front of the school bus, blocking me.

“You see when they run away like that, it’s kind of a hint they’re not interested.”

I exhale hard, already not in the mood. “Look, you do not want to start with me today, paco.”

Weevil smirks, unfazed. “Are you sure? It was in my day planner under goals.”

I roll my eyes. “How is this your business?”

“I’m just looking out for Veronica. So if you think you’re gonna lay a hand on her the way you did Lilly—”

Everything inside me snaps. My stomach twists, anger boiling up hot and fast. “Don’t you even say her name.”

“Actually, she kind of liked it when I said her name.”

I shove him, hard. He stumbles back but just grins. No fear, just challenge.

“You think she had any real interest in you? You’re a pork rind. You’re what people grab when they’re stoned and just want garbage.”

Weevil tilts his head. “What makes it worse? Thinking she had feelings for me, or that she was using me for sex?”

That’s it. I grab his jacket and yank him close, voice low and dangerous. “You stay away from Veronica.”

Weevil doesn’t even blink. “I’m not the one she’s running away from.”

Before I can throw a punch, someone steps between us.

Elle.

She doesn’t yell, doesn’t look flustered. Just serious, tough. Her hand presses lightly against my chest to stop me from lunging, but her eyes flick to Weevil with something softer—kindness?

“Hey, Weevil,” she says, smiling like they’re old friends. “How you doing?”

Weevil looks a little surprised but nods. “I’m good.”

Elle stays warm with him, but when she turns to me, her expression shifts. The disappointment in her eyes cuts deeper than Weevil’s words.

“We need to talk. Alone.”

Weevil raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. He steps away, leaving me with Elle.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches me, measuring. Finally, she speaks, her voice quiet but sharp.

“I know what you did at Shelly Pomroy’s party.”

I blink. “How?”

She wasn’t there. And she’s from the future. We both know that.

Elle doesn’t answer. Instead, she steps closer and, without warning, places her hands on my temples.

I barely get the chance to react before my vision floods with something else—something not mine.

I’m dizzy. Disoriented. A wave of fear crashes through me, but it’s not mine. It’s Veronica’s.

I see her at the party, stumbling. Everything around her warps, shifting out of focus. She’s helpless, sinking into unconsciousness on the pool chaise lounge.

The scene shifts. It’s morning. Veronica in her white dress, waking up in some bedroom she doesn’t recognize. Her underwear on the floor. She’s shaking, tears welling in her eyes. She realizes. She knows.

Raped.

I try to pull away, but Elle doesn’t let me. The memory keeps going.

Now it’s a different morning. A guy—taped naked to the flagpole, ‘SCUM’ scrawled across his chest. Veronica standing in front of him, demanding answers.

“Who gave you the rohypnol the night of Shelly Pomeroy’s party?”

He looks away. “I don’t remember.”

Veronica’s voice is sharp. “In about five minutes, people are going to show up for school. And unless you want your little business to be the first thing they see, you’re gonna tell me who gave you the roofies.”

A beat of silence, then: “There weren’t any roofies. It was GHB. It was Logan Echolls. He gave it to me.”

The memory vanishes. I stumble back, ripping myself out of Elle’s hold. My breath is shallow, my hands shaking.

Elle watches me, her expression unreadable.

“How did you—” I start, my voice hoarse. “How did you do that?”

“Think of me like Bluetooth,” she says. “I can transfer memories.”

I feel sick. The weight of it crashes down on me.

“You need to take responsibility for this, Logan,” Elle says, her voice softer now, but firm. “You were part of the reason this happened. Even if you didn’t mean for it to happen, it still did. And you need to own up to it.”

She doesn’t hate me. I can tell. But she won’t let me off the hook either.

And then, without another word, she turns and walks away.

I stand there, the world tilting beneath me, realization settling in like a stone in my chest.

This—this is why Veronica didn’t show up to our date.

I stand in front of Veronica’s door, my heart pounding in my chest. My palms are sweaty, my breathing shallow. After what Elle showed me, after what I felt—I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say. But I know I can’t walk away without trying.

I knock.

Nothing.

I knock again, more urgently.

Backup’s barking fills the apartment, and then—soft footsteps. The door opens just a crack. Veronica stands there in her bathrobe, her damp blonde hair falling over her shoulders. Her eyes widen when she sees me, and then, just as quickly, her expression hardens.

“It’s kind of a bad time,” she says, gripping the door like she’s ready to slam it shut.

I put my hand on the doorframe, not stopping her, just—just here.

“Veronica, please. Just—just two minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

She hesitates. I can see it in the way her fingers tighten around the door, the flicker of something behind her eyes. But then she exhales sharply and steps back, letting me inside.

I step in, the scent of her shampoo still lingering in the air. My throat is tight. She crosses her arms, watching me warily.

“Elle told me,” I say, my voice rough. “She showed me—everything.”

Her breath hitches. She swallows, but doesn’t look away. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “She told me she was going to. Said you needed to see for yourself.”

I nod, running a hand through my hair. My chest feels like it’s caving in. “I had no idea. I swear to God, Veronica, I had no idea.”

She lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah? Well, neither did I.”

Silence.

I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to keep going. “I never—never—would have let something like that happen to you. I need you to know that. I didn’t—” My voice breaks, and I shake my head, trying to hold myself together. “I was an idiot. A reckless, entitled asshole who thought getting some GHB was just fun—” I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, feeling the weight of it press down on me. “But I never thought—”

Veronica’s eyes are glassy, but she won’t let them spill over. She won’t let me see her cry.

“You were part of the reason this happened, Logan.” Her voice is steady, but quiet. Controlled. “Even if you didn’t mean for it to happen, it did.”

I nod, my stomach twisting. “I know.” I force myself to meet her eyes. “And I will do anything—anything—to make this right.”

She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the battle playing out in her head. The anger. The pain. The part of her that still wants to trust me, fighting against the part that can’t.

Finally, she exhales, shaking her head. “There is no making this right, Logan.”

I take a step closer. “Then let me help. Let me—let me do something.”

She swipes at her eye, covering it up with a scoff. “Yeah? And what exactly do you plan on doing? Beating the crap out of every guy at that party? That’s not gonna fix this.”

“I know that,” I snap, then immediately regret it. I drag a hand over my face, trying to steady myself. “I just—I can’t stand knowing I had any part in this.”

“Welcome to my world,” she says softly.

Silence again.

Finally, she sighs, shaking her head. “Look, Logan… I appreciate that you came here. I do. And I appreciate that you’re—owning up to your part in all of this.” Her voice wavers for just a second before she steadies it. “But I don’t know if I can do this right now. I don’t know if I can look at you and not—” She cuts herself off, exhaling sharply. “I just need time.”

I nod, forcing back the sting behind my eyes. “Okay.” My voice is hoarse. “Okay, take all the time you need.”

I turn to leave, but before I reach the door, I pause. Without looking back, I say, “For what it’s worth, I am so goddamn sorry, Veronica.”

Then I walk out, the door clicking shut behind me.

It starts with Veronica. It always does.

She’s sitting across from me at the cafeteria outside Neptune High, her fingers drumming restlessly against the table. Sunlight filters through the trees, casting dappled patterns across her face, but she doesn’t notice. Her eyes are locked on Elle, and I already know what she’s going to say before the words even leave her mouth.

“I need a favor,” Veronica says, her voice steady, but I can hear the undertone—the weight of what she’s asking. It’s been there ever since she told me. Ever since Elle forced me to see it.

Elle doesn’t hesitate. “Anything.”

I watch as Veronica takes a breath, like she’s steeling herself, and then she dives in. “You can read memories, right? If you touch someone, you can see what they’ve seen, what they’ve felt?”

Elle nods slowly. “Yeah… where’s this going?”

“I need you to do that,” Veronica says. “To the people who were at Shelly Pomroy’s party.”

Elle goes still.

I shift in my seat, jaw tightening. We all know what happened at that party. What was done to Veronica because of the drugs I brought back from Tijuana. It’s a weight I can’t shake, a black hole of guilt that’s been eating me alive since Elle made me see what Veronica lived through that night. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I have to be here.

Elle’s eyes soften, but there’s fire in them, too. “You want me to find out who—” She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to.

Veronica nods. “I need to know. I have to know.”

There’s a long pause, then Elle reaches across the table and takes Veronica’s hand. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, but I’m not just relieved. I’m ready. Ready to find the bastard who did this. Ready to make sure he never does it to anyone else. But I know I can’t just go in swinging. I can’t throw punches at every guy who was at that party. We need the truth.

“We do this together,” I say. “I want to be there when you—when you find him.”

Veronica looks at me, and for a moment, I think she’s going to tell me no. That this is her fight. But she doesn’t. She just nods.

Elle leans back, glancing between us. “Before we do this, you should understand how my abilities work.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Because ‘magic brain powers’ wasn’t self-explanatory?”

Elle rolls her eyes. “I’m not magic. I’m half Time-Lady.”

Veronica and I exchange a look. We already know Elle isn’t exactly normal. We’ve traveled through time with the Doctor, seen things that should be impossible. But this? This is still new territory.

Elle crosses her arms. “The Doctor is fully Time-Lord. I was born like this—half human, half Time-Lady. It means I have certain abilities. My telepathy isn’t just reading thoughts. I can experience someone’s memories like they’re my own. I can see, hear, feel what they felt.”

A cold chill runs through me. She felt what Veronica felt. No wonder she looked at me like she wanted to punch me and hug me at the same time. She wasn’t crying, but she was disappointed—quietly furious, even. Because this all led back to the drugs I dealt. Because I played a part in something that changed Veronica forever.

“Most Time Lords are touch-telepaths,” Elle continues. “But I’m not limited that way. I can reach into someone’s mind without contact if I focus. But it’s stronger when I touch them.”

Veronica nods, taking it all in. “So we track down people from the party, and you pull the memories we need.”

Elle nods. “Exactly. We find him.”

I clench my fists. And then I make him pay.

For the first time since this nightmare started, there’s a plan. A real plan. And we’re not stopping until we have answers. Until Veronica has justice.

Because I may not be able to change what happened, but I sure as hell can help end it.

The school corridors were crowded, the buzz of voices bouncing off the yellow lockers. I walked beside Veronica and Elle, our pace deliberate. We weren’t here for small talk. We had a mission.

Meg was standing at her open locker, rifling through a stack of books. She looked up as we approached, her expression immediately brightening when she saw Veronica. “Um, can we skip English today? I have some sort of Hemingway-related narcolepsy. You start talking about The Sun Also Rises and I start falling asleep.”

Veronica smirked. “Don’t blame Papa, blame Mrs. Murphy’s monotone.”

Meg chuckled, but then Veronica’s expression shifted, turning serious. “Hey, you were at Shelly Pomroy’s end-of-the-year party, right?”

Meg blinked, wary now. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, for a little while.”

Veronica pressed on. “Did you see me there?”

Meg hesitated. “Why?”

Veronica shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I just want to know. My memory’s a little fuzzy about that night.”

Meg’s face tightened. “Yep. Maybe that’s a good thing.”

Elle spoke up, her voice quiet but firm. “It’s not a good thing. Something really bad happened to Veronica, and we need to find out exactly what.”

I nodded, backing Elle up. “She’s right.”

Veronica looked at Meg, eyes searching. “So you did see me.”

Meg sighed. “For like a second. I was with Cole, and we were just leaving.”

Elle stepped closer, her presence calm but intense. “I can help,” she said. “I can read your memories. But you need to trust me.”

Meg eyed her skeptically. “Read my memories?”

“I’m kind of a psychic,” Elle admitted.

Meg hesitated, then, with a wary nod, closed her eyes. Elle gently placed her hands on Meg’s temples, her own eyes fluttering shut as she focused.

Silence stretched, thick with tension. Then Elle began to speak.

“You came to Cole,” she murmured. “You didn’t want to leave yet. You hadn’t said goodbye to Shelly. There’s a crowd... they’re whooping it up.”

I swallowed hard. I knew where this was going.

Elle’s brow furrowed. “Veronica... she’s on a sun lounger. There’s people around her.” A pause, then her voice darkened. “Logan, you poured salt on her chest. You put a piece of lime in her mouth.”

Her disgust was palpable, and it hit me like a gut punch.

“What the fuck, Logan?” she spat, her eyes still closed.

I looked away, shame burning through me. I’d known. I’d seen it before through Elle’s abilities, but hearing it again... it didn’t get any easier.

Elle inhaled sharply. “Someone’s leaning over her... licking off the salt.” Her hands twitched against Meg’s temples. “Meg wanted to help, but Cole didn’t care. He just wanted to leave.”

Her breathing hitched slightly. “Wait. Someone pushed the guy off her.” Her voice was urgent now. “Veronica’s rescuer—he got her off the lounger. But... I can’t see his face. His back is to Meg.”

A cold weight settled in my chest. I knew who it was.

Elle’s expression twisted. “Logan, you’re complaining about it. You didn’t want him interfering.”

I exhaled, the truth settling in my bones.

Elle let go of Meg, and she stepped away, rubbing her temples. Meg, clearly unsettled, muttered, “That’s your big high school-related embarrassing moment. Everyone’s got one, right? You gotta let it go. You’ll make yourself crazy.”

She wandered off, leaving Veronica standing there, brow furrowed in thought.

Elle watched her go, then leaned in and whispered, “Not everyone’s got to be raped at a party.”

I clenched my fists. Elle was right. And I finally knew for certain who had pulled Veronica away from that nightmare. I turned to them, voice firm. “It was Duncan.”

Chapter Text

I never thought I’d be sitting at a cafeteria table outside Neptune High, watching Veronica Mars cash in favors like a mob boss. But here we were, Luke flipping through a book, probably pretending to study, and Veronica dropping her usual brand of sarcasm-laced persuasion.

“Remember when I saved you from drug dealers and I said I may call upon you for a favor someday?” she asked, arms crossed, tone casual but pointed.

Luke squinted up at her, brows furrowed. “You didn’t say that.”

Veronica shrugged. “It was implied.”

She slid into the seat across from him like she owned the place. I sat next to her, draping an arm across the back of her chair. Elle, the newest addition to our bizarre little investigative trio, took the seat beside Luke.

Luke chuckled, shutting his book. “Okay, what can I do you for?”

“Nice.” Veronica grinned. “I heard you went to TJ with Sean and Logan and scored some GHB.”

At the mention of my name, I stiffened. I remembered that trip. Luke ran a hand through his hair, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “Wow, that was like, ah, that was like a year ago. I don’t have any now.”

Veronica’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I was gonna spike your juice box and have my way with you.”

Luke laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay.”

“What’d you do with it?” she asked.

Luke shifted, lowering his voice. “Nothing. Honestly, I—I didn’t do anything. I gave it away.”

“To who?”

Luke sighed. “Um, Dick Casablancas.”

Veronica and I exchanged a glance. Elle, however, looked at Luke like he’d just admitted to drowning puppies. Before she could go on a tirade, she cleared her throat and composed herself. “Hi, I’m Elle, by the way.”

“Luke.”

Elle nodded. “So, here’s the deal—I need to read your memories.”

Luke frowned. “Read my—what?”

“She’s kinda a psychic,” I explained before he could bolt. “And yeah, it sounds crazy, but she’s actually very good. She already saw what I did at that party. It was… accurate.”

Luke hesitated, looking between me, Veronica, and Elle. Finally, he sighed. “Fine. Do your thing.”

Elle reached out and placed her hands on Luke’s temples, closing her eyes. Luke mirrored her. After a beat, Elle began to speak.

“I see you and two guys toasting shots. One’s blonde.”

“That’s Dick,” I supplied.

“The other two have brown hair.”

“Sean and Casey.”

Elle nodded, still eyes closed. “I see a guy talking intimately with a girl. Dick’s annoyed, says something about how the guy’s getting time with her while he’s stuck flapping out in the breeze.”

I already knew who she meant before she spoke again.

“The guy’s name is Beaver?” Elle said, her nose wrinkling. “What kind of guy’s name is Beaver? Like the furry animal?”

“It’s a nickname,” I muttered.

“Whatever.”

Elle continued. “Luke says Dick has the hottest girlfriend.” She huffed, annoyed. “Ugh, gross. So much objectification.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably. I could already tell this wasn’t going to be a fun trip down memory lane for him.

Elle frowned deeper. “Dick says something about her having fake breasts. Wow. Okay, not his business, but sure.”

She paused, her lips twisting in disgust. “Sean says something about the drinks in that girl. Then Dick asks if they got some stuff in TJ. Sean says he’s saving it for a special occasion.”

Veronica tensed beside me. I felt my stomach tighten, knowing where this was leading.

Elle exhaled through her nose. “Luke laughs. Then a blonde girl shows up. Oof, mean girl vibes. She’s pissed about seeing Veronica.”

“Madison,” Luke murmured, eyes still shut.

Elle continued. “Veronica’s walking around, white dress, long blonde hair. Dick tries to massage Madison’s shoulders, but she’s not into touching. Rolls her eyes, walks away. The guys laugh.”

Elle’s face twisted in distaste. “Luke gives Dick his GHB.”

My fists clenched involuntarily.

Elle’s voice softened. “Now I see Luke outside the party, still drinking. He’s past Veronica’s parked LeBaron when another car pulls up in front of it. Madison jumps out—still the same mean girl vibes. She’s got an aerosol can. Oh, great.”

Elle sighed. “I hear her say ‘Stringy-haired white trash’ before she starts spraying the windscreen.”

Veronica inhaled sharply. Elle released Luke’s temples and sat back, rubbing her forehead.

Luke opened his eyes, blinking as if adjusting to reality. “I thought Dick gave Madison the GHB,” he said. “But I guess not. That stuff makes people nice. Madison was… definitely not nice.”

Veronica frowned. “Why would she do that?”

Luke snorted. “Uh, because she’s a horrible human being?”

Elle scoffed. “Yeah, she’s not a girl’s girl.”

Veronica and I exchanged another confused glance. “A what now?” I asked.

Elle sighed, exasperated. “A girl’s girl. Someone who supports other women, hypes them up instead of tearing them down. You don’t have to be best friends, but you don’t actively go out of your way to be awful.”

Veronica smirked slightly. “And here I thought we were speaking the same language.”

I was still digesting the whole memory-reading thing, but one thing was clear—this whole mess with that night at Shelly Pomroy’s party? It wasn’t over. Not even close.

Walking into the girls' bathroom wasn’t exactly on my to-do list today, but when Veronica Mars has a mission, you roll with it. Elle, Veronica, and I stepped inside, and there she was—Madison Sinclair, brunette edition, preening in front of the mirror like she was auditioning for a shampoo commercial.

Her eyes flicked to the mirror, catching Veronica standing behind her, and she turned, instantly on edge. Then she saw me.

"Uh, this is the girls' bathroom, Logan," Madison said, her voice dripping with condescension.

Elle crossed her arms, already not impressed with Madison’s bitchy behavior. I smirked. "Oh, sorry, didn’t you know? This is Veronica’s office for all her private eye dealings."

Veronica leaned in slightly. "You can keep asking, but you're not the fairest, trust me."

Madison snorted. "I can tell you who the pastiest is. What's the deal, can't buy bronzer with food stamps?"

Elle made a face. I could already tell she was ready to throw hands.

Veronica, unfazed, got to the point. "You wrote 'slut' on my car last year at Shelly's party. Why?"

Madison turned, facing Veronica fully now, smirking like this was her favorite game. "Because 'whore' had too many letters."

Elle’s jaw dropped, and before Veronica could even respond, Elle snapped, "Wow. Slutshaming? That’s so fucked up. You should really watch your mouth and be respectful."

Veronica glanced at Elle, a little surprised but also clearly amused. "I have never done anything to you, up 'til now."

"Whatever, Veronica."

"Oh, like what?"

Madison raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. "How 'bout making out with my boyfriend in front of an entire party."

Wait. What? I turned to Veronica, who looked just as disbelieving as I felt. Madison’s boyfriend? That meant—oh, hell no.

"I guess I shouldn't take that personally, though, huh? You pretty much made out with everyone."

"I don't believe you," Veronica said, her voice calm but firm.

"Are you kidding?"

Elle rolled her eyes, clearly fed up. "Wow, you’re really just a knockoff Regina George, huh? What’s next? Gonna push a girl in front of a bus?"

Madison huffed. "Excuse me?"

"Excuse you? You’re accusing Veronica of something she didn’t even do, and you’re slutshaming her for it? That’s not just mean girl behavior, that’s pathetic."

I grinned, feeling the annoyance bubble up as I watched Elle rip into Madison. "You know what? Elle can prove it. She’s psychic."

Madison scoffed. "Oh, come on."

Veronica smirked. "If you’re so sure, let her read your memories. Let’s see who kissed who."

Madison hesitated, but then she shrugged. "Fine. Go ahead."

Elle stepped forward, placing her hands on Madison’s temples. Madison flinched slightly but didn’t pull away. Elle closed her eyes.

"Okay," Elle murmured. "I see Casey and Dick on a couch… there’s a song playing, some cover of ‘I Touch Myself’—classy. Dick’s in full party animal mode… and—oh, here’s Veronica. Stumbling. Dick grabs her. Oh, and look at that—he’s singing the song. Gross. And he’s grabbing her hands, making her run them over his chest like he’s some kind of Abercrombie model. Veronica’s trying to get up, but her hand’s in his hair for leverage… oh, and he’s loving that. And… yep, there it is. He kissed her. Not the other way around."

Madison’s mouth opened slightly, her confidence cracking.

Elle continued. "Oh, wait. And now Dick’s pushing Veronica away—onto Casey. And Casey? He looks disgusted. He pushes her up to standing."

Elle let go, stepping back, arms crossed. "So. Guess what, Madison? You saw Dick kissing Veronica and just decided it was all her fault. Typical. Instead of blaming your cheating boyfriend, you blamed another girl. Real feminist of you."

Madison looked stunned, but I wasn’t feeling any sympathy.

Veronica turned to me. "So, Elle’s like a walking lie detector. Neat, huh?"

Elle smirked, tilting her head as she gave Madison a once-over. "You know, you’re really pretty, Madison. Your hair looks great, your makeup is on point. But underneath all that? You’re just a sad little girl with mommy issues who doesn’t know how to be nice to people because your mom resents you. And all that beauty? It doesn’t mean a thing when your personality is this ugly."

Silence.

Madison looked like she had been physically slapped.

Veronica and I exchanged an impressed glance before turning and walking out, Elle right behind us. As we stepped into the hall, Veronica let out a low whistle. "Damn, Elle. That was brutal. I love it."

I chuckled, nudging Elle’s arm. "Yeah, you really went in on her. Proud of you."

Elle grinned. "Hey, someone had to put her in her place."

And with that, we walked away, leaving Madison Sinclair and her broken illusions behind.

I spot Casey walking through the parking lot, head down, focused on something in his hands. Probably his phone. Classic avoidance tactic. But Veronica's already moving toward him, Elle and I following close behind.

"Hey, stranger," she calls.

Casey glances up, blinking like he’s just now realizing we exist. "What's up, Veronica?"

She doesn’t miss a beat. "Kind of an awkward question. Do you remember Shelly's end-of-the-year party? I know it was a while ago."

Casey’s expression tightens. "Not really. Look, I've gotta get some stuff done before class. See you around, okay?" And just like that, he’s already turning away.

Veronica, never one to let something go that easily, throws out, "Oh yeah. I was just wondering how you've been, you know, without your grandmother."

I catch the way Elle’s face changes—sadness flickering through her like a match catching flame. Casey stops, then pivots back to face us. His expression is unreadable, but I see something shift behind his eyes.

"I've been good," he says, forcing a smile. "Got my priorities in check. No more throwing my family's money at strangers so I can eat S’mores and listen to bad folk music. What was the awkward question?"

Veronica doesn’t hesitate. "Did I hit on you at Shelly's party?"

Casey lets out a short, humorless laugh. "No."

"Did it get ugly at Shelly's?"

This time, his smile is real. "Oh, yeah."

Veronica takes that in, then shifts gears. "Casey, this is Elle. Elle, Casey. Elle’s kinda psychic."

I swear Casey looks at us like we’ve collectively lost our minds. "You're joking."

"Not about this," Veronica says, too serious for it to be anything but true.

I step in. "Look, Elle reads memories. She’s never been wrong before. If we want to be sure Madison was totally full of shit, this is our best shot."

Casey exhales sharply, looking between us, then finally lands on Elle. "Fine. Let’s do this."

Elle steps forward, placing her hands on Casey’s temples. They both close their eyes. It’s a little eerie to watch, but I’ve seen her do this enough times to know it works.

"Casey’s telling the truth," Elle murmurs. "Madison was definitely lying."

Veronica exhales dramatically. "Well, I’m gonna go drink some bleach now."

But Elle’s not done. Her face scrunches up, like she’s watching something play out in her mind. "I see Dick feeding Veronica a shot… there’s hip-hop music playing. Veronica says she needs to go home, but Dick tells her she’s already home. Then Sean jumps in, lying about some mansion, a pool, a hot tub. It’s gross."

My hands clench into fists. I don’t know where this is going, but I already hate it.

Elle’s voice lowers, disgust curling around her words. "Veronica’s on the couch. Dick’s next to her. Beaver and Sean are behind, Shelly’s sitting across from her. Sean’s pouring another shot down Veronica’s throat. Then—"

Elle’s breath catches. I see her jaw tighten. "Sean makes Shelly kiss Veronica. Like—forcing it. They think it’s funny. Objectifying lesbians like some disgusting joke."

I feel my stomach drop. It’s like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. Because I remember being that guy. The one who cheered when girls kissed at parties, who thought it was all just entertainment. And now? Now I want to punch the younger version of myself in the face.

Elle finally pulls her hands back, looking furious. "I hate Sean," she mutters. "He’s homophobic trash."

Casey exhales, shaking his head. "Some of the guys thought it would be cool to see you make out with Shelly."

Veronica’s voice is quieter now. "They were definitely feeding me shots?"

"Guess they were afraid you were sobering up."

Casey walks off, leaving silence in his wake.

Veronica lets out a shuddering breath, her arms wrapping around herself. I glance at Elle, who looks just as shaken. And me? I’m furious. At Dick. At Sean. At my younger self for ever thinking any of this was okay.

I take a breath, then another. And then I do the only thing I can—I step closer to Veronica, offering quiet support. Because I might not be able to fix the past, but I sure as hell can make sure it doesn’t happen again.

I follow Veronica and Elle into the classroom, my hands clenched into fists. Sean is lounging backwards on his chair, his usual smug grin plastered across his face as he talks to some random guy. He doesn’t see what’s coming.

Veronica doesn’t waste time. She strides in and swings a chair right into his, shoving the other student away in the process. Logan and Elle grab their own chairs and sit down in front of him. The move is coordinated—predatory, even. Veronica perches on her chair, straddling it, arms folded on the back, nose-to-nose with Sean.

Sean raises an eyebrow. “What?”

Veronica tilts her head, eyes glinting. “I’m just thinking of all the ways I can destroy you.”

Sean smirks. “Well, you sitting there grinning is kind of torturous.”

I don’t even let him enjoy the moment. “Shut up, Sean.”

Veronica leans in closer, her voice mockingly casual. “So, Shelly Pomroy and I were thinking of getting together later for a little girl-on-girl, you wanna come with?”

Elle doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah, because clearly, you think women exist for your entertainment.” She folds her arms, unflinching. “You’re a homophobic pig, and you objectify women. Do you know how disgusting that is?”

Sean stiffens slightly, but keeps the bravado. “What are you even talking about?”

Elle doesn’t let him breathe. “Would you love it if someone drugged you and forced you to kiss Dick? How about if some girl made the two of you go at it just for laughs?”

Sean’s jaw clenches. The bravado slips for just a second.

Veronica smirks. “Wow. You know, when you’re about to soil yourself, you get a little twitch right in your eye.”

Sean scoffs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do.” Veronica’s voice is colder now. “And unless you want me to tell one of my favorite deputies that you were the one with GHB at Shelly’s party…”

Elle cuts in, eyes sharp. “Actually, it was Dick feeding her drinks, not Sean.”

Sean exhales, looking at Elle for the first time. “She’s right.” He then narrows his eyes. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Elle,” she says coolly.

Sean introduces himself, and Elle rolls her eyes. “I know who you are.”

Sean shifts uncomfortably. “Dick is the one you should be talking to.” He eyes Elle again. “How do you even know this? You weren’t there.”

Elle doesn’t even blink. “I’m psychic.”

Sean barks out a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

Veronica and I don’t even hesitate to back her up. “She’s legit,” I say. “She’s already exposed Madison for lying.”

Sean rolls his eyes. “Fine. Read my mind then.”

Elle reaches out, placing her hands on his temples. Both of them close their eyes. The classroom feels too still, like the air is holding its breath.

Elle’s voice is steady but grim. “I see Dick carrying Veronica into a bedroom.” She swallows hard. “I’ve seen this room before. This is where Veronica realized what happened to her.”

Veronica goes still beside me, her breath shallow.

Elle keeps going. “Dick drops her onto the bed. Sean and Beaver are behind him. Dick is singing the wedding march like Veronica is getting married.”

My stomach twists. I don’t want to hear this, but I have to.

Elle’s brow furrows in disgust. “Beaver says something—he’s worried. He tells Dick not to hurt her. Dick laughs. Says he’ll hurt her, but she won’t even notice.”

Elle exhales shakily. “Now I understand why this guy’s name is Dick… I mean, he acts like a total dick.”

No one laughs.

Elle continues. “Beaver stutters—says it’s not funny. Dick doesn’t get it. He just looks at Veronica and says she’s hot when she’s quiet.” Elle clenches her jaw. “He talks about her like she’s a thing. Says she’s ready and willing.”

I see red.

Elle’s hands shake slightly, but she keeps going. “Beaver says she’s unconscious. She’s not willing.” Her face darkens. “Dick stands up. Tells Beaver to take advantage of the moment. And then…” Elle makes a sound of pure disgust. “Dick gives Beaver a hard head pat, tosses some condoms on the bed, and walks out.”

Elle abruptly lets go of Sean’s temples, her face pale, her lips pressed into a tight line. Sean looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“How the hell did you—” He shakes his head. “That was exactly—”

“I told you,” Elle says flatly. “I see things.”

Sean’s voice is hollow. “Your issues are with Dick and Beaver. Not me.”

Veronica’s response is ice-cold. “Well, I’m just sorry you had to witness it. That must have been awful for you.”

Her sarcasm is razor-sharp. Sean looks away, saying nothing.

We walk out, silent for a moment. My blood is boiling. Elle looks angry too, though hers is quieter, seething under the surface. Veronica? She’s composed. Too composed.

Finally, she speaks. “We need to confront Dick and Beaver.”

I don’t respond right away. Because all I can think about is how I used to call those bastards my friends. And how badly I want to break their faces.

Chapter Text

Veronica's LeBaron idled like a purring cat, right at the edge of the curb, sun glaring off the hood. I sat shotgun, arms folded, my jaw locked tighter than Fort Knox. Elle perched in the backseat, her small frame somehow making the space feel more intense. She hadn’t said much—yet—but I could feel her brain ticking behind those wide, observant eyes.

Dick’s surfboard rested against the curb, stupidly proud in front of the front tire. A tragic martyr-to-be.

Veronica tapped the steering wheel with one manicured finger. I stared forward, fists clenched.

Dick strolled up with that same brainless swagger he always had, shirt half-buttoned like he was auditioning for a reality show called Douchebags of the Beach. I’m already mad. Like, blood-boiling, nostrils-flaring, I-can't-believe-I-ever-called-him-my-friend kind of mad.

"Hiya, Dick. How’s it going?" Veronica said sweetly, smiling just enough to show teeth.

He ignored her. Of course. "What the hell are you doing with that bitch, man?" He jerked a thumb toward Veronica.

I slowly turned my head, met his eyes, and said, “Hi, Dick. Or should I say dick, with a small letter D?”

Elle leaned forward between the seats, her voice steady and dry like she was reading poetry. “Quick question. Are you named Dick because you act like one to girls? Or did someone draw a dick on your face while you were sleeping and it just kind of... stuck?”

I barked out a laugh before I could stop myself. God, she said it so seriously, like she was asking about the Pythagorean theorem. I shot her a glance. She was deadpan. No smile. A genius at work.

Dick glared at her, totally thrown. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Um,” Veronica said, flicking her eyes toward the board, “trying to get your attention.”

Dick moved to grab his surfboard. Veronica revved the engine once, sharp and loud, and he flinched.

“Got a couple questions for ya,” she said casually.

“You’re frickin’ nuts, you know that?” Dick muttered.

I snapped, “Shut up, Dick.”

Elle’s voice was low and sharp. “You don’t get to insult Veronica. Not right now.”

Veronica cocked her head. “Insulting me right now seems like a good plan, how?”

Dick raised his hands like we were robbing him. “What do you want?”

“Answers. Quickly.” Her eyes were knives. “Did you give me GHB the night of Shelly’s party?”

“What? No. I’m not even the one who had it.”

“Bullshit,” I said. Elle muttered the same, at the same time.

Veronica revved the engine again. The LeBaron roared with tension.

Dick winced. “I mean, I got some. But I didn’t give any to you. I swear on my life.”

Veronica said, “See, when you say that, I know you’re lying. I know you brought me into the guest bedroom for Beaver.”

Dick’s face twitched. “More like, I found you in the guest bedroom.”

“Cut the crap,” I said, already unbuckling. Elle and I got out. The air was hot, heavy.

“Elle,” I said, motioning toward Dick, “you wanna check if our buddy here’s lying?”

Dick scoffed. “What? How the hell is she gonna do that?”

“She’s short,” I said. “Bend down. Be useful for once in your life.”

Reluctantly, Dick leaned over. Elle reached up and placed her fingers lightly on his temples. Her eyes fluttered shut. Dick rolled his eyes but played along, because mockery was easier than honesty.

And then—

“He’s lying,” Elle said, voice calm, eyes still closed. She pulled her hands away.

I exhaled. Of course. I’d seen her do this before. A little vision thing. Like flipping through his dirty mental file cabinet.

“You lying bastard,” I muttered.

Veronica stepped forward, laser-focused. “You lied. Again.”

“What?” Dick threw his hands up. “I’m just telling you what I saw! I didn’t drug you! Don’t go blaming me ‘cause you got all wasted and slutty.”

Elle gasped. “That’s slut-shaming. You’re being disgustingly misogynistic.”

Veronica’s eyes narrowed into slits. She pressed both hands on the wheel and gunned it.

CRUNCH.

The surfboard splintered under the LeBaron like a dry bone.

Dick’s mouth dropped. “You—! That was custom!”

I turned to him. “You deserved that. After what you did to her.”

Then out of nowhere—wham.

Elle’s foot landed right in Dick’s balls.

His entire face crumpled like a soda can. He keeled over with a choked gasp, grabbing his crotch like it was about to detach.

Veronica laughed—really laughed. That kind of surprised snort-laugh she never let herself have.

Elle stepped closer, calm but furious. “You treat women like dolls, Dick. You act like you’re entitled to them. I hope one day, you end up completely alone, because what kind of woman would fall for a guy who sees us as objects?”

Dick wheezed on the sidewalk, moaning something pitiful.

I looked at Elle. She didn’t even blink.

“Damn,” I whispered. “Remind me never to lie around you.”

I watch as Beaver shuts his locker, only to find Veronica leaning against the next one. His face shifts from blank to cornered in an instant, like a rabbit caught in a snare.

"Beaver. Damn, you don't look happy to see me," Veronica says, voice sweet but sharp.

Beaver swallows hard. "How's it going, Veronica?"

"Really well! I just found out that the dream I had where I was locked all alone in a bedroom with you was reality. Care to share some details, lover?"

"Nothing happened," Beaver insists, a little too quickly.

Beside me, Elle crosses her arms. "Liar."

I nod, stepping forward. "Come on, Beav. You're a lot of things, but a good liar? Not one of them."

Elle tilts her head. "Why do people call you Beaver, anyway? Did you have teeth like one?" She then makes an exaggerated beaver face, buck teeth and all.

I can’t help but snort. Damn, she’s funny. Even in the middle of this mess, I find myself laughing. Beaver, however, doesn’t seem amused.

"Who is she?" he asks, glaring at Elle.

"Elle," she says simply. "And you’re deflecting."

Beaver tries to step away, but Veronica blocks him with a shift of her weight. "Actually, something did happen. And I might not remember the details, but I sure as hell remember the morning after."

"Look, I swear to God, I didn't touch you, Veronica. Okay? I mean, Dick, he was—he was all on me to—and there was this girl, this, this freshman, her name's Cindy and she's kind of, well, she's easy, you know, and me and her, we were, we were supposed to—I don't know, Dick, Dick, he set something up okay and then—and then she was all over Logan and then she left early with him."

My stomach knots. Yeah, I remember that night. Cindy. It was nothing, just a distraction. But Veronica looks disturbed and relieved all at once.

"Yeah, it sucks to be you. And?" she presses.

Beaver shifts nervously. "And then Dick, he brought me to the guest room with you. I just wanted him to leave me alone."

Elle steps forward. "I can check if that’s true."

Beaver scoffs. "I’m telling the truth."

Veronica, Elle, and I exchange a glance. None of us believe him.

Elle tilts her head. "I’m kinda a psychic. I can see people's memories. Think of me like a hacker who finds hidden files."

Beaver lets out a dry laugh. "Yeah, right."

I fold my arms. "She exposed Madison and Dick’s lies. You sure you wanna test her?"

Beaver hesitates. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he mutters, "Okay."

Elle places her hands on his temples. A beat passes, then another.

Tears slip down her cheeks. "Oh, my God," she whispers. "How could you do that to Veronica?"

Beaver jerks away. "I—I didn’t—"

Elle shakes her head. "I saw it. And I feel sorry for you, Beaver. For the kid you were. The one who was molested by a predator. But I don’t feel sorry for you, the one who hurt Veronica."

The air in my lungs turns thick, heavy.

Elle isn’t done. "After you did it, you ran out of the room, holding your hand to your mouth. You threw up outside. Two girls saw you. One had wavy brown hair, round face, big brown eyes."

Beaver swallows hard. "Carrie Bishop."

Elle pulls her hands away and turns to Veronica, wrapping her in a hug. Then she steps back, serious. "You need to see a gynecologist. Who knows if he had something? STDs, HIV, chlamydia..."

That’s it.

I lunge. My fist collides with Beaver’s face, sending him staggering into the lockers. My knuckles scream, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Not after what he did. Not after all of it.

Beaver chokes out, "No one will believe you."

I hit him again.

Elle grabs my arm. "Logan, stop! We need to go to the sheriff’s department. This isn’t how we handle this."

"Like hell it isn’t," I spit.

Veronica exhales sharply. "First time I told Lamb, he laughed in my face. He won’t believe Elle’s visions."

Elle straightens. "That’s not a problem. I know how to make him believe."

And the thing is? I believe her.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air as we step into the small coffee shop, a cozy yet bustling spot in Neptune where Carrie Bishop happens to work. The three of us—Veronica, Elle, and I—take seats at the counter, the wooden stools creaking slightly under our weight. Carrie, standing behind the counter in a faded apron, spots us and makes her way over, a neutral expression on her face.

“What can I get for you?” she asks, pen poised over her notepad.

“Black coffee,” I say, not bothering with any pleasantries.

“Vanilla latte and a croissant,” Elle adds, her eyes lingering on Carrie like she’s trying to place her.

“I’ll have a hot chocolate, crème brûlée, and some answers if you can give me about two minutes,” Veronica says, her tone light but pointed.

Carrie sighs. “I’m kind of in the weeds.”

Veronica leans in slightly. “Here’s the thing. Do you remember Shelly’s party last year?”

Carrie’s expression shifts, just a fraction. “Yeah.”

“I don’t,” Veronica says bluntly. “At least, not between passing out in the backyard and waking up the next morning in the guest room. I think you probably saw me.”

Carrie’s lips curl into a knowing smile. “I saw you.”

Elle, still eyeing Carrie curiously, suddenly brightens. “I’m Elle, by the way.” She tilts her head. “You look kind of familiar. Have we met?”

Carrie shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

Veronica shifts the conversation back on track. “Would you mind if Elle… sees some of your memories?”

Carrie blinks. “What?”

I smirk. “Elle’s psychic.”

Carrie scoffs. “Right.”

Elle’s expression darkens slightly. “I remember you,” she says, then abruptly stops. Her brows knit together, as if she’s just recalled something important. “Never mind.”

Veronica frowns at her hesitation but presses on. “Look, I need to find out what really happened that night. Elle is the only one who can prove it.”

I lean in, my voice low but firm. “Think of it like hacking a hard drive to find deleted files. Elle can see things people try to forget.”

Carrie still looks skeptical but shrugs. “Fine. Whatever. Knock yourself out.”

She steps closer to Elle, who reaches up and gently places her hands on Carrie’s temples. Their eyes close. Silence stretches between us as I watch Elle, waiting. Then she starts speaking.

“The door was open,” Elle murmurs. “You saw Veronica and… someone else. They were about to—”

Elle’s breath catches, and her fingers tremble slightly against Carrie’s skin. “It’s Duncan,” she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Veronica stiffens beside me. My gut twists. Duncan? I mean, yeah, they dated, but by that time, they were already broken up. And then it hits me—

Shit.

I gave Duncan that drink.

Elle continues, eyes still closed. “Carrie was annoyed about the open door. She told them to close it next time. Then… she shut the door.”

Elle’s hands fall away as her eyes snap open. Carrie looks pale, stunned. “How the hell did you—” she starts, shaking her head. “What kind of magic is that?”

“Not magic,” Elle says simply. “Just me.”

Veronica stares at Elle, her lips parted slightly as she processes what she just heard. And I—I feel like I just got punched in the stomach. Because now, I know I have to tell Veronica what I did that night. And I don’t know how she’s going to take it.

Carrie hands us our drinks, but we don’t move right away. It’s Veronica who finally breaks the silence. “Elle,” she says, her voice measured. “How do you know Carrie?”

Elle hesitates, glancing down at her untouched latte. “I don’t,” she says after a moment. “Not exactly.”

I narrow my eyes. “But you know of her.”

Elle swallows. “Something like that.”

A thought flickers in my mind, one I can’t shake. “Wait. Will she become famous or something?” I ask, half-joking. “Like my dad-level famous?”

Elle exhales slowly and shakes her head. “I can’t tell you that.”

And that? That doesn’t make me feel any better.

I never liked standing in front of the Kanes' house. Too many memories, too much history, none of it good. Yet here we were, Veronica, Elle, and me, standing on their pristine doorstep like we were about to sell Girl Scout cookies. Veronica rang the bell. Her fingers didn’t even hesitate. I wished I had her resolve.

The door swung open, and there he was—Duncan Kane, beard and all. He looked surprised to see us, maybe more surprised to see us together.

“Hi,” he said, blinking between me and Veronica. He didn’t know that we were a thing now, and it was better that way.

His gaze flicked to Elle. “And, uh, who’s this?”

“This is Elle,” I said, nodding toward her. “Elle, Duncan. Duncan, Elle.”

Duncan gave a polite nod, but his brows stayed furrowed.

Veronica cut in before any awkward small talk could take root. “Welcome back.” Her voice was even, unreadable. “I need to find out what happened between us at Shelly Pomroy’s party.”

Duncan stiffened, his eyes darting between us. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I need answers, Duncan. I don’t remember that night at all. But I know now that it wasn’t you who hurt me.”

His gaze darkened. He exhaled sharply and shook his head. “Do you know how wasted I was at Shelly’s party? I—I barely even remember it. The whole night’s a blur.”

“That’s why Elle is here,” Veronica said. “She’s psychic.”

Duncan’s expression twisted in disbelief. “Psychic?”

Elle stepped forward. “I know it sounds crazy, but I can see people’s memories when I touch them. I just need to confirm what happened. You don’t have to say anything—just let me see for myself.”

I crossed my arms. “It’s like hacking someone’s mind.”

Duncan’s frown deepened. “That’s not possible.”

“It is,” Veronica insisted. “And we’re serious.”

Duncan hesitated. His gaze flicked to Veronica, then to me, and finally back to Elle. He let out a heavy sigh and gave a reluctant nod.

Elle stepped closer, placing her hands gently against his temples. Duncan tensed but didn’t pull away. Both of them closed their eyes. The air seemed to tighten around us.

“I see…” Elle’s voice was distant. “Duncan wandered into the guest bedroom and saw Veronica on the bed. He collapsed onto the bed next to her. They were both… intimate. Intoxicated.”

I clenched my jaw. I already knew what happened, but hearing it like this still made my stomach twist. Elle’s lips pressed together. “Skipping that. Privacy matters.”

She was silent for a moment before continuing. “It’s morning now. Veronica is asleep. Duncan rises up from the other side of the bed and sees her. He gets up quietly.” She inhaled sharply. “He feels it’s wrong. He’s scared. Disgusted.”

Duncan swallowed hard but said nothing.

Elle’s brows knit together. “He thinks he shouldn’t have done it. It felt wrong. Disgusting.”

Then Elle stilled, and I felt my gut tighten before she even said it.

“Duncan is disgusted because he knew.” She opened her eyes, looking at Duncan. “You knew. You knew Veronica was your sister.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

I exhaled sharply. “Yeah. And that makes this a whole new level of messed up.”

Duncan shot me a glare. “You think I don’t know that?”

Veronica crossed her arms, her face a mix of relief and unease. “Duncan, I need to know… the night after, when you left me there—was it just guilt?”

Elle frowned, her expression conflicted. “Are you sure? What if they’re not siblings at all?”

I scoffed. “Even if they aren’t, it’s still disturbing as hell.”

Elle turned back to Duncan, her gaze softening. “You have epilepsy, don’t you?”

Duncan’s eyes widened. “How—”

“I saw it in your memories,” Elle said simply.

The weight of everything hung in the air. Finally, Duncan shook his head. “I need time to process all of this.”

That was fine. We were done here.

Something made me glance past Duncan. Celeste Kane stood a few feet away, watching us like a hawk.

Veronica noticed her too. She looked back at Duncan, then turned to leave. We all did.

I let out a breath as we stepped off the Kanes’ property. The secrets, the lies, the weight of the past—it was all still there, but now it felt even heavier.

And I had no idea what the hell we were supposed to do with it now.

Sitting on the couch in Veronica’s apartment, I felt the weight of the conversation settle between us. Despite everything, we were relaxed, bodies angled toward each other in that unconscious way that spoke of trust. We had been through hell and back, and we both knew the only way forward was honesty.

Veronica took a deep breath. “I get it now,” she said, voice steady but soft. “I fully understand what happened at Shelly Pomroy’s party.”

I watched her carefully, squeezing her hand in silent support. We both knew the truth now—Elle had helped piece it together, delving into Beaver’s memories and uncovering the horror neither of us wanted to believe. Beaver had been the one responsible for Veronica’s assault. The thought of it still made my blood boil. I had almost punched him when I found out. Almost. If he had been in front of me at that moment, I wouldn’t have stopped at almost.

Veronica’s grip tightened around mine. “What happened with Duncan that night,” she hesitated, searching my face for a reaction, “it wasn’t assault. We were broken up, and yes, I had been drugged, but it wasn’t like that.”

I nodded. It wasn’t that I was okay with it, but I understood. The anger I felt wasn’t directed at Duncan—it was at Beaver, at the entire situation, at the people who had enabled it. What mattered was that Veronica was here, now, with me. What mattered was that she knew the truth.

I laced my fingers with hers. “None of it changes anything between us,” I told her, making sure she saw the sincerity in my eyes. “I love you, Veronica. This? It’s in the past. What matters is now.”

She let out a breath, tension easing from her shoulders. “I was afraid that bringing up Duncan would…”

“Would what? Make me jealous? Make me question us?” I smirked, shaking my head. “I’m not that insecure.”

Her lips quirked up in a small, appreciative smile. “Good.”

Shifting in her seat, Veronica’s expression turned serious again. “We need to do something, Logan. We need to go to Lamb and report this.”

I snorted. “Yeah, because Lamb is so well known for believing victims.”

“I know it’s a long shot, but we have to try. We have evidence—well, sort of.” She hesitated, running a hand through her hair. “The problem is, how do we make Lamb believe us when the key to our case is a psychic with half-alien DNA?”

I leaned back, smirking. “You’re underestimating Elle. She’s got a plan.”

Veronica arched an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”

“I’d bet on it.”

For the first time in a long while, I saw a different kind of determination in Veronica’s eyes. This wasn’t just another mystery to solve—it was her past, her trauma, and her chance at reclaiming control. And she wasn’t doing it alone.

I was here. Elle was here. And together, we were going to fight back.

I should’ve known something was off the second my dad suggested dinner. It wasn’t that the man never cooked—on the rare occasion he was actually home, he fancied himself some kind of culinary mastermind. But inviting Veronica? Asking me to bring my girlfriend home like some normal, suburban father who wanted to get to know the girl I was dating? That wasn’t exactly in Aaron Echolls’ repertoire.

Still, against my better judgment, here we were, standing outside my house, Veronica’s hand tucked in mine. The place was dark, save for the soft glow of the porch light.

“My dad thinks he’s a gourmet,” I said, dryly amused. “Humor him. Ah, so now he’s going to make us eat to candlelight tonight.”

Veronica arched an eyebrow, but the ghost of a smirk tugged at her lips. “Romantic,” she murmured, playing along.

I exhaled, straightening my shoulders. “Okay, showtime.”

We kissed, slow and unhurried, easing into the moment before stepping back toward the door, still lost in the press of each other’s lips. And then—

“Surprise!”

The lights blazed to life, and I blinked against the sudden brightness. It took me a second to process what I was seeing. Red balloons. A red and white balloon arch. A crowd of people, frozen mid-motion.

Not just people.

09ers.

A room full of them, all standing around like props in some twisted tableau. The decorations screamed ‘birthday party,’ except, oh right—my birthday was in March. A solid three months ago.

I felt Veronica stiffen against me, and I knew that whatever reaction I had, hers was about to be twice as sharp. Her eyes flicked over the stunned faces, cataloging each one. Duncan, leaning against a pillar, Meg beside him. Dick, whispering something to Beaver, who let out a soft, awed, “Wow.”

And then the murmurs started, low but unmistakable, rippling through the crowd like a wave of disapproval.

Logan Echolls and Veronica Mars. Together.

Outed in the most obnoxiously public way possible.

My father’s voice still rang in the air, all fake enthusiasm and theatricality. I didn’t even bother looking for him. I could already hear the laughter in his voice, the self-satisfaction of a man who had just engineered the grandest, most humiliating reveal.

Because, of course, this wasn’t about me. It was about control. About reminding me that no matter how far I thought I’d gotten from his shadow, he could always pull me right back into it.

And now, thanks to him, every single person in this room knew about Veronica and me.

I clenched my jaw, suppressing the urge to tell the whole room to go to hell. Instead, I just exhaled, looked at Veronica, and kept my damn mouth shut.

Chapter Text

The second my dad’s overly enthusiastic "Surprise!" rang out, I knew we were screwed.

Veronica and I stood frozen at the threshold, the weight of a hundred judging eyes pressing down on us. 09ers, all stunned into silence, gawked at us like we’d just grown a second head each. A few whispers, a few exchanged glances, and I could already hear the disapproving murmurs spreading through the room like a disease. Duncan was leaning against a pillar with Meg, his face unreadable, but Meg’s concern was obvious.

I tore my eyes away from them and turned to my father. "So is this party nine months early or three months late?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Dad grinned, clapping me on the shoulder like we were old pals. "I got a lot of lost years I gotta make up for. This is my way of getting started."

"It’s a good call," I said, knowing full well this wasn’t a good call at all.

Still, I kept my face impassive, sliding my hand into Veronica’s. She squeezed it, her own grip steady despite the whirlwind we had just stepped into.

That’s when Elle appeared from the crowd, her expression unimpressed, like she had walked into a bad movie she had no interest in watching. I knew she didn’t want to be here. She had her reasons, sure, but partying and drinking? Not Elle’s scene. And I’d bet my last dollar she’d rather be anywhere else than in a room full of Neptune’s elite, watching them judge and sneer.

As we stepped further into the room, Dick found me. Of course he did.

He leaned in, voice low and smug. "Dude, what the hell are you doing? Please tell me this is like, some new reality show called ‘My Skank.’"

Veronica stiffened, her eyes flicking downward for just a second. But before I could even open my mouth, Elle was already stepping forward.

"Wow," she said, tilting her head at Dick with something almost like amusement. Almost. "You’re really out here, calling a girl names when you’ve got a history of treating women like trash. Should I remind Madison how ‘faithful’ you were at Shelly Pomroy’s party? Oh, wait—do you even remember, or were you too busy shoving your tongue down someone else’s throat? Such a great move for you to be an asshole with toxic masculinity and misogyny."

Dick blinked, completely thrown. It was rare to see him at a loss for words, but Elle had the effect of stripping people down to their most pathetic parts. And she wasn’t finished.

Her gaze swept the room, cutting through the crowd like a scalpel. "You know, for a group that thrives on secrets and scandals, you all sure do love pretending your own sins don’t stink. A murderer probably lives in Neptune—hell, maybe he’s even at this party—but I guess rich white boys are only afraid of party poopers and running out of drugs and booze. Sad."

A ripple went through the room. I could see people shifting uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. I flicked a glance at Veronica, catching the small smirk on her lips. Yeah. That was Elle. Brutal, fearless, and so, so right.

I turned back to Dick. "Goodbye, Dick."

He looked at me, stunned. "What?"

"Get out of my house. You have a problem with Veronica, you leave. Actually, you have a problem with Veronica, you’re pretty much dead to me, so just, like, evaporate or something, I dunno."

Dick took a step back, visibly thrown. Around us, whispers flared up like sparks from a fire. I looked at the rest of the room, raising my voice so there was no mistaking my meaning. "That’s kind of a general invitation. If you don’t like my girlfriend, then…" I let my words hang as I noticed Duncan shift against the pillar. "… just start heading toward the rectangle with the knob."

Meg whispered something to Duncan, but I couldn’t hear it over the noise in my head. Duncan pushed himself off the pillar, taking a heavy breath, then turned and walked out the door without a word. I watched him go, the weight in my chest growing heavier. "Look, Duncan, listen, I wanna—"

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back.

I exhaled sharply, leaning against the door. This night was going down in history as one of the worst in my life, and considering my life, that was saying something.

Elle, meanwhile, had found her next target. Beaver. I watched as he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, his usual forced indifference cracking.

Elle’s voice dropped, quiet but sharp as a knife. "And you," she said, "I can’t wait until your time’s up."

Beaver let out a nervous chuckle, like he could laugh it off, but I saw it—the way his shoulders tensed, the flicker of fear in his eyes. He played it cool, but Elle’s words had landed. Hard.

Because she knew.

And one way or another, justice was coming for him.

The party atmosphere was dead. The 09ers stood around, unsure of what to do now that their social hierarchy had just been shattered.

Me? I stood there with Veronica, hand still wrapped around hers, Elle standing beside us like some kind of avenging angel. The rules had changed, and everyone in that room knew it.

This wasn’t their game anymore.

Veronica and I weren’t backing down.

And Elle? Elle had fought Daleks during the Great Depression. This? This was nothing.

I didn’t want to be here.

That’s how I knew my dad threw the party.

The kind of soirée where the champagne pours like soda and everyone acts like they’re starring in a movie where the plot is "Being Rich and Bored." I stood near the edge of the pool, red Solo cup in hand, pretending like I hadn’t seen two girls puke in the bushes already.

Elle was next to me, perfectly still, like she belonged here but refused to let it own her.

“You really said that?” I asked her, turning to face her, still kinda in awe.

She sipped her soda like it was nothing. “‘A murderer probably lives in Neptune—hell, maybe he’s even at this party—but I guess rich white boys are only afraid of party poopers and running out of drugs and booze.’” She looked at me dead serious, then added, “It’s just honesty. Not bravery.”

I snorted. “No, that was straight-up fearless. You looked Dick in the eyes. You called out Beaver. You confronted all of them. That’s a level of bold even Veronica might pause at.”

Elle shrugged. “I don’t feel fearless. I feel like someone playing at being a person. Like, if they all look too closely, they’ll realize I’m just... visiting this reality.” She gave me a little half-smile. “It’s imposter syndrome, I guess. I’m not fearless, I’m just not stupid. And those kids? They act like immortals. I fought aliens during the Great Depression.”

I blinked. “Right. Forgot I’m standing next to Future Girl.”

She smirked. “Compared to the Daleks, the 09ers are like... kids in kindergarten. High on sugar. Dressed like they’ve been rejected from a CW audition.”

That made me laugh—loud enough that a few heads turned.

Before I could say more, Veronica pushed through the crowd, face serious, hair slightly windblown like she'd just sprinted over. “You two. I found out who gave me the GHB.”

Elle tilted her head. “Who?”

“Madison.” Veronica's voice was acid. “Dick gave her the drink with the GHB in it, but she didn’t want it, saw me, and decided I looked thirsty. Spat in the cup and gave it to me.”

Elle blinked, puzzled. “Spat? Why would someone spit in their drink and then give it to you?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Trip to the dentist. It’s what we call it when someone spits in your drink.”

“That’s your slang?” Elle asked, bewildered. “What is this, the medieval era? That girl is definitely not a girl’s girl.”

Veronica snorted. “She’s something else.”

I grinned. “Hey, remember when we didn’t get Elle’s futuristic slang? Like that ‘girl’s girl’ thing. Now she’s lost in translation.”

Elle folded her arms, mock-offended. “Excuse me, a girl’s girl is universal language. But you two and your ‘trip to the dentist’ crap? You sound like conspiracy theorists with dental trauma.”

We were still chuckling when Elle wandered off toward the punch bowl. I watched her, curious. She filled a cup with bright red punch... then spat in it.

“What the hell?” I muttered.

She returned a minute later, cup in hand. “Veronica. Your turn.”

Veronica blinked. “My what?”

Elle held the cup out. “Spit.”

Veronica looked from the cup to Elle. “Are you making Madison take a trip to the dentist?”

“Nope.” Elle grinned like a kid on Halloween with a revenge streak. “She’s taking a journey to the trichologist.”

I let out a laugh. “Okay, that’s... wow.”

Veronica gave me a look like are we doing this, then shrugged and spat in the cup.

They both turned to me.

I sighed, “You guys are contagious,” and spit too.

A few minutes later, Elle called out, “MADISON!”

Every head turned. Madison flipped her brown hair and turned dramatically—right into a faceful of red punch.

It hit her with a wet smack, dripping down her forehead, her cheeks, and through the strands of her expensive salon hair.

“Enjoy your journey to the trichologist,” Elle said, cool and calm. “Because that dye job is gonna need a full-on intervention. Also, in case you were wondering? That punch you’re wearing? Me, Logan, and Veronica spit in it. So... have fun tasting your own medicine.”

Madison screamed something unintelligible, probably a curse in entitled rich girl, but I didn’t catch it over the laughter echoing across the lawn.

Veronica doubled over laughing. “Okay, I love her.”

I nodded, still grinning. “Same.”

Veronica nudged me. “Wanna disappear to the pool house?”

“God, yes.”

I looked at Elle. “You good? Wanna come with?”

She shook her head, eyes scanning the crowd with clinical precision. “Nah. I want to observe. See what Neptune’s finest are really made of. I’m investigating their... collective bull.”

“Okay, Sherlock Future Girl,” I said. “Don’t blow up the place.”

“I make no promises.”

Veronica and I headed off, still giggling under our breath, leaving Elle behind—watching the party like a scientist studying something poisonous in a petri dish.

And honestly?

She fit right in.

Even if she was from a different world entirely.

The cool night air is a relief as we step out the back of the house, our hands still clasped together. The party—if you could even call it that—was just another excuse for my father to parade me around like some prize he’d won, surrounded by people who don’t care about me and who I care about even less. But out here, with Veronica, the noise fades, and I can breathe.

I skip down the step, tugging her hand and swinging her down after me. She laughs, her smile lighting up her face in a way that makes my chest tighten. I do a little skip as we walk, just because I can, and she rolls her eyes but squeezes my hand tighter.

When we reach the pool house, I push the door open, guiding her inside. It’s dark, just the way I left it. The curtains over the glass doors shift slightly, catching the dim glow from outside, and the grotesque familiarity of my family’s faces stare back at me. My father’s idea of decor—curtains with the Echolls family emblazoned on them. As if I needed another reminder of who I am.

Veronica doesn’t seem to notice or care. She’s still smiling as I turn to her, my own grin matching hers. “Now, see, why can’t it just be like this?” I ask, before pressing my lips to hers. This—just us, no one else, no past, no future—this is how it should always be.

Her hands find my shoulders, and I deepen the kiss, fingers tangling in her hair. “Why do there have to be all those other people in this world?” I murmur against her lips before kissing her again. I pull her toward the bed, and she lets me, laughing as she stumbles slightly.

“What are you doing?” she asks playfully.

I drop onto the bed and tug her with me. “You’re too short.”

She scoffs, climbing onto my lap. I smirk. “It means I level the playing field.”

We kiss again, my hands sliding her jacket off her shoulders. She shivers, not from the cold, and it sends a thrill through me. She pauses, tilting her head. “Is this where you take all your conquests?”

I laugh, falling back against the bed. “Nope. Only the short ones.”

She leans over me, kissing me again, and I’m lost in her, in the warmth of her, the taste of her. But something gnaws at me, something I’ve kept buried for too long. I reach up, fingers brushing over her pigtails, stalling the moment.

“Hey, I have to tell you something.”

She ignores me, her lips trailing along my cheek. “I’m sorry, we’re past the confessional portion of this program. We’re on to the make-out.”

I swallow, my grip tightening slightly on her hips. “Listen, Veronica. Stop.”

She stills, pulling back to look at me. Her eyes search mine, curiosity and a flicker of concern passing through them.

I exhale, forcing the words out. “I gotta... I have to tell you something about Shelly’s party.”

The room feels smaller as I say it. I tell her everything. The GHB. The drink. Duncan. Her. My role in it all. I say it because she deserves the truth. Because I can't keep carrying it alone. Because if there's any chance she might still trust me after this, I have to take it.

She’s still sitting on my lap, her body tense. I brace myself for the inevitable storm, but when she speaks, her voice is quiet. “You didn’t know what would happen.”

I shake my head. “I’m the one who’s responsible for what happened to you. Elle was right—I have to take responsibility. And I can’t take that I hurt you like that. I can’t take that I hurt you when all I want to do is protect you.”

She doesn’t answer with words. Instead, she pushes me down onto the bed and kisses me again, harder this time. For a moment, I let myself believe this is forgiveness. I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I haven’t lost her.

After a long moment, I pull back, cupping her face. “I want you to trust me.”

Her fingers brush against my cheek. “I do.”

She kisses me again, and I let myself sink into it, into her. But then I pull away, smirking. “Okay. I don’t know about you, but I could use a refreshment about now.”

She hums in agreement, rolling off me onto the bed. I press a quick kiss to her lips before getting up. From a drawer, I grab a small screwdriver and kneel by the vent, working the screws loose.

She watches me with mild amusement. “You learned that from Lilly.”

I smirk as I pull the vent off, retrieving the key hidden inside. “No, Lilly learned that from me.”

I hold up the key with a triumphant grin. “It’s almost endearing that I need a key to the liquor cabinet, don’t you think?”

She smiles, but when I slide the key into the lock, it snaps clean off. I stare at it for a second, then burst out laughing. “Wow, just wild, huh?”

She nods, still smiling, and I walk around the bed, holding out my hands for her. She kneels and scoots over to me, pressing her lips to mine again. I could stay here forever, just like this.

But I still want that drink.

“I’ll be right back,” I promise. “Two minutes?”

She hums in response, and I grin. “Okay.”

I push her down onto the pillows with another lingering kiss before pulling away. She playfully shoves me off, and I exit the pool house, leaving her waiting behind.

I stepped back into the poolhouse, expecting the usual quiet and warmth of the space. What I didn't expect was the low hum of the lights and the sight of Veronica and Elle in the guest bedroom. The room was dark except for the soft glow coming from a small fan on the ceiling, a line running from it to a bookcase, with an aperture in the fan. My eyes widened as I processed what was going on—both Veronica and Elle were staring at something on the screen, a serious look on their faces.

"Logan," Veronica said as I walked in, her tone guarded. "We need you to explain something."

I stopped in my tracks, confused, as I looked between them. The screens in front of them weren’t just regular screens—they were showing footage of the bed, the very bed I was about to spend time in with Veronica earlier. What the hell was going on?

I looked from the screens to the fan and then to the bookcase. The bookcase had been slid apart, revealing a video recorder that shouldn’t be there. "What is this?" I asked, stepping closer, my voice tense.

Veronica’s eyes narrowed as she pointed at the screens. "Explain this, Logan. I just jumped to a conclusion, but I have to ask—did you make creepy tapes of you and Lilly sleeping? Is that why you’re so obsessed with her? Did you kill her? Are you planning on recording us too?"

I felt my blood freeze at the accusation. "What the hell? Veronica, I—" My voice trailed off, unable to get the words out. But Elle cut in before I could defend myself.

"Logan wouldn’t do that," Elle said firmly, stepping forward and standing by my side. "Accusing him like that isn’t right. He didn’t have anything to do with it."

I couldn’t even process what was happening. I’d never seen this equipment before in my life. My gaze bounced between Veronica and Elle, not knowing what to make of any of it.

Elle noticed my confusion and smirked. She pulled out a pen from her jacket pocket, holding it up for both Veronica and me to see. It looked like a normal pen—except for the strange engravings on it, like circular patterns.

"Watch this," Elle said, jumping onto the bed in one smooth move. She waved the pen in front of the ceiling fan camera, and the pen emitted a soft buzzing sound. She then moved the pen in front of the video recorder, tapping it again, and the pen buzzed again, making the screens flicker slightly.

"What the hell is that?" I asked, staring at her.

Elle looked over at me, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. "This is my sonic pen," she said matter-of-factly. "Doctor gave it to me for my 17th birthday. It’s like a sonic screwdriver, only way cooler. It can unlock doors, hack systems, record audio, fix things, make holograms—basically, it does everything."

Veronica’s eyebrows shot up. "Like Mars Investigations spy pen," she said slowly, her voice full of surprise. "We have a pen that could record audio, but yours... yours can do a lot more than that."

Elle nodded. "Exactly. My sonic pen’s pretty versatile. It can open locks, modify phones, light candles, shatter glass—you name it."

I couldn’t help but be impressed. "That’s... amazing," I said, my eyes still on the pen. "You can even unlock the liquor cabinet with it, right? Because the key in mine broke."

Elle didn’t hesitate. She pointed the pen at the lock on the liquor cabinet, and the pen buzzed to life. The lock clicked open with a satisfying sound. Elle gave me a look.

"Only for special occasions," she said, shaking her head slightly. "Not for self-destructive purposes."

I rolled my eyes. "I’m not into that anymore. Besides, with Veronica in my life... things are different now. The whole school knows we’re together."

Veronica smiled softly at me, but her focus quickly turned back to the screen. "We’re getting off track. We need to figure out who’s behind these tapes."

Elle, still scanning the equipment with her pen, stopped when a holographic screen popped up. She read aloud the information that appeared:

"Owner’s name: Aaron Echolls.

Species: Human.

Job: A-list Actor/Movie star.

Place of origin: Neptune, California, USA, Planet Earth, The Solar System, Milky Way Galaxy.

Relatives: Lynn Echolls (wife) - deceased; Logan Echolls (son); Trina Echolls (daughter)."

I stared at the hologram, my heart sinking. "My dad," I murmured. "It’s my dad’s."

Veronica's eyes widened. "Your dad’s the one behind this? He made these tapes?"

Elle glanced at both of us, her expression dark. "It sure looks that way."

"Then we need proof," Veronica said, determination in her voice. "The tapes are missing, but I bet Lilly hid them. We need to check Lilly’s room. There’s a vent in her room—she could’ve stashed them there."

Elle nodded in agreement. "That’s a good idea. I’ll help you go undercover tomorrow."

My heart was pounding, but I couldn’t help but admire Elle’s confidence. She was already thinking ahead. "Undercover?" I asked, glancing between the two of them.

"Yeah," Veronica said, her voice steady. "We’ll go undercover as waitresses at the Kane party. We’ll figure out what’s going on."

I felt a weight settle on my chest, but I nodded. "Let’s do it."

Elle opened the liquor cabinet for me with her sonic pen. As I grabbed a bottle of whiskey, she shot me a pointed look. "Just for a celebration, Logan," she warned. "Not for anything else."

I gave her a grin. "Understood."

And with that, I turned to Veronica, and the three of us moved forward. The fight for the truth had just begun.

Chapter Text

I never thought I’d see the day when Abel Koontz was exonerated. The guy had always been the prime suspect in Lilly Kane’s murder, even after Veronica’s dad cleared his name with that whole “escort with an alibi” story. But now, as I stood there, staring at the headline in The San Diego Dispatch, a sick feeling settled deep in my gut. "Eyewitness Steps Forward: Escort Claims She Was With Koontz at Time of Kane Murder." My eyes scanned the article, not really taking it all in, more like I was trying to avoid it. But it was there, plain as day. Abel Koontz was innocent. They had the proof. And yet, something about it still didn’t sit right with me. I could feel the weight of the situation. Everything had just gotten a hell of a lot more complicated.

Elle, standing next to me, hadn’t said a word since we spotted the article. I could feel her eyes flicking over the paper, a sense of restraint in her posture. Elle was always measured, always thinking a few steps ahead. But I couldn’t help myself. My mind was racing, and I needed to say it out loud.

“This doesn’t change anything,” I muttered, more to myself than to her. “I’m still freaked out. I know what we know about Duncan. What if he did it? What if it’s him? It’s like it all points back to him now.”

Elle’s head turned slightly, her eyes narrowing, but she didn’t speak immediately. She was calculating, and I hated how she was just standing there, detached as always, as if the truth didn’t sting her too. But it did. I could see it.

“Logan, you’re jumping to conclusions,” Elle said softly, her voice a little guarded. She glanced down at the paper one more time before her gaze shifted back to me. “You can’t let your suspicions cloud your judgment.”

But how could I not? I knew Duncan. I’d been his closest friend for so long. His temper, his anger—it wasn’t just a few bad moments; it was part of who he was. And that incident where he choked his dad? That wasn’t normal. It was violent, raw, something twisted deep inside him. Duncan might’ve been the one closest to Lilly, but that also meant he had the most to hide.

“I don’t want to believe it either,” I continued, my voice a little harsher than I intended. “But everything about this feels off. The pieces don’t add up. Maybe the sheriff’s department was too busy to get the full story. Maybe we missed something."

I could feel the tension in my chest rising, and I could tell Elle was trying to keep her distance, not wanting to show too much. She knew more than she was letting on. She always did. Before she could say anything more, Veronica and Wallace appeared around the corner, chatting as usual. Wallace was the first to speak, grinning like someone who’d just heard some juicy gossip.

“All I know is if I were him right now, I’d be I-told-you-soing all over Neptune,” he said, clearly in good spirits about the news.

Veronica was practically glowing, her expression a mix of relief and triumph. “It’s about time. I knew he wasn’t guilty.”

I forced a smile, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “Yeah, I guess. But—"

Before I could finish, Veronica was already beside me, leaning in, reading the headline. “What do you think? This has to mean something.”

“I don’t know,” I muttered, avoiding her gaze. My heart pounded in my chest, anxiety bubbling up as I processed everything. “I have this feeling that things are going to get really bad.”

Veronica glanced at Elle, her eyes sharp. “You two have any thoughts on this?”

Elle gave her a measured look, clearly not in the mood for speculation. “I wouldn’t draw conclusions too quickly,” she said, her voice calm and cryptic. She’d always been like that, cool and collected.

I could feel Veronica’s impatience grow. “Come on, Elle. You know something, don’t you? You’ve been to the future. You’ve listened to that podcast, you know who killed Lilly.”

Elle’s lips curled into a slight smirk. “I’m not telling you that,” she teased, a glint in her eye. “Spoilers.”

Wallace raised an eyebrow at her, confused. “Wait. You’re from the future?”

“Yeah, like Back to the Future stuff,” I said, attempting to lighten the mood, but it just sounded strange. I gave a shrug. “Long story.”

Wallace didn’t seem to buy it. “Right. You’re joking, right? No way.”

Veronica, however, was serious, nodding to Wallace. “Elle’s from the future. It’s real. It’s complicated.”

Wallace blinked, clearly trying to wrap his head around it. “Okay. That’s... insane. But cool, I guess. So, uh, future girl, huh?”

Elle chuckled softly, her demeanor warm despite the tension. “Nice to meet you, Wallace. Yeah, I’m from 2035. Thirty years ahead of you.”

“Thirty years...” Wallace muttered, still processing. He hesitated before adding, “So, what’s going on with basketball in the future? You know, NBA stuff? Did Kobe Bryant win it all in the 2030s?”

The question hit Elle like a wave, her smile faltering just slightly. I noticed the change immediately. She hesitated before answering, and I could see the weight in her eyes as she tried to come up with something—anything—to soften the truth.

“I... I can’t tell you about that, Wallace,” Elle said gently, her voice softer now. “I’m sorry. But I just can’t.”

Wallace’s expression shifted from curiosity to confusion. “What do you mean? I mean, you're from the future, right? You must know.”

Elle’s gaze lowered, a pained look crossing her face. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t give you that answer.”

She changed the subject quickly, focusing on other basketball stars, like LeBron James, and trying to keep things light. Wallace seemed distracted, but I could tell it wasn’t the answer he’d hoped for.

After Wallace walked off, Veronica immediately turned to Elle, pressing her for an explanation. “You can’t keep something like that from him. Why?”

Elle’s eyes softened, a shadow of sadness flickering in her gaze. “Because Kobe Bryant dies in a plane crash in 2020,” she whispered, as if saying it out loud made it even more real. “I can’t tell him that. It would destroy him.”

Veronica’s eyes widened, and Logan’s heart sank. That was rough, cruel reality—the truth that Elle couldn’t share, not yet.

“I get it,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “But this—it’s not just about basketball. It’s about everything, isn’t it?”

Elle nodded, a distant look in her eyes. “Sometimes some truths are too painful to reveal.”

I turned away, my mind once again focused on the nightmare that was unraveling in front of me. The Koontz article, Duncan’s temper, everything pointed to him. And in that moment, I knew—Duncan was the only person who made sense.

It’s still early, the kind of early when the halls are silent and deserted, and the sound of footsteps echo off the lockers. I stand at my new locker, finally free from the lower school locker I was assigned all those years ago. Staring at the door, trying to figure out the combination, I feel a strange weight in my chest. This place, this school, it’s all just one big reminder of everything that’s happened, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m always running from something.

Then I see her. Veronica Mars. She walks down the hallway, and for a second, the world narrows down to just her. The hallway might be empty, but it feels like the space between us is filled with all the things we’ve been through. She stops a few lockers down, and we stare at each other for a beat. There’s no need to say anything; we both know there’s more than enough unspoken between us. My fingers are still on the lock, but I’m not really focusing on it anymore.

Finally, I look away, breaking the silence, turning my attention to the books in my locker like they’re the most important thing in the world. The air between us is heavy, but Veronica doesn’t seem to mind. I hear her voice then.

"Hey."

I look back at her, still with that edge of uncertainty in her eyes. "Hey."

There’s a pause before she continues. "Yesterday, Beaver came to see me, in journalism class." Her words hit me like a punch in the gut. I can’t stop the flare of worry that rises up in my chest. Beaver? Why would he talk to Veronica?

"Did he hurt you?" I ask, my voice suddenly tight. I don’t care what he says, I don’t trust him. Not after what happened. "He should stay away from you." My hands are gripping the edges of my locker now, knuckles white.

Veronica shakes her head, a small, almost sad smile on her face. "No, Logan. He didn’t hurt me." Her eyes soften a little. "He just told me something... something about Lilly."

I stiffen. I don't like the sound of that. My stomach twists.

She continues, "He said that at the weekend, when Lilly was killed, Beaver, Dick, and you went to Mexico. But when she died, you were sure she was seeing somebody new." Veronica pauses, like she's trying to gauge my reaction. "You got up early and drove back to Neptune to see her."

I’m still processing her words when she adds, "Beaver also said you bought Lilly a shot glass, something about 'I got baked in Ensenada.' I asked my dad if there was a shot glass in Lilly’s car, and he confirmed it." She looks at me then, that familiar look of suspicion in her eyes. "But I didn’t tell him that it was you who bought it."

I remember that shot glass like it was yesterday. Lilly loved that kind of stuff, collecting little trinkets from places she visited. I thought it was a stupid gift, but Lilly... Lilly had a way of making the dumbest things feel like they mattered.

I close my eyes for a second, remembering. "Yeah. I bought it for her. She loved that kind of stuff."

Veronica doesn’t seem to doubt me, not really. But I can see the wheels turning in her head. She looks at me again, like she’s piecing everything together. "I don’t trust Beaver," she says, her voice low. "But I don’t believe you could’ve killed Lilly."

I feel a breath leave my chest, and I let out a deep sigh. It’s like I can finally exhale, like maybe Veronica believes me. Maybe.

"I knew Lilly was seeing someone," I start, my voice quieter now. "And it was driving me crazy, you know? When I left for Neptune, I didn’t know if I was gonna scream at her for treating me like dirt or beg her to take me back. But then... then I saw her at the car wash."

"I didn’t see you there," Veronica says, confused.

I shrug, not really caring anymore. "I just parked across the street and watched her. And I don’t know how to explain it, but when I saw her, this feeling came over me. I knew, I just knew, it was over. So, I sat in my car, and I wrote this note to her. Explaining it. Everything."

She looks at me, eyes narrowed. "Did you give it to her?"

"Yeah," I say, my voice softer now. "I left it in her car."

Veronica’s voice is quiet but curious. "With the shot glass?"

"Yeah," I answer. "With the shot glass." My throat tightens, and I swallow hard. "If you read that letter, you’d know I’d never hurt her. I just... I just wanted her to know why I was leaving. I couldn’t stand it anymore, Veronica."

She nods slowly, like she’s trying to understand. "I believe you," she says, and it’s not just words. She really believes me. "I need to find that letter. It’s got to be in the air conditioning vent in Lilly’s room at the Kanes’ house. The Kanes are having a party tomorrow night. We can look there."

It feels like every second that passes, the weight of Lilly’s murder is creeping closer. Every conversation, every look, feels like it’s tied to it. I can almost hear the accusation in the air, a silent scream waiting to tear everything apart.

Then, I hear her.

"Hey, what’s going on?" Elle’s voice is like a breath of fresh air. I didn’t hear her approach, but there she is, standing in the middle of the hallway, looking between Veronica and me.

I glance at Veronica, then back at Elle, a little surprised at how quickly she showed up. Elle doesn’t have a habit of being anywhere on time, and yet here she is, standing in front of us like she’s known we’d be talking about something serious.

Veronica looks at her, her expression unreadable for a second before she answers. "Beaver told me something yesterday... he said that Logan had a fake alibi for Lilly’s murder. But I don’t trust him." Veronica pauses, looking between us. "I don’t believe it. But I had to tell you."

Elle tilts her head, studying both of us for a moment. Then, she nods like she’s figured something out in the way she always does. I can tell she’s not just listening to the words we say. She’s feeling the situation. That’s how Elle works.

“I don’t believe Beaver either,” Elle says, her voice smooth but firm, like she already knew what she was going to say. "But I don’t just think Logan could’ve killed Lilly... I know he couldn’t have." She steps a little closer, her eyes meeting mine as she finishes, "I can feel it. I know."

I raise an eyebrow, not sure whether to be relieved or to feel even more on edge. Elle’s different. She’s always been different. She’s half-human, half-Time-Lady, and yeah, I know that means she has abilities that aren’t exactly normal. She can read memories, feel emotions in a way that makes her unsettlingly perceptive. And I also know she can see the future, or at least parts of it. So when Elle says she knows something, I listen.

But still, I don’t know how much of it is her Time-Lady stuff, and how much is just her being Elle.

Veronica looks at Elle, her eyes narrowing. “Can you… read Logan’s memories? I mean, really see if he didn’t kill Lilly?”

I tense, wondering if I’m about to be put on some kind of psychic trial. I don't want anyone digging into my head, not even Elle, no matter how much I trust her.

Elle doesn’t even hesitate. “I’ll do it. For you, Veronica. To clear Logan’s name. But I won’t be reading anyone else’s memories to solve this murder. I won’t risk causing a paradox. It’s too dangerous. And I can’t… won’t break the timeline."

That’s Elle, responsible even when it hurts. She’s never been willing to meddle with the future, even when she could have all the answers. That’s why I don’t ask her about Lilly’s killer—because I know she knows—but she won’t tell me. It’s a line she won’t cross.

I meet Elle’s eyes, and I don’t have to say anything. She understands. She knows why I’m nervous. But she steps forward, her gaze softening just a little. "Trust me, Logan. Let me help you."

She reaches out, hands gently pressing to my temples, and I close my eyes. There’s a strange, calming pulse as her presence fills the space around me. I feel it—a shift, like a memory washing over me, all the moments, all the pain, all the truth that’s buried inside. She doesn’t need to ask me to relive it. She just takes it, feeling it, understanding it.

Then, it’s over. She steps back, and I blink, the weight of her power still hanging in the air.

Elle turns to Veronica, putting her hands on her temples this time. I watch Veronica’s face as the connection forms, the tension in her shoulders easing as she lets the memories flow through her. A second later, Veronica pulls back, eyes wide, face flooded with relief.

“He didn’t do it,” Veronica says, her voice low and calm. "Logan told the truth. He didn’t kill Lilly."

I feel something heavy lift from my chest. But it's not enough. Not yet.

Before I can say anything, Weevil appears from around the corner, looking confused. His eyes dart between us, suspicion in his gaze. "What’s going on here?" he asks, voice rough, as if he’s just woken up.

Elle turns to him, eyes narrowing in that way she has when she’s about to drop a truth bomb. "Do you remember how Veronica accused you of stealing the Neptune High mascot? Without any proof, she just thought you did it."

Weevil nods, a little wariness creeping into his expression. "Yeah. I remember. You were the one who told her I didn’t do it."

Elle’s voice is steady, her gaze never leaving his. "I read your memories, Weevil. I knew you didn’t steal the mascot because I could feel it." She glances at Veronica, then back to Weevil. "And I can prove Logan didn’t kill Lilly, too. Because I read his memories, too."

Weevil stares at her, processing her words. "You’re telling me you can do that? Read memories?"

Elle nods. "Yes. I’m psychic, and that’s how I proved you didn’t steal the mascot. I read your memories. And I can tell you right now, Logan didn’t kill Lilly."

Weevil looks between Veronica, Elle, and me, clearly not sure what to make of all this. But Veronica steps forward, a quiet certainty in her eyes. "Elle’s right, Weevil. She can do it. And she’s telling the truth."

I nod. "Yeah. Elle doesn’t lie. Not about this."

Weevil glances at us one last time, his expression still wary but something like understanding creeping into his face. "If you say so." He looks at Elle. "Thanks. For clearing my name."

Elle just shrugs. "It’s what I do."

With a final glance, Weevil walks off, leaving the three of us in the hallway, the weight of everything hanging between us. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

I leaned back on the couch, my eyes trained on the ticking clock on the wall. The Mars' apartment had that familiar mix of warmth and chaos—mostly chaos these days. Veronica and Elle were in the other room, getting ready for their mission as undercover waitresses at Kane's party. I didn't know whether to be impressed or amused by the lengths they were going to.

I pulled my phone out, tapping it absentmindedly as I waited for them to finish their... transformation. Veronica had gone all-in with her disguise: an awful short black curly wig and glasses that made her look like she belonged in an 80s sitcom. It was almost enough to make me laugh, if it weren’t for the fact that she was really committed to this whole charade. And then there was Elle, who had gone for the full Britney Spears look. Long platinum blonde hair, bangs in place, dressed in a white blouse with a black vest, and black pants that seemed to scream “hello, party!” If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was going to audition for Toxic.

"Hey, Elle," I called out, my voice oozing sarcasm. "You know, I think you look better in this disguise than Veronica does. My favorite brunette friend turns into a blonde friend, and my blonde girlfriend turns into a brunette girlfriend. Talk about switching things up."

Veronica popped her head out of the bedroom, giving me a look that could've melted steel. "I don’t even know why you’re still talking," she muttered, as Elle shrugged and gave me a playful smile.

"I think I look like retro Britney," Elle said, twirling a little for effect, her blonde hair cascading like a veil.

I raised an eyebrow. "Britney? You know, she’s a little more modern than retro in this time," I said. "She’s only 24, but she’s still Britney—so yeah, you’re basically channeling her in the 2000s."

Elle grinned. "In my future, though? She’s... well, she’s retired. Free from her dad’s control, but now she’s just posting naked pictures with some, you know, covering her breasts. And dancing in weird outfits for the videos on... Instagram."

I blinked. "Instagram?" I echoed, my confusion palpable.

"Yeah, it’s this social media thing, kinda like MySpace," Elle explained, turning the water bottle in her hand absentmindedly.

Veronica’s eyebrows furrowed. "Wait, so Britney’s retired? And that’s what she’s doing with her life?" She sounded skeptical.

"Pretty much," Elle shrugged. "It’s weird, but... she’s free. So I guess that’s something."

Veronica glanced at her phone, tapping away at something—probably looking for an update from the mission or... I don’t know. She was always doing something on her phone.

"I’m thirsty," Elle suddenly muttered, making her way toward the fridge. "You got any water in here?"

Veronica pulled her gaze from her phone, and with a shrug, she pointed to the fridge. "Yeah, my mom keeps water bottles in there."

Elle opened the fridge and took out a bottle, twisting off the cap and taking a sip. "Your mom came back?" she asked, sounding more curious than anything. "From rehab, I mean?"

Veronica’s face twitched, and she glanced at Elle. "Yeah, she did. I was surprised, too. But I’m happy they’re trying to work things out. She and my dad... they’re back together."

Elle took another swig, but then paused. She narrowed her eyes at the bottle. "Hold up."

"What?" Veronica asked, looking over at her.

Elle gave a short, sarcastic laugh. "Straight up vodka, Veronica. Your mom’s keeping that in the fridge. You sure you’re happy about that?"

Veronica’s jaw dropped. "Really?" she asked, stepping closer. "Are you serious?"

Elle wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, an amused grin on her face. "Yep. Really. I’m just glad Time-Lords can tolerate alcohol. Otherwise, I’d have a problem." She raised her eyebrows, her tone laced with mockery.

Logan shot her a confused look. "Wait, you mean to tell me that you can't even get drunk?"

Elle smiled wryly. "Yep. Time-Lords metabolize alcohol pretty quickly. But don't go giving me aspirin anytime soon," she added with a teasing glint in her eye. "I'm allergic to that. If I accidentally drink it, you better have chocolate ready. It’s the only thing that helps."

I chuckled. "Great. Good to know, Elle. Don’t drink aspirin and don't let me give you alcohol." I leaned back in the chair, my voice turning more serious. "But... this whole situation with your mom, Veronica... you sure she’s really back to normal?"

Veronica was staring at the water bottle in her hand, her expression unreadable. "No," she said quietly, "I’m not sure. But I guess I’ll find out soon enough."

She didn’t look happy about it, and honestly, neither did I.

With a long exhale, Veronica pulled out her phone again, and I watched as she tapped in a number. "Hi, the number to the Hazelwood Facility in Soquel?" she said into the phone, her voice low, almost a whisper.

The tension in the room was thick. We all knew there was something off with her mom’s return. The alcohol, the rehab, the strange silence between her parents—it was all part of the same tangled mess. Veronica didn’t look like she was ready for a confrontation, but we all knew it was coming. And me? I just wanted to get through this party and find the damn letter. The one that might just change everything.

I sat behind the wheel of my XTerra, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel as Veronica fished out her latest spy gadgets—sleek little wireless earbuds with mics embedded. She handed one to me, one to Elle, and popped the last one into her ear like this wasn’t the weirdest Wednesday night of all time.

"Okay," she said, tucking her dark curly wig behind her ear in the most tragically sitcom-looking way imaginable, "Logan, you stay in the car. Elle and I are going in."

Elle, perched in the passenger seat with her platinum-blonde wig shimmering under the streetlights, gave a grin. “God, I feel like I’m in Charlie’s Angels.”

I smirked. “Then I guess I’m Bosley.”

Elle shot me a wink. “Obviously. Veronica is totally Dylan. And I’m Natalie.”

Veronica glanced up from checking messages on her ancient QWERTY phone. “Guess that makes Mac our Alex.”

Elle blinked. “Who's Mac?”

“You’d like her,” Veronica replied, adjusting her bowtie. “Queen of hacking and sarcasm.”

“Sounds like my kind of girl,” Elle said with a grin.

Then Veronica leaned over and kissed me—quick, but warm, like a light before a storm. Elle beamed. “Awwww. My two favorite people finally acting like it.”

“Good luck,” I told them both. I meant it more than I let on.

They climbed out of the car and disappeared around the wrought iron gates of the Kane estate, looking like two waitresses who wandered out of an awkward themed restaurant. I settled back in the driver’s seat, earbuds in, listening in.

Piano music floated through—the kind rich people pretend to enjoy. Then Veronica’s voice crackled softly in my ear. “We’re in.”

Elle followed, whispering, “Straight to the nest.”

“The nest?” I asked.

“Dead bird’s nest,” Elle clarified like I was supposed to know. It took me a second.

“You mean Lilly’s room?” I deadpanned. “Great, love the code names. Very espionage chic.”

A loud clatter rang through my earbud, and I winced. Veronica hissed a curse under her breath.

“Careful!” Elle whispered sharply. “You want to make the Kanes suspicious?”

“Dropped the tray,” Veronica muttered.

A few beats passed before Elle's voice came through again. “We’re in the nest.”

I could almost see it: the two of them in Lilly’s room, all shadows and history, digging through the past like grave robbers.

Then suddenly—Duncan's voice cut through the line.

"Who the hell are you two? What are you doing in here?"

Veronica: “Duncan, Duncan, it’s me!”

Elle chimed in, quick and calm: “It’s us, Elle and Veronica.”

Duncan sounded rattled. “What are you doing here?”

Veronica started explaining. “We’re looking for something.”

He snapped back: “Shouldn’t you be looking in my room, then? That’s where all the clues would be, right? Come on. You didn’t dress up just to leave empty-handed.”

Veronica: “Duncan, stop.”

Elle, trying to diffuse: “Calm down.”

Duncan was unraveling. “No, really, let’s see what you can find. Maybe I left a confession on my Etch-A-Sketch!”

“Duncan,” Veronica pleaded. “I don’t think you killed Lilly.”

Elle jumped in. “We think it was Aaron Echolls.”

I froze. Hearing it out loud from Elle, like a slap.

Veronica added: “We found the video recorder in his poolhouse. There might be more. That’s why we’re looking. Logan said he wrote Lilly a letter the day she died. It would prove he wasn’t in Mexico. Dick and Beaver lied for him. He came back early. He thought she was cheating—maybe with Weevil. And I remembered Lilly used to hide stuff in the vents.”

There was a long pause. Then Duncan’s voice again, quieter. “Let’s see what’s in there.”

A metallic ping rang out through the earbuds.

Sonic buzz. Elle must’ve used that pen again.

Duncan: “What is that pen?”

Elle: “Sonic pen. Like a spy tool. Multifunctional.”

Duncan: “Wow.”

Veronica: “There’s just these…”

Elle: “Tapes. Probably from Aaron’s recorder.”

Duncan: “Who are you talking to?”

Elle: “Logan. He’s listening in.”

“Lucky me,” I muttered to myself with a crooked grin.

Then Duncan said, “I’ve got a camera we can play ’em on.”

Elle’s voice, cheerful and slightly breathless: “Logan, come to Duncan’s room. We’re watching these.”

I was already halfway out of the car before she finished the sentence. Whatever was on those tapes—I had to know. And I had a feeling that what we found tonight might finally blow the lid off all of this. Or bury me even deeper. Either way, I couldn’t sit still anymore.

The picture on the screen was already grainy before it even started playing. Duncan adjusted the tracking like it was 1997, then stepped back beside us. Remote in hand, he clicked the play button with a little too much hope.

Elle leaned over and muttered, “Wow. This technology is so ancient, it probably remembers dial-up internet.”

I smirked. “Careful, Elle. You’re gonna give Duncan’s state-of-the-art VHS system a complex.”

The tape rolled. I didn’t need to see much to know where it was. My pool house. I’d spent too many hours hiding from the world there, but never thought it would hide something like this.

“Where’s this?” Duncan asked.

“My pool house,” I said quietly, my voice suddenly thick in my throat.

Then there she was. Lilly.

On screen, she lounged on the bed in her pep squad uniform like she owned the damn world. My heart thumped harder. God, her energy had been wildfire. Dangerous. Beautiful.

“That’s her pep squad outfit,” Veronica whispered. “This... this is the day she died.”

Elle, sitting to my left, nodded. “October 3rd. I remember.”

My jaw clenched. I didn’t know what was worse — seeing Lilly alive like that or knowing what was coming next.

“Come here, lover. Time to earn your keep,” Lilly said on the tape, giggling like it was all a game. Then she looked up, spotted the camera — two of them. One in the ceiling fan, the other in the statue by the headboard.

“What?” Duncan asked, confused, like he wasn’t sure if he was misreading what we were seeing.

Then the tape cut out.

“See the other tape,” I said, voice low and clipped.

Duncan swapped tapes. “This one’s dated October 1st.”

The tape rolled again. More of the same room, different day. Lilly, sprawled on the bed again. But this time... she wasn’t alone. Someone was with her. She was kissing him, straddling him. I could feel my stomach twisting already.

It wasn’t me.

Elle leaned back, folding her arms. “This is so invasive. I didn’t even know her, and I feel like I’m violating something.”

Yeah, welcome to the Echolls legacy, Elle. Always classy.

Then, after a few grainy cuts, the angle shifted. And we saw him.

Veronica gasped. “Oh my god.”

My entire body locked. There was no mistaking him. The confident smirk. The calculated pose. My father. Of course. It was his setup. His cameras. His tapes. He was always the director, the star, the manipulator.

“Mr. Echolls?” Duncan asked, horror written across his face.

I stared at the screen, barely breathing.

Elle didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. She just said, “This is why I couldn’t tell you guys before. I knew. But saying his name would’ve wrecked the timeline.”

Duncan blinked at her. “Wait, what? You knew? What does that mean?”

I looked at Duncan, dead serious. “Elle’s from the future. Like Back to the Future kind of future.”

Duncan narrowed his eyes. “Logan, seriously?”

Elle rolled her eyes. “He’s not joking. I’m from 2035.”

She pulled her phone from her pocket and held it out. Sleek. No buttons. Almost alien. “This is a smartphone. Thirty years of upgrades since your Nokia.”

Duncan stared at it like she just told him aliens were real. “No buttons... holy crap.”

He didn’t question her again after that.

On screen, my father stared straight into the camera, like he knew. Like he always knew. Duncan hit pause, freezing the image on Aaron’s smug face.

Veronica stepped back from the screen like she’d been punched. Her breath hitched. She stumbled to the bed and sat down, one hand gripping the sheets, the other covering her mouth.

“Veronica?” Duncan asked, moving to sit beside her.

Elle and I followed, flanking her on the right side. I placed a hand on her back, steadying her even though I wasn’t steady myself.

“I know what happened,” Veronica whispered, her voice trembling. “I know what happened.”

Silence settled over the room like a heavy fog, thick with disbelief and heartbreak. And rage. I could feel it boiling in my chest. My father killed her. My father. And now... now we had the truth. But at what cost?

Chapter Text

The room felt suffocating, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. The only sound was the faint hum of the TV, frozen on my father’s face—his smug, too-calm face, lying there, half-dressed in his own disgusting, calculated peace. Lilly was next to him, unaware, or maybe just used to it by now. My insides twisted in a way that made me feel like I was drowning, but I couldn’t look away.

Duncan’s voice broke through the silence. “Could he really do it?” he asked, his voice small, like he couldn’t comprehend what he was asking.

“He’s psychotic,” Veronica replied, her voice laced with a cold bitterness that hit too close to home. “I watched him beat a guy into a bloody mess and then turn to Logan like it was nothing and ask him how his school day went.”

I hated hearing it. Hated knowing that she knew, that she’d seen what I’d seen. My dad, the monster. The only difference was that she got out. I didn’t.

I looked over at Duncan, my words barely a whisper. “I’m not surprised he can do that. He’s done worse.”

Veronica turned to him, her voice low but sharp. “He beats Logan, you know?”

Duncan nodded. He didn’t have to say anything. He knew.

Elle’s mouth hung open in shock, her eyes wide. She was the only one not shocked. Just... sad. Like she already knew what was coming, and that was almost worse. “Aaron Echolls is a walking red flag,” Elle said bluntly, breaking the silence in her usual, direct way.

Duncan shook his head, almost disbelieving. “He’s here. Now. He came to meet the governor.”

My chest tightened, the weight of it hitting me all at once. He was here. At a party. Of course, he was. Why wouldn’t he be? My father had the world at his fingertips. And this... this just made it worse.

Veronica grabbed the tapes off the desk, her expression serious. “I have to get these tapes to my dad. Will you help me? You keep Aaron in your sight at all times until I call you.”

Duncan didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, of course.”

Elle, as calm as ever, spoke up again. “You can bring the tapes fast. Five minutes. Before Aaron even reaches them.”

Duncan’s brow furrowed. “How? That’s impossible.”

I felt my own mind racing, connecting dots. Veronica and I looked at Elle at the same time, realization hitting us both.

“Elle,” Veronica said, her voice softer now, a little more understanding. “You’re going to use the Doctor, aren’t you?”

Elle gave us a small nod. “Anything impossible is actually possible. Trust me.”

I could hardly believe it, but then Elle pulled out her phone, tapping away with rapid precision. Her finger hovered over the screen for a moment before she brought it up to her ear.

“I need the TARDIS,” she said with certainty.

I shot a glance at Veronica, but she was already getting her phone out, probably calling her dad to warn him about my father. That’s when I heard it—the sound that shouldn’t have been possible. A loud, echoing whirl, like a jet engine coming to life. The walls shook slightly as a blue box appeared out of nowhere.

Duncan froze, staring at the TARDIS that materialized in the center of his room like it had just fallen out of the sky.

“What... what is that?” he asked, his voice thick with disbelief.

“Time machine,” I said, my voice flat. I didn’t even look away from the door as it swung open.

“TARDIS,” Veronica corrected.

The door creaked open, and out stepped... the Doctor. No, not our previous physics teacher. This guy had a sort of manic energy to him, like he couldn’t quite stand still, like the world was always moving too fast for him to catch up.

Duncan was still staring, his mouth agape. “Mr. Smith? Our old physics teacher?”

“Just Doctor,” he said with a grin, his hands already ushering us toward the door. “Now, come on, come on! We’ve got no time to lose.”

I stood up, almost in a daze, but Elle was already heading for the TARDIS. Veronica followed after her, and I didn’t hesitate—following close behind.

“Hey!” Duncan called after Veronica just before she stepped into the TARDIS. He hesitated, then added, “Be careful, okay?”

Veronica paused, turning back to him. Her smile was small, bittersweet, and for a moment, it felt like everything had stopped. She met his gaze, and there was something... unspoken there, something just beneath the surface.

“My dad had a paternity test,” she said, her voice light, almost teasing. “I’m not your sister.”

Duncan’s eyes went wide, his face a mask of confusion. Veronica didn’t wait for a response. She turned and stepped into the TARDIS, disappearing behind the blue door.

Duncan just stood there, his mouth slightly open, probably still processing.

I couldn’t help but watch, the weight of everything settling in my chest again. I glanced at Veronica, who was already dialing her father’s number.

“Dad,” Veronica said as she spoke into the phone, her voice strained but steady. “It’s Aaron Echolls. He did it. I have video of Lilly in his bed on the day she died, they were having an affair.” There was silence on the other end. Veronica paused. “I’ll explain later. I’m just leaving the Kanes.” Another pause. “No, Dad. He’s here. He’s talking to the governor. Duncan’s gonna keep an eye on him. I’ll be home in a minute.”

The TARDIS suddenly made a strange noise, like a swarm of bees, and the next thing I knew, it stopped. We were standing in front of Sunset Cliff Apartments.

“Come on, then!” The Doctor grinned at us. “Let’s go!”

We hurried inside the building, and as we reached the Mars apartment, I saw Keith’s eyes go wide. His gaze flicked between Veronica and me, and then to the Doctor and Elle. His brow furrowed in confusion.

“How did you two get here so fast?” Keith asked, looking between Veronica and me, his voice laced with confusion.

“Mr. Smith, this is Keith Mars,” Veronica said quickly, introducing him. “Dad, this is John Smith.” She gestured to the Doctor, who was already holding up his psychic paper.

“John Smith,” the Doctor said cheerfully. “Private investigator from London, UK. So pleased to meet you, Mr. Mars. I’m a huge fan of your work.”

Keith glanced down at the psychic paper, reading aloud, “John Smith, private investigator...” He looked back up, confusion deepening.

Veronica added quickly, “This is Elle Martin. She’s a friend from school, also works undercover with John Smith.”

“Anyway,” the Doctor interrupted, “Aaron Echolls is very dangerous. You need to call the sheriff. He’s a walking threat. We need to get those tapes to the authorities now.”

Veronica handed Keith the tapes, her voice steady. “These are the tapes where Lilly is sleeping with Logan’s father.”

The room was thick with tension, the kind that clings to your skin, makes it hard to breathe. Keith Mars was on the phone, his voice low and steady, but his jaw clenched tight as he spoke to Sheriff Don Lamb. I could hear Keith’s voice from across the room, but everything felt muffled, like I was underwater. My mind was too preoccupied with what had just happened. Aaron Echolls—my father—he did it. He killed Lilly. The proof was right there, on those damn tapes. I could still hear the sound of that sickening footage in my head. The worst part was that, in the back of my mind, I already knew. It was always him.

“Don,” Keith said, his voice firm. “We found Lilly Kane’s killer. It’s Aaron Echolls. He’s at the Kane estate right now, at a party for the governor. You need to arrest him immediately.”

My stomach twisted, and I felt a cold knot in my gut. I kept my gaze locked on Veronica, who was pacing by the door, her fists clenched at her sides. She was still holding those damn tapes like they were the most important thing in the world. Which, in a way, they were.

Keith’s voice continued, cutting through the thick air. “We’ve got proof. The tapes—everything you need. They’re from Aaron’s poolhouse.”

I was barely listening anymore. All I could think about was my father, the man I had looked up to for so long. The man who was nothing more than a killer, a psychopath. And now the whole world was going to find out.

That’s when I saw her. Lianne Mars, Veronica’s mom, standing in the doorway of the bedroom with an account book in her hands. She looked... off. Disconnected, like she didn’t quite know where she was. Her eyes flicked toward Veronica, and for a split second, I could see something in her gaze—a little flicker of something—before she quickly turned away.

Veronica noticed too.

Her expression shifted from frustration to something harder, something more painful. She turned and walked straight toward her mother. “I need you to pack,” she said, her voice tight with anger.

Lianne’s eyebrows furrowed, confused. “What? What do you mean?”

“I know, Mom. I know you’re not through drinking. I know you didn’t finish rehab. You checked yourself out early, and that was my college money,” Veronica spat, her voice like fire. “I bet on you, and I lost. I’ve been doing that my whole life, and I’m done.”

I felt my chest tighten, and I looked over at Elle. Her eyes were sad, like she already knew what was coming. But the anger in Veronica’s voice? That was something new.

Lianne’s face crumpled for a second, but she quickly tried to cover it up, brushing a hand through her disheveled hair. “Honey, I... I just...”

Elle cut her off, her voice soft but firm. “It’s true. Veronica’s right. We found water bottles in the fridge. But it wasn’t water. It was vodka.”

Keith’s voice was colder than I had ever heard it. “Lianne, pack your things. You need to leave.”

The words hit like a slap, and for a moment, the room was silent. Lianne just stood there, blinking, as though the world had suddenly shifted beneath her feet. She took a step toward Veronica, her arms opening as if to hug her.

“Veronica...” Lianne whispered, her voice breaking.

But Veronica didn’t move. Instead, she pulled away, gently, but firmly. She took Lianne’s hand off her shoulder and said nothing more.

I wanted to step forward, to say something, but Veronica didn’t need me to speak. She didn’t need anyone to say anything. She needed space. She needed to breathe.

I reached for her then, pulling her gently into my arms, wrapping her in a protective hug. She pressed her face into my chest, and for a moment, I could feel the weight of everything she’d been carrying. I kissed her forehead softly, feeling the warmth of her skin. My words came out before I even realized I was saying them.

“Take care of yourself,” I whispered, my voice low.

She didn’t respond, but I could feel her nod against me. The tension in her body started to ease, just slightly, and I hoped it was enough. But I didn’t know. I never knew.

I pulled away from her, giving her some space, and turned to Elle and the Doctor.

“Let’s go,” I muttered.

Elle nodded, her eyes dark with understanding. The Doctor didn’t say a word, just smiled that weird, manic grin of his before walking toward the door.

We left the Mars apartment then, stepping out into the night, the world outside feeling colder than ever. It was almost like everything that had been building up was coming to a head—and I didn’t know if we’d survive the fallout.

I just hoped Veronica could, somehow.

The world outside the TARDIS went quiet the moment the door swung open. The familiar sounds of swirling time and space faded away into a silence that felt oddly heavy, suffocating in its stillness. We were standing outside the Kane estate now, the once grand and sprawling mansion looming ahead of us. But instead of the usual silence of the place, there were police cars—sheriff’s department cars—lined up outside, lights flashing, the air thick with the buzz of urgency.

I stepped out of the TARDIS and into the chaos. My eyes scanned the scene before me, my heart pounding in my chest, too many emotions swirling around in my head for me to focus on any one thing. There were people—officers, deputies, and... him. My father, Aaron Echolls.

And right there, just a few yards away, was Duncan. I hadn’t seen him yet, but I knew him the second I caught the slightest glimpse of his face—familiar, distressed. The tension between us had been building ever since the truth about Lilly came to light. And now it was all unfolding, right before my eyes.

Duncan’s father, Jake Kane, was standing there, his face red with fury, his hands trembling. His eyes locked on mine for a second, then shot straight to my father as he was cuffed. Celeste Kane stood beside him, her face streaked with tears, her gaze filled with the kind of anger and grief that I knew all too well.

One of the officers took my father by the arm, snapping handcuffs around his wrists. My father didn’t even flinch. But as soon as the words came out of the deputy’s mouth, reading Aaron his rights, it was like everything I’d been feeling all these years came rushing back to me, faster than I could process.

“Aaron Echolls, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney,” the deputy said, his voice calm and professional, as if it was just another day at work. But all I could hear was the hollow echo of my heartbeat in my ears.

I didn’t know if I wanted to scream or if I just wanted to run and hide. It wasn’t until Jake Kane came forward, pushing through the deputies and shouting with all the anger and hurt in his voice, that I understood the weight of everything going on.

“You killed my daughter! You killed my daughter!” Jake screamed, his voice shaking with grief and rage.

The deputies scrambled to pull him back, but it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave.

“I’ll watch you frying!” Jake roared, his fists clenched at his sides, barely restrained by the officers holding him back. “I’ll destroy your family and everyone you ever loved! You killed my daughter!”

It was chaos. Absolute chaos.

I watched as the deputies struggled with Jake, trying to force him back from my father, who stood there, still and silent. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

And then Sheriff Don Lamb stepped forward, his voice calm and authoritative, cutting through the tension.

“Jake Kane,” he called, his voice carrying authority that was no match for Jake’s raw pain.

But Jake didn’t stop. “You killed my daughter!” he screamed again, his voice now cracking with the weight of his grief. “I’ll watch you fry, Aaron!”

Lamb didn’t back down, though. “Jake, you are under arrest for obstruction of justice. You have the right to remain silent.”

It all blurred together in a flurry of movement, officers pulling Jake back to his car, his voice still echoing in the air. “My daughter, my daughter. My daughter…”

I could hear Duncan beside me now, the tension between us more palpable than ever. His eyes were locked on the scene in front of us. His father was barely holding himself together, and his mother… Celeste. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she was feeling, seeing her husband spiraling out of control like that.

I caught Duncan’s gaze, and for a brief moment, we shared a look—one that said everything without needing words. We both knew what it felt like to have your world shattered, even though we were coming at it from two very different places.

I pulled my phone out and dialed Veronica.

“Hey, it’s done. They arrested him… finally,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t even call him my father anymore. He’s not my dad. Aaron Echolls is dead now.”

I hung up without waiting for her response. I don’t think I wanted to hear what she had to say anyway.

Doctor was standing next to me now, his face filled with something akin to sorrow. “I’m sorry, Logan,” he said softly. “I’m so, so sorry.”

I looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since we’d met. The Doctor—this strange, alien man who, despite everything, somehow felt more like a father figure to me than my actual father ever had. I didn’t know if I was grateful or if it just felt weird. Maybe both.

Elle stepped up beside me then, offering me a tight, comforting hug. I didn’t pull away. I needed this, needed to know that I wasn’t alone in all of this.

“You’re not alone, Logan,” Elle said, her voice quiet but steady.

For the first time in a long while, I believed it. I wasn’t alone. The Doctor, Elle… Veronica. Maybe we weren’t the family I had wanted, but we were something. Something better.

I didn’t know what came next. Hell, I didn’t even know what I was supposed to do with all of this. But for once, as I stood there with them, I felt like I wasn’t just going to fall apart.

Maybe I could rebuild something from all this destruction. Maybe, just maybe, I could figure out who I was without the shadow of my father looming over me. But for now, I just stood there, taking in everything around me, feeling the chaos and the calm all at once.

And in the midst of it all, for the first time in a long time, I felt like I might just have a shot at being okay.