—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
༻ Y/N'S POV ༺

Hours passed.

I was no longer in the heart of Dallas. The town had faded behind me, replaced by open fields stretching endlessly under the vast night sky. The air was cooler here, quieter. My system registered only the soft rustle of the tall grass as I moved through it, my fingertips grazing the blades. Each step was calculated, precise, the sound of my boots pressing against the earth blending into the rhythmic hum of crickets.

Ahead, in the distance, a faint glow caught my attention. A house. Small, isolated, standing against the darkness with only a single light flickering from inside.

I blinked. Then, without hesitation, I walked toward it.

As I did, my system picked up something—an anomaly in the soundscape. A faint, rhythmic noise to my side. I turned, recalibrating my focus. An animal.

My gaze locked onto a white horse standing just beyond a wooden fence. It let out another low sound, a deep exhale, shifting slightly as it acknowledged my presence.

I tilted my head.

The horse made another noise, its body tensing slightly, signaling caution. Still, I moved toward it, my pace instinctively slowing the closer I got.

When I reached the fence, I stopped. The horse watched me, its dark eyes assessing.

It let out a sharp huff as I lifted my hand slightly. A warning. A signal to stop.

I didn't.

Instead, I adjusted—pausing, giving it time to register me, to understand I wasn't a threat.

Then, slowly, I raised my hand again.

The horse didn't move.

I reached forward, my fingertips brushing against its forehead. It remained still, its breath steady, no longer wary. My system registered the warmth of its skin, the soft texture of its fur. A real, living thing beneath my touch.

The horse let out a quieter sound, something softer—almost approving.

I continued moving my hand, gently running my fingers along the top of its head, mapping the unfamiliar sensation. My eyes studied it closely, memorizing every detail.

For the first time since I arrived here, since I woke up alone in this strange world, my system processed something it couldn't fully quantify.

Something uncalculated.

A sudden crash.

The distant sound of a door slamming open.

I turned my head sharply, my system immediately identifying the threat. An older man stood on the porch of the house, wearing a robe, his grip firm on a shotgun aimed directly at me. His face was shadowed by the porch light, but his posture told me everything—defensive, wary, ready to fire.

"All right, kid, that's far enough! Get off my damn yard!" His voice was rough, thick with a Texan drawl.

I remained still, my system running calculations.

Distance: approximately 15 yards.
Firearm: double-barrel shotgun, standard. Threat level: moderate.

"You hear me?" he barked again, tightening his hold. "I said get off my barn before I call the damn cops on your ass!"

Still, I didn't move.

Behind him, another figure rushed onto the porch—a woman, older as well, her hair set in tight curls, wearing a nightgown. She placed a hand on his arm. "Johnny! Wait, don't shoot!"

"Why the hell not?" Johnny snapped, barely glancing at her. "There's a kid on my land at eight o'clock at night. I got a damn good reason to shoot!"

"It's a young girl," the woman said, pressing his gun down with a firm but gentle touch. "Look at her."

His grip loosened slightly, but his eyes never left me. My system scanned them both. Late sixties. Married. Heightened heart rates. No immediate sign of aggression from the woman.

I heard another sound behind me. The horse.

I turned my head just enough to see it still standing close, exhaling sharply.

"I'll be damned..." Johnny muttered, his voice shifting from suspicion to something resembling disbelief. "She got Lady's name on her."

Lady. The horse.

I ran my hand along the top of its head again, feeling the soft warmth of its coat beneath my fingers.

The woman gasped. "Oh, the poor thing..." she said, clutching her chest. Before I could process her next movement, she was already rushing toward me, a thick, warm blanket in her hands.

I stiffened, my system momentarily flagging the action as unexpected. But then—warmth. She wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and pulled it snug.

"You poor thing," she murmured, her voice softer now, closer. "You must be freezing."

I didn't respond.

"Come on inside," she urged, her hands gently rubbing my arms. "Are you hungry? We got stew still warm on the stove."

She didn't wait for an answer—just guided me forward with surprising care. My feet moved on their own, my system tracking the change in environment as we crossed the yard toward the house.

Behind us, Johnny grumbled something under his breath but didn't stop us. I heard him click the safety back on his shotgun before following.

The woman held me steady, her touch lingering with something I couldn't quite process. Comfort. Reassurance. A signal that, at least for now, I wasn't alone.

"Let's get you inside," she said softly.

And for the first time since I arrived in this time, I let someone lead the way.

The woman pushed open the sliding door with a faint creak, leading me inside. My system adjusted to the dimmer lighting, scanning the interior. The house was old—wood-paneled walls covered in faded floral wallpaper, the scent of aged wood and something faintly sweet lingering in the air. Cowboy hats hung on hooks near the entrance, and framed photos lined the walls, their edges yellowed with time. The furniture was worn but sturdy, each piece telling a story of years spent in use.

She guided me into the dining room, where an old wooden table sat in the center, surrounded by mismatched chairs. She pulled one out for me.

"Sit here, dear. I'll get you a glass of warm milk and a bowl of stew," she said, offering a kind smile before disappearing through a doorway into what my system identified as the kitchen.

I sat, the blanket still wrapped around me. Across the table, the older man placed his shotgun down with a heavy thud. The sound echoed through the quiet room, but I didn't flinch. His eyes narrowed slightly, watching me. He sat down slowly, resting his arms on the table.

The only sound was the faint clinking of dishes from the kitchen.

He exhaled sharply, then spoke. "Your parents know you're out here by yourself? Wanderin' onto people's property in the middle of the night?"

I scanned the room again, the muted glow from an overhead light casting long shadows. Then, I shook my head.

"No."

His brow furrowed. "No, what? No, they don't know? Or no, you ain't got any business sneakin' onto my land?"

I turned my gaze to him, processing his questions.

"I don't have any."

His expression didn't change, but I detected a shift—a slight flicker of surprise behind his eyes before he masked it with a grunt.

Before he could say more, the woman returned, carefully balancing a steaming bowl of stew and a glass of warm milk. She set them in front of me, her hands gentle.

"Here you go, sweetheart," she said warmly. "Eat as much as you can."

I looked at the bowl, then at her. She watched me expectantly, her hands folded in front of her chest.

"Go ahead, dear. Don't be shy. It's fresh," she urged.

I picked up the spoon, scooping a small portion of the stew and tasting it. The warmth spread through me, the texture and depth of the flavors unlike anything I had ever experienced. My system registered the unfamiliar sensation—real food. Not code, not data. Something tangible, something meant to be consumed.

The woman smiled as she watched me eat, then hesitated before asking, "So... where are your parents?"

"She ain't got any," the man answered before I could.

The woman gasped softly, her hand flying to her chest as she turned to face me fully. I looked back at her, spoon still in my hand, as she searched my expression for something I didn't know how to give her.

Sympathy. Pity. Concern.

The woman's face softened as she clasped her husband's hand. "No parents? No brothers or sisters?"

I paused, scanning through my system. The response came up blank. I shook my head.

The woman's lips pressed together in sympathy. She rubbed her husband's knuckles absentmindedly, her brows furrowing. "How long have you been on your own?"

My system processed the timeline. I fell from the sky this morning. I woke up in an alley. I wandered through the streets, through the fields, until I ended up here. But before that?

Glitch.

My data scrambled at the attempt to recall anything further. The face—there was a face. But no name. No details. Just a distant, unplaceable familiarity.

I looked back at her. "This morning."

The man huffed, rubbing a hand down his face. "You run away from home or somethin'?"

"No."

His jaw tightened slightly, eyes narrowing. "You don't remember anyone? Or if somebody dropped you off here?"

That face. The one that lingers in the corrupted fragments of my system. My chest tightens—though there's no reason it should.

"No. I was dropped from the sky and woke up in an alley."

Silence.

They both stared at me, the woman's lips parting slightly as if searching for words. The man's brows knitted together, skepticism flickering in his expression.

"Oh, uhh..." The woman glanced at her husband before offering a hesitant smile. "Let me make a quick phone call real fast, okay?"

She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving just me and the man. He sat back in his chair, eyes studying me as I took in the dining room again—the wood-paneled walls, the old family portraits, the cowboy hats lined along the wall. My system scanned them automatically, piecing together their history from the details in the images. A long life lived here. A simple one.

"You got horses where you're from?" the man asked suddenly.

I turned my gaze back to him. "No."

He exhaled through his nose, lacing his fingers together as he leaned forward slightly. "Take a look out there."

I followed the direction of his nod toward the window. Outside, beyond the fence, stood the white horse—the same one I had encountered earlier. Its ears flicked at the distant sounds of the night, tail swishing lazily.

"That there's Lady." The man's voice was quieter now, tinged with something close to reverence. "Raised her since she was a baby. Raised her like she was my own damn kid."

I studied the horse, then turned back to him.

"And in my sixty-four years on this earth, I ain't never—never—seen her act like that with a stranger." His eyes locked onto mine, serious now. "She goes crazy. Batshit crazy. You come up on her like that, especially at night? She rears up, kicks, damn near loses her mind."

I processed his words, waiting for the point.

"For the first time in fifteen years, when a stranger—especially a stranger at night—comes near her, she's calm." His voice was quiet but firm. "Too calm."

I blinked.

The man sat back, studying me like I was some kind of puzzle he couldn't quite figure out.

I had no explanation.

"Johnny! Come here, please," the woman called from the kitchen, peeking her head out.

The man let out a gruff sigh, pushing back from the table. He shot me one last glance before making his way toward her. I remained seated, my system automatically enhancing the frequencies in the room. Their voices were hushed, likely assuming I wouldn't hear them.

"Are you kidding, Abigail? We're not keeping her," the man muttered, his voice sharp but low.

"I'm not saying we should keep her, Johnny. But look at her," the woman—Abigail—countered, her tone laced with concern. "She's a mess, and she's clearly lost in the head. She can't even remember where she came from. No family. Nothing."

"She ain't some stray dog, Abigail. This is somebody's child." His voice was a harsh whisper.

"Somebody's child that just happened to be wandering around alone at night?" Abigail shot back. "If she belongs to someone, they sure as hell don't care much about her safety."

Silence stretched for a moment. Then, Abigail spoke again, quieter this time. "Just for a little while, Johnny. We can't send her off into the night. Not with the kind of men that lurk out there."

A long exhale. A chair creaked under shifting weight. Then, finally, the reluctant answer.

"...Dammit, woman."

I continued to eat, my spoon clinking softly against the bowl. The sound of Abigail's slippers brushing against the old wooden floor grew louder as she approached me once more. She placed a gentle hand on the back of my chair, offering me a warm, albeit weary, smile.

"Once you're finished, sweetheart, I'll set up the bed upstairs for you, okay?"

I processed her words, then nodded.

She smiled, satisfied, before heading toward the stairs. I watched as Johnny reentered the dining room, grabbing his shotgun off the table with a grunt. He didn't look at me as he slung it over his shoulder and walked off toward another part of the house.

I remained at the table, spooning another bite of stew into my mouth.

The food was warm.

I continued eating.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————

I stood in the dimly lit bedroom, my system scanning every detail. The wooden floors creaked slightly under my weight, the red carpet beneath my feet worn with time. A small, dusty lamp sat on the bedside table, casting a soft glow across the space. The window was closed, the glass slightly fogged from the cool night air outside.

Abigail, the older woman, finished laying out a thick blanket on the bed. She smoothed it out with careful hands before turning to me with a kind smile.

"I hope this bed will be okay," she said, a light laugh escaping her lips. "Johnny and I never have guests over, so this is a first for us."

I processed her words, then shifted my gaze to the bed. It appeared stable. Functional.

"You have a name, sweetie?" she asked gently.

I hesitated for half a second before answering. "Y/n."

Abigail's smile widened. "Y/n. That's a lovely name."

She paused, her eyes soft as she studied me. "Would you like me to tuck you in?"

I blinked at her. The question was foreign. Unnecessary.

"No, thank you. I can manage," I replied.

She nodded, not offended, just understanding.

"Alright, then. I'll see you in the morning," she said, her voice warm.

I watched as she stepped toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at me. A flicker of something crossed her face—concern, maybe. But she didn't say anything. She just offered me a small smile before pulling the door closed behind her with a quiet click.

Silence settled over the room.

I scanned my surroundings again. The wooden dresser against the wall. The old quilt draped over the rocking chair in the corner. The faint scent of lavender and aged wood in the air.

Everything in this house was old. Familiar to a time I didn't belong in.

I turned toward the bed and sat on the edge, my hands resting on my lap as I accessed my internal system. My vision briefly flickered, my interface activating as I initiated a diagnostic scan.

SYSTEM STATUS: ACTIVE
FUNCTIONALITY: STABLE
MEMORY FILES: CORRUPTED
LOCATION: DALLAS, TEXAS – YEAR: 1962

The text scrolled across my vision in a dull, static haze. My processors lagged for a brief moment before stabilizing.

INITIATING POWER SAVE MODE...
SYSTEM RECHARGE REQUIRED...
PREPARING FOR TEMPORARY SHUTDOWN...

A flicker.

Glitching data. A distortion rippling through my vision like a fractured signal.

And then—

A face.

It appeared suddenly, burning through the darkness of my corrupted memory like a dying ember, flickering, unstable. A boy.

His features were sharp, carved with an intensity that made something deep in my system stutter. Dark hair, a furrowed brow. Green eyes—piercing, urgent, staring at me as if I was something he couldn't afford to lose. His mouth moved, forming words I couldn't hear.

There was something familiar about him. Something important.

I tried to reach for it, to understand.

ERROR. FILE NAME: UNKNOWN.

My system lagged. The face began to dissolve, slipping away into corrupted static, breaking apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but a void where something should have been.

Something that mattered.

Something I couldn't remember.

A hollow feeling settled in my chest, something foreign, something my programming couldn't compute. A missing piece. A lost fragment.

SIGNING OFF...
Y/N UNIT—POWERING DOWN.

And then, nothing.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
WORDS WRITTEN:
2827
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