Between Things
On a profoundly average Tuesday, Lucas is sitting on his couch, ignoring a nature documentary, and waiting for his tea to cool down.
Then reality snaps like a cheap elastic band.
Seconds later, he's cornered by seventeenth-century French guards with very sharp rapiers, narrowly avoiding a trampling in Victorian London, and trying not to get incinerated in ancient Rome. He has no mission or manual or historical expertise. Just a hoodie, beat-up trainers, and a horrible suspicion that the faint click he heard right before the universe melted was his little sister messing with something in the spare room.
Hurled through centuries with zero control, Lucas survives on pure panic and dry sarcasm. Some eras try to execute him, some feed him stew, and in eighteenth-century Venice, someone actually looks at him like he belongs. But across every era, the same quiet figure in a faded baseball cap keeps watching him from the crowds, dropping hints about an artifact that might just be a ticket home.
Lucas doesn't care about destiny. He just wants to sit back on his sofa and drink his tea. But to get back, he'll have to stop stumbling through history, and figure out how to drive it.
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