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Two years later. JFK International.

I wheeled my suitcase out of the terminal, and the familiar New York air hit my lungs.

The day I'd left, I'd left alone. Two years later, I was coming back with Tim.

The first research cycle had ended. The hospital had approved two months of leave. I'd decided to come back. There was one thing left for me to do here. A proper goodbye.

"Nina, seriously, hurry up or we're going to be late." Tim grabbed my hand and pulled me into a jog.

Linda had insisted on throwing me a welcome-back dinner. I hadn't seen my friends in two years. I'd agreed.

On the way up to the restaurant, I thought I caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. I didn't think much of it.