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"Dad, dad," I try to get a word in through my mobile phone, currently pressed to my ear, black ankle boots hanging from my hand as I dash down the hallway from my bedroom into my open-plan kitchen slash living room. I'd love to talk about yours and mum's trip, but I've just got to go to work."

"What at this time? But we hardly hear or see you anymore, love," my father implied, sighing and putting on my boots. I felt guilty for not visiting my parents for months since what happened in London.

"I know, I know, okay, Dad. It's just work has been hectic lately," I internally pinch myself for what I'm about to pledge, "But I'll try to come down soon as I'm given the time off work, I promise," I hear a double beep of another call waiting on the line, "Right dad I've got to go, I love you okay send Rory my love to and mum too."

"I will do and love you too, Sweet P," I smile fondly at the nickname my father calls me as I stand back up and reenter the hallway.

I smiled fondly into the phone and hung up, quickly answering the next one, "Hello."

"Paige, where the hell are you?" Jack asked before I could even speak.

"Sorry, sir, I'm just on my way," I tell him, quickly grabbing my coat.

"Hurry up, okay," just like that, and he hangs up in a flash.

I now quickly tugged on my coat, grabbed my handbag off the side, and my keys sitting in a bowl on a table before promptly dashing out of my flat, slamming the door quickly behind me. Knowing that my evening plans to catch up with my parents over the phone had been run, I heard a distant rumbling not long followed by a massive ball of flames leaving a trail of smoke in its wake when I hurried outside onto my flat's balcony to see it shooting past, so much for having a life and having to lie about work all the time to keep them safe from what is happening on Earth. I'd probably carry all this to the grave whenever that would be.

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It's about half an hour later. I'm hurrying into the Hub. It's a hive of activity, everyone rushing around like blue-ass flies.

"Paige, where the hell have you been?" Jack insisted, charging from his office and pulling on his coat with Ianto not too far behind him, "I've been trying to get hold of you."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was the massive ball of flames hurtling across the sky more important than catching up with my family?" I returned moodily, yanking my coat off and chucking it over my chair, hands on my hips with a look that could almost kill.

"Paige, I..." Jack tried apologising, but I abruptly cut him off, simply not in the mood.

"Don't even bother, Jack. Let's get this over with, alright." I sighed harshly, hearing the metal of the office chair shriek in protest when I slammed myself onto it, which sounded a bit more dramatic than I'd intended and earned a sympathetic look from Ianto.

He alone knew how much my family truly meant to me because I tried to phone and call whenever work would allow me to check in with them, but sometimes speaking through the phone wasn't enough. It was never enough. All I wished for right now was to be back home in Leadworth, sitting across the kitchen table from Mum, with a warm mug of tea in hand, talking about our day, and a plate of biscuits between us. Those are the days I truly missed.

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Once the meteor alert arrived, the Hub didn't take long to descend into its usual chaos. I was still at my station, headset snug against my ear, trying to juggle comms and surveillance feeds while ignoring the cold tea at my elbow.

"Simple locate and clean-up operation," Jack's voice filtered through, confident and smooth, even with the crackle of interference. "Find that meteorite before anyone else gets their hands on it."

"Oh, is that all?" I muttered, rolling my eyes as I keyed into the street-level CCTV grid. My monitor flickered with grainy traffic footage and a static-streaked aerial feed showing smoke spiralling out from a field outside the city limits.

"Good to see you too, Paige," Jack added in that smug telepathic tone. Ianto, have the authorities been informed?"

I glanced sideways as Ianto, composed as ever, pulled up another display with crisp efficiency. "We intercepted emergency services chatter," he said. The police and the Army are already on-site. It looks like they beat us to it."

I swore under my breath. "Fantastic. Nothing like a few tanks and rifles to make evidence collection go smoothly."

Jack chuckled in my ear and signed off with a short "Stand by."

The line clicked off, and silence settled between Ianto and me, just the rhythmic hum of the Hub's machinery and the tapping of keys. I slouched back in my chair, gaze fixed on the live feeds. Nothing solid yet. Just smoke. Heat signatures. Movement. And a gnawing in my gut hadn't stopped since the meteor hit.

Something about it felt... wrong.

"You alright?" Ianto asked softly.

"Yeah. Just—" I shook my head. "Don't know. Bad feeling."

His brow lifted slightly, but he didn't press. I was glad for that. I hadn't told anyone about the things I'd seen—the flashes, the voices, the fractured images that crept in when I was alone, or worse, when I wasn't. I didn't even understand them myself.

And I sure as hell didn't want to unpack them in front of a coworker with a clipboard and an industrial coffee supply.

I returned to the screen, examining the incoming heat signature. Torchwood's SUV had arrived at the site. I watched as four dots—Jack, Gwen, Owen, and Tosh—stepped out and approached the crater's edge. Gwen lagged slightly behind the others. I could practically feel her nerves through the pixels.

Poor woman. She had no idea what she'd signed up for.

I'd been that girl once. Still was, sometimes. Lying to my family, still walking in the dark with nothing but Jack's blind confidence and a taser in my handbag.

"They've split up," I muttered, watching Gwen try to navigate a swarm of soldiers. I frowned. "She's going to get chewed up in there."

"Gwen can handle herself," Ianto said, though his voice held that same slight doubt mine did.

I wasn't so sure.

I kept my eyes on the screen as Gwen's figure edged uncertainly through the operations marquee. From where I sat in the Hub, her body language screamed one thing loud and clear: rookie. And unfortunately for her, a couple of squaddies had already clocked it too.

"Who the hell are you?!" one barked, practically stepping into her path. Private Moriarty, I thought—newly assigned, fresh haircut, compensating for something.

"Oh. Hi. Sorry! I'm—" Gwen stammered, clearly floundering.

Another one joined in—Sergeant Johnson. Built like a fridge and just as expressive. "This area's restricted."

I winced.

Gwen spun, probably searching for Jack or anyone from the team. She was alone. The marquee around her bustled with shouting soldiers, radio crackle, and blinking lights, and she stood in the middle of it like a lost tourist with a badge.

"I'm Special Ops," she tried again, smiling weakly.

I rolled my eyes. Oh, Gwen.

"Torchwood," she added quickly, as if the word might magically open doors. "I'm with Torchwood. They came in here—I've just... mislaid them. But we're dealing with this."

Ianto let out a slow breath beside me. "She needs backup."

"We've all been the newbie once," I murmured, though I was biting the inside of my cheek. It was hard to watch.

At the mention of Torchwood, Johnson got that look—like someone had just dropped a rotten fish in his boots.

"Don't mess with me, little girl," he said, stepping close. "You're not Torchwood. And even if you were—"

"You'd've put out the welcome banners," came Jack's voice, sudden and smug.

I couldn't help but smirk as Jack appeared on screen, sliding into frame with all the confidence in the world, coat trailing like a cape. Gwen looked like Superman had just saved her. She had.

"First of all, she's no little girl," Jack said, throwing Gwen a wink. "From where I'm standing, all the right curves in all the right places. But she is Torchwood. We both are. And we'd appreciate it if you'd leave us to get on with the real work."

Classic Jack. I could practically hear the grin in his voice.

The Sergeant didn't shake his hand. Jack didn't care. He just turned to Gwen, held out his own, and said, "Shall we?"

They disappeared off-screen together, leaving the soldiers behind.

"Please don't let her break anything," I said quietly.

"You're asking the universe for a lot tonight," Ianto replied dryly.

Down in the crater, things were moving fast.

From the Hub, I watched on the live drone feed as Jack, Owen, Tosh, and Gwen spread out around the smoking meteorite. It was larger than expected—jagged, blackened, still hissing with heat. The crater around it looked like someone had taken a scoop out of the earth.

Jack's voice cracked again: "So, let's see what we came for."

"Bog standard space debris," Owen reported, crouching beside it with a scanner in one hand and his usual smirk in the other.

"That's a technical term," he added toward Gwen.

Her sarcasm, sharp as ever, bit back. "Yeah, thanks."

I watched the team get to work—Tosh taking measurements, Owen photographing and sampling, Jack chipping fragments, even frost—everything textbook. Gwen stood off to the side, watching like a child behind glass. She looked exhausted already.

Owen called over, "Make yourself useful, sweetheart! Pass us the big chisel from the toolbox."

I groaned. "Oh, not now, Owen..."

"Not, sweetheart," Gwen shot back. "Gwen. One syllable. Sure, you can manage it."

Owen didn't stop. "Not sweetcheeks? Freckles? New Girl?"

Honestly, the man had a death wish, even if I was the one sleeping with him.

Gwen dug through the tools, pulled out the chisel, and said with too much sass for someone so green, "Shame your tool's not big enough for the job, darlin'. Here—"

She lobbed it.

I froze.

"No no no—"

Owen shouted, "Don't—!"

The chisel spun, gleaming under the lights, and slammed into the meteorite's surface.

The scream that followed wasn't human.

It tore through the Hub speakers, high and unnatural, a sharp psychic note that sliced straight through my skull. I clutched the desk, gritting my teeth.

Onscreen, cracks burst like lightning across the meteorite's shell. A jet of thick gas erupted upward, glowing and alive, hissing like it had purpose.

Jack was already moving—tossing gas masks. Tosh and Owen were fast to catch theirs. Gwen stood there, frozen, hypnotised.

Jack forced a mask over her face.

Then the gas changed—no longer a cloud, but something... something watching. It twisted in the air, curling into a ball of swirling lilac and blue, and then—

It shot off. Gone.

I stared at the screen, but it was no longer the only thing I saw.

It slammed into me like being yanked through a dream. One moment I was in the Hub, and the next—

Flashing neon. Bass thrumming through the walls.

The Meat Market Nightclub.

I saw them—a girl—Carys—and a man I didn't know yet but somehow did: Matt.

They burst into the women's toilets, laughing, tangled up, and frantic. Their clothes were still on, and there was urgency in every movement. The snogging, the need—it was messy and overwhelming. But then it turned.

She was in control. Too in control.

Matt didn't see it coming.

I watched it unfold as though behind glass. The way she pulled him in. The way his face twisted—not in pleasure, but in agony. His scream.

And then—ashes.

He exploded into light. Into atoms. A glow falling over her skin like dust. She breathed him in like it was ecstasy.

And when it was over, she exhaled, glowing, alone.

I snapped back into my body with a strangled gasp, stumbling away from the monitor. My hand reached out blindly for the desk.

"Paige?" Ianto's voice was close—concerned. I realised I was shaking.

"I'm fine," I lied, my voice hoarse.

He didn't look convinced.

I stared at the empty feed. The gas was gone. So was the vision. But I'd felt it. That girl. That death.

And this time... it hadn't just been in my head.

This time, I hadn't been asleep.

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When they returned, the tension was there before they did. Gwen trailed behind the others, visibly shaken. Jack looked focused. Owen looked annoyed. Tosh looked like she'd already started mentally cataloguing everything she needed to analyse. Typical.

They all descended toward the autopsy bay, the steel casket between Tosh and Owen. I hovered atop the stairs, watching Gwen's face crumble.

"I'm so sorry," Gwen muttered, clutching her arms around herself.

"Seriously, stop saying that," Jack replied flatly, leading the way.

"But I am! I mean, sorry. God, I can't believe it."

Owen couldn't help himself. "Didn't they teach you Health and Safety in the police?"

I winced. That was low.

She quickly said, "You two chucked tools at each other!"

"We didn't miss," Owen said smugly.

I'd heard enough. I followed them down and cut in before Gwen could apologise again.

"Alright, that's enough," I said firmly, my voice bouncing off metal and tile. "She made a mistake, sure, but let's not pretend any of us got it right on our first day."

Owen snorted, but didn't argue.

"She'll sort it out," I added, nodding to Gwen, who gave me the slightest flicker of a grateful smile. "Let's focus on the problem that flew into the city like a pissed-off rainbow."

Jack didn't comment, just popped the locks on the casket and flipped the lid. Inside was what was left of the meteorite's crystalline core. Splintered. Cracked. But not destroyed.

"On the plus side," Jack said, "we've got good evidence, relatively undamaged."

"On the downside," Owen muttered, "there's an alien on the loose and we don't know where it is, why it's here or what it's going to do."

Tosh gave him a sharp look. "Give her a break!"

Gwen looked mortified, rubbing at her arms as if she could wipe off the shame. "Oh God. This is the worst first day ever."

"We all make mistakes," Jack told her flatly. "Get over it. Now we find and recover whatever came out of there."

"This might help."

We all turned. He stood in the doorway above us, suited and calm as ever, but with a piece of paper in his hand and that look he got when things were about to go sideways.

"Nightclub death phoned into 999," he continued, descending the steps with quiet purpose. "Circumstances sound a little... unusual. Might be connected."

I swallowed hard, and my stomach dropped. It was real. I wasn't losing my mind.

Jack took the paper from Ianto and headed toward the door.

Jack took the report from Ianto, already heading toward the stairs. "Ianto, we love you."

Ianto smirked faintly. "In a supportive employer type way, I hope."

Jack flashed a grin over his shoulder. "All that and more."

I stayed silent. I couldn't move. Because I knew where they were headed next—and I knew what they'd find.

For the first time that night at home, I didn't sketch the vision or write about what I saw in my journal because I didn't dare to. Not when someone else had seen me have it and I had feigned it as nothing.

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The Hub felt quieter without them.

Not silent, not really—there was always the low hum of machinery and the distant clatter of the water tower above. But still, with Jack, Owen, Tosh, and Gwen out on the nightclub call, it was just me and Ianto, which meant: no sarcastic banter, no passive-aggressive arguments about protocol, no alien postmortems stinking up the autopsy bay. The quiet rhythm of screens flickering, and the hiss of steam from Ianto's beloved espresso machine.

I'd been home, barely, showered fast enough to scrub my skin raw, hair still damp, tied up. The walk back hadn't helped clear my head, nor had the cup of tea I'd half-finished and left by the sofa.

That vision—no, that thing—was still hanging over me. The scent of smoke, the colour of that glow, the scream that wasn't a scream. Not from outside. From inside my skull. Matt's face contorted in pleasure and terror—then gone—just... ash.

I rubbed the back of my neck and hovered near Ianto's desk, arms crossed. He glanced up without a word and pushed a second mug toward me—black coffee, no milk, no sugar. Just how I took it.

"You always know," I muttered, taking a sip.

He smiled faintly. "It's a gift."

I leaned against the wall, sipping in silence. "Do you think it's always like this?" I asked quietly. "The madness. The mess. People turning to dust. Jack is making jokes about it."

Ianto glanced over the rim of his mug. "Yes," he said. "And sometimes worse."

I stared into my coffee. I didn't tell him about the vision. About seeing that nightclub. I could smell the bleach in the toilets, and I heard the exact moment of death before it happened.

I didn't tell anyone.

I kept sipping.

I was back at my workstation when they returned—Jack storming in first with purpose, Gwen looking a bit green, Tosh at her side, already half-spinning toward her screens, and Owen mumbling something about ashes and orgasms. I didn't want to know.

The usual controlled chaos reassembled like nothing had happened. Ianto was already on coffee duty again, handing mugs around like we were in a bloody café, not a base where alien life-forms might crawl through the walls.

Jack swept past me and ruffled my hair. "Miss us?"

"Desperately," I deadpanned.

"Get ready, Paige. We've got CCTV, dodgy ash piles, and some space-possessed sex monster on the loose."

"Sounds like a typical Monday," I muttered, and he grinned.

Tosh's voice cut in.

"Gas traces confirmed as Vorax and Suranium."

"Great," Jack replied. "My two favourite gases."

He turned to Owen, who was already huddled near the med station. "Can we check and see what we know about them?"

"I'm all over it," Owen replied, flipping through data on one of the monitors.

I drifted closer, keeping half an eye on the screen Tosh was working on. It was blurry—low-res CCTV footage from the nightclub, a frozen image of a woman's face—unfocused and pixellated. The recognition software churned away, trying to match her to anyone in the country. Faces streamed past like a slot machine.

Gwen leaned in beside her, trying to follow it all. "What's this doing?"

"I've taken an image of the girl from the CCTV footage," Tosh explained. "This cross-checks her face against the UK population."

"You can't have every face in the UK on there. That'd be against civil liberties, data protection, all that stuff."

Jack smirked, sipping his coffee. "Still doing that 'you' instead of 'we' thing."

He turned to Ianto with that knowing sparkle in his eye. "See, this is the perfect coffee. You gotta tell me. What's the secret?"

"Sorry, sir," Ianto replied smoothly. "That's classified."

I glanced at Ianto, suppressing a smile. Smartass.

Tosh's screen beeped. "Damn. 119 possible matches."

Owen let out a groan. "119 suspects?! It's supposed to come up with a single clear match."

"I tried magnifying and augmenting, but it just breaks up," Tosh said. "The CCTV's too low-res."

I took a step back, arms crossed again. "Can't exactly interrogate an alien of whatever this is all for better picture resolution."

Ianto glanced at the list, then at us. "I could check through the rest. You know, the old-fashioned way. With my eyes."

We all turned to him.

"You're kidding," Owen muttered.

Jack raised a brow. "Is it the beans? Some kind of special grinding?"

"Trade secret."

Gwen tried again, "What about the fingerprints I took off the alley wall?"

Tosh spun around, pulling up another screen. "Three prints, but no matches found."

"Long shot," Gwen muttered.

Owen shrugged. "God knows how many slappers have had their arses up against that wall."

I rolled my eyes at our resident doctor. "You're such a romantic, Owen."

"At least I'm something."

I ignored him.

"The CCTV must have caught her arrival at the club," Jack cut in, steering us back on course. "Tosh, can you reformat the image recognition software to trace her journey backwards via the street camera network?"

"I'll try, but it'll take time. Every turn she could've made—hundreds of thousands of probabilities."

"Do it. That way, we'll at least find out where she started the night."

Gwen perked up. "We could cross-reference that with the addresses of the remaining face matches."

Owen blinked. "Now that's a bit more like it! Good one, newbie!"

Gwen practically beamed.

And I just watched, heart still beating a little too fast, the image of Matt's face still burned behind my eyes. The coffee in my hand had gone cold.

But I kept drinking it anyway.