Chloe doesn't remember. In this timeline, in this universe, Chloe didn't live through any of it. No one ever remembers, except Max. She remembers every single dark moment. She remembers.

The first time Chloe was shot. The second time Chloe was shot. The train running Chloe down. Kate jumping off the roof. Pompidou innocently chasing a bone into the road and getting hit by a semi. The alternate timeline, and having to go back again to choose Chloe over William, having been asked by a paraplegic Chloe to up the dosage and-

Max remembers.

Flashbacks of a body, a prick in her neck and a blur- the sound of a gun, a splatter of blood, Chloe's distressed eyes staring open listlessly as her head whips back dead and Max looks up to see-

And then the dark room.

This Chloe didn't know that Max knew about the dark room.

Every fearful moment in between when Max was unconscious, and waking in the room each time. Trapped there with her hands tied and her feet tied and drugs pumped through her veins and a man who placed her in a dark corner and shot photos of her in a moment of desperation… the things that happened in that room, that existed in that binder with her name, that no one would ever see because in this timeline her horror story never happened-

Max remembers the hurricane. Standing on the edge of the cliff by the lighthouse looking down, running from her nightmare, looking down. She only had so much time to choose, only so many options, and the hurricane was getting closer to Arcadia and Jefferson was getting closer to finding her again. Wind was ripping at her hair and it was so painful. Who knew a place so beautiful could be so dangerous?

By some miracle she was able to make it all stop. Rewind and freeze the whole of the storm like she did with Kate, and everything was frozen in its horrifying beauty. It didn't stay that way for long. Time sputtered like an engine starting back up, slowly and painfully, in silence and ear cringing roars. Blood was dripping from her nose… But what else could Max do? She had to go back. She had to warn everyone. She had to save Chloe. Chloe.

Max dug around in her back pocket for the photo Chloe took of her and Warren at the party. The wind nearly ripped it from her hands as she pulled it out, but now was not the time for desperation. She concentrated on focusing on that photo. It took what little energy she had in her out of her, but she couldn't stop now- and Jefferson was standing right there behind her, coming towards her in a shuddering stop motion film reel as her powers sputtered and she couldn't help fearfully glancing over her shoulder when she heard him call her name- ready to capture her again. He wasn't done, but there was a doe. She could see it in the corner of her vision, and it gave her more drive. More focus to do what she needed to do. Her focus was split on slowing Jefferson down and on going back to the start of the night. So she focused straight through the prickling sensation in her neck…

And went back to right before the party. Back to when Chloe was alive. Chloe, who didn't know everything Max knew. Chloe, who didn't know Max knew about the dark room. Chloe, fierce, passionate, strong, impatient Chloe, who had no idea what Max had lived through in another time, what Max could barely admit to herself; what Max had lived through in a not so distant future if things didn't change. Her Chloe. The one who didn't remember anything like Max did.

Max could worry about the dark room creeping up on her, about the nightmares she was sure to have in the future about the deaths she witnessed and the storm she witnessed and the things she lived through in another universe; right now she had to worry about saving Chloe, stopping Jefferson, and saving Arcadia Bay. Right now she had to let go of that thread of time and focus on a different one, focus on changing it to create a different future…

Now was her chance! Yet, she was so dizzy. There was blood still running down her face from the time before- and that prickling sensation. Max glanced down when she heard a clatter and saw that a needle had hit the cement. One hand felt at the back of her neck as Max's knees gave out. Jefferson must've injected her just before she came back. Things go with her, they don't change.

Her legs had given out, but her will hadn't given up even as her vision swam.

"Max!" she heard Chloe's innocently worried voice calling at her, arms shifting to lift her up.

It was so difficult to focus, but she tried hard enough to get the words out- what words she could out as her eyes looked at the blurred face before her- of the girl who didn't know, of the girl Max had seen die already, so many different times. Then, Max spoke. "It's Jefferson." She wasn't sure Chloe heard her, Max had to get the message through. It became her mantra as she repeated again, "It's Jefferson. Mr. Jefferson. Don't trust him Che, it was Jefferson." Things blackened as the drugs took effect. Max was terrified, as her mind feverishly took her back to the dark room. To her corner in the dark room. "It was Jefferson all along" she mumbled. As she finally gave into her nightmares, Max could only hope Chloe would be saved. "Mr. Jefferson in the dark room."

Chloe didn't remember anything about what happened, but Max did.