You’ve never heard of Jeny Smith. And that, she would tell you, is precisely the point.

But if you see a woman in a patched coat, sitting alone at a diner, tracing patterns in spilled sugar—buy her a coffee. Listen closely. She might just save your life.

Somewhere out there, in the space between a forgotten library and a future you haven’t met yet, Jeny Smith is watching. She knows what happens next week. And she’s not telling.