He stared at the screen, his brow furrowed. He hadn’t ordered anything. He lived alone in a third-floor walk-up, and the closest he came to retail therapy was refreshing his library loans.

He opened the door. Sitting on the welcome mat was a small, unassuming cardboard box. No return address. No postage stamps. Just a single, stark label in the center.

Julian picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy. He brought it inside and set it on the kitchen table. The label didn't have his name, or an address. It just had a string of numbers:

1024-12-31

He assumed it was a tracking number, though it looked suspiciously like a date. December 31st, 1024? A millennium ago?

He grabbed a box cutter and sliced the tape. The flaps fell open, revealing a sea of packing peanuts. He dug his hands in, fishing around until his fingers brushed against something cold and metallic.

He pulled it out.

It was a brass sphere, about the size of a baseball, covered in intricate etchings. It looked like an astrolabe mixed with a clock. As he held it, the sphere hummed, a low vibration that traveled up his arm.

Suddenly, a small drawer on the side of the sphere popped open. Inside, resting on a velvet cushion, was a single, folded piece of parchment.

Julian unfolded it. The handwriting was elegant, archaic, written in fresh black ink.

To the current occupant of Apartment 3B,

We regret the delay. Temporal logistics are notoriously difficult to navigate. Please find enclosed the item you requested in your past life, which was lost during the voyage.

Note: Do not open the inner compartment until the Hidden Delivery Date is met.

Julian scoffed. "Past life? Hidden Delivery Date?" He turned the sphere over in his hands. He found a small dial on the bottom. It was currently set to the current date. Beside it was a tiny, recessed button.

Curiosity, as it always did, got the better of him. He didn't look for a "Hidden Delivery Date" on the box. He assumed the label was the date—the strange number on the outside.

He dialed the numbers on the sphere to match the label: 1024-12-31.

He pressed the button.

The room didn't explode. The sphere didn't open. Instead, the walls of his apartment began to dissolve. The drywall turned to mist, the furniture faded into transparency. The hum of the sphere grew louder, drowning out the sound of the city traffic outside.

When the world re-solidified, Julian was no longer in his kitchen.

He was standing in a stone hall, lit by flickering torches. The air was thick with the smell of roasting meat and woodsmoke. Heavy wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling high above.

A man in a rough woolen tunic walked past him, carrying a flagon of ale. The man didn't look at Julian; it was as if Julian were a ghost.

Julian looked down at the sphere in his hand. The dial was spinning wildly, the numbers clicking past centuries in seconds. The drawer he had opened was now glowing.

He reached in and pulled out the parchment again. The text had changed.

Correction: The note read. The Hidden Delivery Date is not the origin. It is the destination. You have unlocked the return trip.

Delivery confirmed.

Julian looked up. A large, bearded man on a wooden throne at the end of the hall was staring right at him. The man stood up, a grin spreading across his face.

"Ah!" the man bellowed, his voice shaking the rafters. "The Advisor has arrived! We have been waiting for you to tell us how to survive the winter!"

Julian looked at the sphere, then at the ancient king. He checked his pocket; his phone was gone. In its place was a small, leather-bound book titled A History of Medieval Agriculture.

He looked at the label on the box he was still holding. The numbers rearranged themselves, glowing softly in the torchlight.

Delivery Date: Right Now.

Julian smiled, tucked the sphere into his cloak, and walked toward the throne.