He takes every word I throw at him. I’m not sure he’s drawn a breath. Then his stormy blue gaze lifts to mine, and it’s as if I’m looking through a window he’s always kept shut. “I never meant to hurt you.”
But he did. And I’m glad, because never again will I let anyone treat me like he did.
“I have to go.”
Silas gets to his feet, his eyes glassy. “Wait. Please.” He clears the emotion from his throat. “There’s something I needto ask you.” He disappears into his bedroom and returns with his shoulders set and a cold expression. He’s slammed that window shut, locking his feelings away, nestled among the hundreds of secrets and lies he keeps inside.
“I know it’s poor timing, but… there’s been a development with a case at work. I believe two of the fugitives I’m tracking might be on campus.” He places a black-and-white photo on the table before me. “Have either of these people ever tried to contact you?”
I step toward the table, and my blood cools. The figures are unmistakable—Parker and Rose.
“Mariella,” Silas says, his voice low. “Have you seen them before?”
“No,” I say. “Why would I?”
“They were spotted on campus a few weeks ago at a bar called Tilly’s. College security cameras place you at the scene. I need to find these people, Mariella. Do you understand?”
I nod, but I don’t understand because none of this makes sense.
“Are you sure you’ve never seen either of these people before?” Silas asks, his steely gaze holding me in place.
I study the image of Parker and Rose, a screenshot of them running down a corridor. My heart squeezes at the sight of Parker. Is this why he left without saying goodbye? Where is he now? Is he safe?
“Mariella,” Silas says.
I can’t bring myself to meet his stare. “I said no. Tilly’s is always packed with students and I’m not exactly social.”
He nods. “If you do, call me straight away. I know things are rocky between us, but Ineedto find them.”
“What have they done?”
“You know I can’t tell you,” he says. It’s confidential, like everything else in his life. My skin crawls from the intensity of his gaze, as if he’s trying to read my thoughts.
“I have to go,” I say, moving toward the front door. “Anna will worry.”
He follows me, speaking to my back. “If those people contact you, call me.”
“I will,” I lie, reaching the front door. I abruptly turn, remembering the reason I came here in the first place. “And you’ll find my mother’s death certificate?”
“I promise to try,” he says. He passes me the photo of Rose and Parker I didn’t know was in his hand.
“Goodbye, Mariella,” he says. The words sound sad and final.
I step out onto his porch with the photograph clutched in my hand. The door closes behind me, and I stare down at the image. Blinking, I pull the pixelated picture closer. I glance back toward Silas’s closed door with my heart in my throat, wondering if he noticed Rose wearing my favorite brown leather jacket.
27Rose
“It’s time you learned the purpose of your recruitment,” Nickol says, scanning the recruits before him. His eyes breeze over me, and I stiffen. He’s always been my least favorite instructor at Neurovida.
He presses the space bar on his laptop, and a video begins to play. Two men stand in Neurovida’s library, their backs to one another as if they’re waiting for something. The air swirls on their right, and a dark shape materializes.
I lean toward the screen. The figure is moving around the room so quickly the image is nothing more than a blur. One of the men calls out. The other’s hand has barely brushed the gun strapped to his leg when he crumbles to the ground. The other follows half a second later.
McGregor closes his laptop, but the image of the men unmoving on the library floor is burned into my brain. “Meet Fan,” he says. “A rogue time-traveling vigilante who kills any traveler who crosses his path. And I want you to stop him.”
I yank out of the memory and scan McGregor’s cluttered office. I’m sitting cross-legged beside his desk. McGregor’s balding head is lowered, scrutinizing every inch of his stolenjournal. I replay my memory again while the pendulum of metal balls swings back and forth on his desk, eachclickechoing through my mind. It’s been over three months since I gave him his journal, yet he’s no closer to finding a cure for Parker than the day he started.
Parker.
