I’m reminded of her bag, overflowing with medication, just like his bedside drawer. “Staying in the wrong time’s making you sick,” I whisper, twisting the tie at the front of my dress around my fingers.
“I’m fine.” His eyes stray to the closed office door and he brushes his hand over his sternum. “I just need to take something for this headache. I’ll be back.” He strides from the room and closes the door behind him.
I turn back to the faded Polaroid of the Neurovida recruits and locate Silas, the only recruit not grinning. He hasn’t aged a day. He has the same striking features—definedjaw, straight nose, strong cheekbones—but less tension lines his face. His eyes are sparkling, his forehead smooth, partly covered by a tousled lock of dark hair that’s fallen forward. He’s so beautiful it almost hurts to look at him.
I’m scanning the wall for more photos of him when he returns, eyes distant and posture rigid. When did he lose that magnetic shine to his eyes? How startling to compare his now cold and serious demeanor with the exuberance radiating from his picture.
“What name did you go by?” I ask.
He shakes his head, as if his mind is elsewhere. “What?”
“The name you picked for yourself when you were recruited.”
“Matthews,” he says, his voice thick.
“We were betrayed by a man named Matthews… Don’t trust him.”Parker’s words echo through my mind. I lean toward the Polaroid. My future self’s head is turned to the side, her arm slung around Silas’s broad shoulders. I squint at the hand hanging off his shoulder and the subtle cross of her index and middle fingers. My heart rate kicks up.
“This is how we can tell there are people around us who are dangerous.”
My body turns numb. I need to leave.
Now.
“Silas, I—”
His strong arms clamp around me, forcing the wind from my lungs and locking me firmly against his chest.
“I didn’t want it to come to this,” he says, and I struggle against him, but it’s useless.
I can’t escape his hold.
I can’t stop him taking the syringe from my hand, or plunging the needle deep into my biceps.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles against my ear.
34Rose
We appear in a deserted park surrounded by tall pine trees, Parker carrying Ella’s future self in his arms. He lowers her to the ground and yanks a small syringe from the side of his neck, his gaze never leaving her blank face.
I keep waiting for her to blink. To draw breath. But her body remains still, her unfocused gaze tilted toward the insultingly blue sky. The metallic scent of blood fills my nostrils and I keel over and dry retch into the grass.
Parker presses his fingers to her neck and whispers, “She’s gone.” He closes her eyelids and cradles her against his chest. Head bowed, he shakes as he sobs, at first quietly, then louder, until he’s gasping for breath between each cry.
The guttural sounds tear at my insides. I turn away, clamping my eyes shut, as if it will erase the image of my dead best friend burned into my mind. I should do something. Cry? Scream? But I’m numb. I half sit, half fall onto the wet grass beside Parker and just breathe.
“Rose.” Parker’s hoarse voice startles me.
“Where are you going?” I ask, jumping to my feet. He’s fading, as if he’s about to travel.
“I don’t know. It’s not me,” he says, staring at his translucent hands with wide eyes.
“Well, fight it.” I don’t understand. Five minutes ago, Parker traveled three of us at once, without touching me.
He lowers his head in concentration, yet his body continues to fade. “I can’t. I think I’m losing my ability.”
I point to the needle mark on his neck. “They shot you with something.”
Parker’s face pales, his hand ghosting over the puncture site. “You have to hold us here.”
