A quick twist of his gold signet ring, a notable thickening of his accent—all his nervous tells were on full display.

  I bite down on my lip, continuing to stare at the boots. Then, with a furtive glance over my shoulder confirming the water is still running and Braxton is nowhere in sight, I steal forward, crouch down beside them, and…release a soft sigh.

  They’re just boots.

  Ordinary boots.

  Tall, made of fine black leather, the sort of style an equestrian might wear. And though they’re still as dusty as the last time I saw them, a closer look shows they also bear the stain of something crusty and dark.

  Mud, perhaps?

  Or something…else?

  I haul the boots up by the shaft, determined to get to the bottom of this once and for all, when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the three-way mirror and gasp.

  I mean, seriously. Between my tangle of hair, my eyes smudged with last night’s eyeliner, and the way my hands shake as I troll Braxton’s boots like a suspicious girlfriend scrolling through her partner’s phone, searching for illicit photos or texts, I’m steeped in shame that I’ve stooped to this level.

  And yet, as ridiculous as I feel, I also can’t stop. Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that there’s a reason Braxton was so triggered by the sight of me holding these boots.

  But what could it possibly be?

  I lift the boots higher, inspecting the instep, the toes, trying to get a better look at the stain, when suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, the lights begin to blink on and off and the ground starts to shake.

  My breath halts in my throat. But before the panic can really take hold, I remind myself there’s a good chance it’s not at all what I think.

  It’s entirely possible someone’s just setting out on a Trip, since the amount of energy required to make time travel happen causes the ground to shake and the lights to blink.

  But when I try to move, I find my feet are glued to the floor and my knees are locked tight, and I know it’s as bad as I feared.

  My heart stutters, squeezing tight as a fist, as my mind reels with the realization of what’s about to take place—and how the timing couldn’t be worse.

  I can hear Braxton finishing up in the shower. Soon, he’ll find me standing frozen in his closet, his old boots clutched in my hand, and—

  I don’t get a chance to finish the thought before the boots begin to heat, the walls fall away, and the floor drops out from under me.

  4

  I’m falling.

  Tumbling through time and space—an endless abyss—and there’s no way to slow down, no way to stop my descent.

  My stomach vaults into my ribs, an unheard scream lodges high in my throat, and I squeeze my eyes shut, struggling to block it all out. But that’s never worked before, and it’s not working now.

  Next thing I know, a flash of memory spins through my head.

  It’s just after my first Unraveling, and my dad finds me crying and shaking on the living room floor, so terrified by what I’ve experienced I’ve actually peed myself.

  After helping me change, he sits me on the couch and does his best to explain the strange thing that just happened to me.

  It’ll probably happen again, he assures me, which is really no reassurance at all. But don’t let it scare you. I have them occasionally, too. Still, there are rules you must follow whenever you find yourself in the middle of one. One of those rules is to stay calm and wait for the reveal. The other: you must promise to never tell your mother or anyone else about your ability to see through time.

  I did as my dad asked. Never whispered a word of it to anyone. But unfortunately, Killian knows. And while he promised to keep my secret, I’m not entirely convinced that he will.

  A moment later, the memory fades, and that’s when I realize I’m no longer falling.

  My eyes blink open. My vision crowds with the scene unfolding before me. And what I see sucks the air right out of me.

  I’m peering into an ancient, cavernous space, lit by the glow of a single torch. It’s a place of death and decay, with tombs scattered about, and in the middle of it all—

  I swallow hard, struggle to keep my eyes wide, because I need a better look, I need to make sure—

  No. It’s not possible. There’s no way.

  And yet—

  There he is. My father.

  With his wavy brown hair and eyes the same green as mine, he’s standing before me, looking exactly as he did the day he walked out the front door and never returned.

  And though nothing about this makes any sense, ever since I was thrust into Arthur Blackstone’s world, long-dormant memories of my dad have been rising to the surface—long-buried specters of memory refusing to be forgotten.

  His obscure teachings—things that didn’t make a lick of sense at the time—have all become relevant to the things we do here—all the puzzles Arthur has tasked me to solve.

  I lean closer, straining to get a better look, when, from out of nowhere, a hand grabs hold of my arm, the scene disappears, and I’m left shaking, whimpering, gaping into the space where my dad recently stood.

  “Tasha?” a voice says. “You okay?”

  The boots fall from my fingers, landing with a thud, as my eyes shift away from the past and back to the present, where Braxton stands beside me, a towel wrapped at his hips, an unreadable look spread across his face.

  “I—” My gaze skitters away. I have no idea what to say, much less how to explain.

  For one thing, Braxton doesn’t know about the Unraveling.

  For another, this is the second time he’s caught me in the middle of one, and I need to play this off better than I did the last time he found me like this.

  I swallow hard, try again, but the words just won’t come.

  Still clutching the towel, Braxton leans down, collects the boots, and tosses them against the far wall, where they bounce off a skateboard and crash onto a bike helmet.

  When he turns to face me, there’s no mistaking the rapid rise and fall of his chest or the shadow of grief that darkens his gaze. And I can’t help but wonder what it is about those boots that’s got him acting like this.

  What sort of secret is he keeping from me?

  All I know for sure is that what I just experienced was only partially an Unraveling. It was also partly psychometry—a term my dad used when he told me how to access the energy field infused within objects.

  Not only is everything made of energy, but objects also hold energy, he’d said. And if you focus, listen very closely, and peer beyond the surface, you can read those vibratory messages hidden within.

  It happened once before in Versailles, just like it happened again now. But why on earth would Braxton’s old boots have anything to do with my dad being stuck in some ancient necropolis?

  Aside from my dad’s more esoteric interests, he was an ordinary guy. A husband, a father, an accountant who bought doughnuts on Saturdays and golfed every Sunday.

  When my gaze finds Braxton’s, I know that even if I do press for answers, it won’t get me the truth.

  Just like I’d rather make up a story than confess how sometimes, when I least expect it, time shudders to a stop, the world fades, and a window flings open, allowing me a glimpse into the past.

  The realization lands with a jolt.

  All this time, I’ve gotten it wrong.

  Braxton and I aren’t nearly as transparent with each other as I thought.

  I mean, how well can I actually know him when I haven’t actually known him that long?

  Everything happened so fast—my coming to Gray Wolf, us choosing to be together. And lately, when the hours slink past midnight and I wake to the sight of him tossing and turning, caught in yet another one of his nightmares, I’ve started to wonder if maybe we haven’t quite earned this connection, this closeness, we both claim to feel.

  Maybe we rushed in too quickly, spurred on by a physical attraction that was too overwhelming to fight.

  I shake my head, shake the thought away, unwilling to tread down that path. Considering how this is the first time I’ve been serious about anyone for more than a week—I’m clearly no relationship expert.

  And yet, as I stand before Braxton now, I can’t help but wonder if maybe we’re not nearly as special as I thought.

  Maybe we’re no better and no worse than anyone else on this rock.

  And now that I’m starting to see us more clearly, I know in my heart that it’s true.

  All of us at Gray Wolf—including Braxton, and certainly me—we are all liars here.

  5

  Sometimes there are reasons to lie.

  Good reasons.

  Logical reasons.

  Like the vow I made to my dad that’s now forcing me to make up a story for Braxton.

  Problem is, I feel terrible lying to the one person I’ve come to care about in this place. But with Braxton still looking at me, waiting for a reply, I need to say something fast.

  I make a show of clearing my throat, then go with the first thing that pops into my head. “I thought I saw…I don’t know, maybe a spider…” I swallow hard, aware of the rush of shame heating my cheeks. Deceit has never come easily to me.

  I’m hoping Braxton will leave it at that—fill in the blanks however he wants. But he remains standing before me, fat droplets of water dripping off the ends of his hair, trickling onto his shoulders, before beginning a slow curve over his chest and along the taut line of his torso.

  I force my gaze away, inhale a steadying breath. Then, blowing out the air in my cheeks, I try again. “And I—I just grabbed the first thing I saw and—” My voice falters; my shoulders hunch. I can’t look at him. Not when we both know I’m just making it up.

  Braxton glances between me and the boots. And just when I’m sure he’s about to call me out on the lie, he says, “You seemed so frightened. I thought something terrible happened.” He keeps his voice steady, his gaze even.

  My hand drifts to my belly, my fingers nervously tracing the curved lines of the Gray Wolf logo. “Guess I’ve never been a fan of eight-legged creatures,” I say, my voice rising so high I can’t help but cringe. It’s one of my tells, and I wonder if Braxton has caught on to that by now. Like I’ve caught on to the way he pulls at his signet ring, and how his British accent starts to sound like a character straight out of Oliver Twist.

  “And where is it now?” he asks. “This spider you saw.” He tilts his head in question, but I just press my lips together and offer a half-hearted shrug.

  Braxton studies me for a nerve-racking beat. And, realizing I’m going to have to do better, I gesture vaguely toward the far side of the closet, then watch as he wanders in that direction, pretending to give a good look around.

  Or maybe he’s not pretending at all. I can’t even tell anymore. I just want this to end, to find a way out of this ridiculous game.

  “And just how deep does your dislike of eight-legged creatures go?” Braxton faces me, his mouth curving into a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Should I move out? Ask Arthur to secure another room on a higher floor? Maybe even burn the place down?”

  He’s approaching me now, his bare feet crossing the soft woven rug, his stormy gaze fixed firmly on mine.

  “Um, no,” I mumble, my heart racing so fast I can hear the thrum of it crowding my ears. “Just be on the lookout, that’s all.”

  He stands before me, so close I can make out the individual violet flecks in his eyes, see the exact spot where his nose takes a bit of a bend, smell the shower-clean scent drifting off his damp skin.

  My chin begins to quiver, my knees to shake, though I can’t tell if it’s because the only things left standing between us are a fluffy white towel and a shallow breath of space, or if it’s because we both know I’m trapped in the center of a twisted web of my making.

  Braxton lifts a finger to the underside of my chin, presses his forehead to mine, and says, “As long as you’re okay, that’s all that truly matters to me.”

  Then before I can respond, he’s turning away, gathering the clothes he’ll wear for the day.

  I watch as he pulls a navy cashmere sweater over his head, the circular tattoo in the crook of his arm disappearing when he yanks the sleeve past his wrist.

  A mistake, he’d called it that time I asked him about it. Like the boots, he was quick to brush it aside, clearly unwilling to discuss it. And while I agreed to let it go, there was so much charged energy around it, I filed it away with all the other odd things about him.

  And the more I think about it, the more I realize how quickly those odd things are starting to pile up.

  Just how many secrets is this boy actually keeping from me?

  He steps into a pair of dark denim jeans, and when he drops onto the ottoman to pull on some socks, I find myself saying, “So, I’m guessing our beach day is cancelled?”

  “Sorry,” he says, and the look he gives me really does seem legit. “But I promise I’ll make it up to you. You know I can’t tell you anything more.”

  “Of course,” I say, and though the words carry an unmistakable edge, it’s not like I don’t know the ropes. Braxton has been here longer than me, which means he’s no longer a student but also not quite an instructor. He basically goes wherever Arthur needs him, and sometimes, the places where Arthur needs him are kept between them.

  My eyes wander back to the boots.

  What the heck was up with that vision they gave me?

  I mean, how can those black leather boots possibly be connected to my dad, when my dad walked out of my life years before I even met Braxton?

  “And you?” The sound of Braxton’s voice draws me away from the thought. “You can still go. I’m sure Jago would be willing to teach you to surf.”

  I watch as he ties the laces of his sneakers, then goes in search of a belt. Jago is great, and he’s become a good friend. But last time I went to Gray Wolf Cove was with Oliver and Finn. This time around, I was hoping to visit that large indoor space—an incomprehensible marriage of high-tech and nature, filled with white sand and turquoise waters with actual waves—with my boyfriend in tow. But with my plan now dashed, I’ll need to come up with some other way to spend the day on my own.

  Though it won’t include a visit to the library. That much is sure. Ever since I returned from Versailles with the Sun—one of the missing pieces Arthur needs to restore the Antikythera Mechanism—only to learn I’d soon be heading to Renaissance Italy to go in search of the Moon, I’ve spent the last three weeks immersed in research. And my brain could really use a break from all the rigorous memorizing and fact-gathering I’ve put myself through.

  “Maybe I’ll stop by the spa. Followed by a visit to the stables,” I say, though I’m not really interested in either of those things.

  I’m about to go look for my shoes when Braxton retrieves his talisman from a drawer. And as I watch him slip the small golden compass into his pocket, I’m overcome with alarm.

  “Are you—” The question stalls on my tongue. “Are you—Tripping today?” I ask.

  Ever since Song disappeared, the thought of Tripping fills me with dread. Of course I know that time travel comes with its own inherent dangers and that getting stuck in the past is just one of many risks. Twice it nearly happened to me, though luckily both times I made it back safely. But clearly Song wasn’t so lucky.

  Braxton shrugs, rubs a hand against the back of his head. “You never know with Arthur. Better safe than sorry, right?”

  My lips press tightly together, and though I try to play it cool, Braxton’s by my side in an instant.

  “Hey, what just happened?” He slips an arm around my waist and pulls me in close. “Is this about Song?”

  I rest my forehead against his chest, feeling grateful for his support but also ridiculous for how much I need it. Tripping is what we do here, and I can’t panic every time he goes back in time. Still, I say, “It’s like no one cares.” I bend my neck until my eyes meet his. “Or at least, no one’s trying to find her.”

  “You don’t know that.” Braxton traces a hand down my hair. “We only know what Arthur wants us to know, and he goes to great lengths not to alarm us.”

  “But don’t you think the silence is worse?” I search his gaze, wondering if he really believes what he said. “I mean, one day you’re making plans with someone, and the next, they’re gone, never to be seen or heard from again. What if that happens to you?” My eyes widen. “I can’t even imagine what I’d do.”

  “It’s not going to happen to me,” Braxton says. “There’s no reason to worry.”

  I take a deep breath, hoping he’s right while assuring myself that Arthur would never let Braxton disappear. He’s been here too long, become too important. And if the worst were to happen, he’d send someone to find him.

  It’s like what Jago told me on my first day here, how I should never lose sight of my value. The more they invest in you, the more reluctant they are to lose you, he said.

  Well, not only has Arthur invested plenty in Braxton, but he also regards me as one of his most valuable assets. Mainly because he thinks I’m the only one here who can help him attain what he’s after. Which means Braxton and I are both safe.

  But what about everyone else—the rest of my friends?

  Does Arthur really see them as easily replaced?

  Desperate for a change of subject, I say, “Do you think it’s too soon for me to reach out to Mason again?”

  Braxton’s gaze softens, but there’s a twitch in his jaw that’s impossible to miss. “It’s never too soon to make peace with a friend,” he says. “Though whether Mason wants any part of that…” He shrugs, leaving the unfinished thought hanging between us. “Give him some time. He’ll come around.”