For a second, all I could do was recalibrate the revolving door of time. If current me—future me?—was upstairs, which I could only assume was true, I wouldn't have to worry about her.

It was only an assumption, though. But it also wasn't my current priority.

More importantly, I needed to find Parkland. I weaved my way through a similar sequence of seemingly endless halls. Kept my head down. Now there were cameras. Computers. Witnesses who risked seeing me twice and interfering with my original failed master plan.

Though, I breathed in. And tugged at the system. It was a hum like noise, like temporality and time, and clicked into the CCTVs. Offline.

He might have been smart, but not that smart. He'd left me a trail without thinking of it like one. A series of downed technology which I followed to an exit door.

Outside, he stood. I leaped out of the way to avoid his rush to grab me.

"Stop." I seized his hands and twisted as hard as I could. "There's nothing you can do here."

I dragged him toward the door. He kicked and tried to fight me, before his eyes fell on the locked door.

The system tugged, and the light flashed bright green.

I grinned. Pushed him back into the building. His control over the cameras held tight, like a pressure around my neck. The light of my system crossed my face.

Lines of text scrawled across its vast expanse. As if he'd grabbed its hold and pulled over it. As if he'd taken it hostage.

My back ached.

He was everywhere in this place. For a moment, my shove against it did nothing.

I was majorly out of practice. And it didn't help that my body could barely stay upright. I swayed as the screen brightened, blinding me. Trying to dismiss it only made it more furious, and the twinge in my neck more persistent.

I let out a sharp exhale.

"So you're the one from the future," he said. "She is the one from your past."

I bit down on my lip with enough force that I could see him. For a second. Long enough that his system crawled over me like ants.

"We're in my territory." I swung, but his hands blocked me.

Every computer invaded my head. So many sounds. I could almost taste the metallic taste of their processors, like the first time.

A chill raked over me.

"Hardly." His taunting voice filled the room, and it became louder in my head.

I tried to picture the buttons on my laptop. With the chirring of advertisements, the click of mouses, and the endless ring of phones, finding silence was hard. Even harder still was the image of my system, which floated over my eyes even when I closed them.

Slowly, I stumbled forward. Followed the sounds until my fingers grazed the nearest monitor. The bubbled screen curved underneath my palm, echoing with colours like a pulse.

I focused. Pictured the sound getting softer, the tabs closing. Like a safety pin inside me sliding free, my neck thrummed.

But it had worked.

I whirled, digging my nails into my palms. Parkland's laughter was barely audible over the sounds.

I pulled again, silencing it. My eardrums pounded. The system faded out like an overexposed photograph. I grasped through it, into the mess of wires and pulses.

And found his system.

His expression shifted. He held on, gaze hard, forcing against my ability.

The computers crashed and jumped to life. Music blasted from speakers, and cameras drilled through us. For every one I grabbed, he gathered another, forcing me back. A game of technopath chess.

I slammed my fists into his chest, my grip on him enough to drag him into the laundry room. Sound filtered into my head, but I dismissed it with a wave of my hand.

The door was still open, exactly where I'd left it. I tossed him inside, jaw locking, as I shut the door.

And shot him back into the past.

Anger spilled over me. It's not over yet. I asked the system what time it was, finding that the explosion was due in ten minutes.

I didn't care that I was off track from my plan. But if I wanted to make it in time, I had to run.

Whirling around, I straightened my shoulders and sighed. The painkillers had started to kick in, but were only strong enough to dull the pinpricks to a distant echo inside my bones.

I sprinted to the exit door, unlocking it seconds before throwing it open. By the time I hit the pavement, the alarm had already malfunctioned, and the silence stretched through the parking lot.

I passed the lines of cars in a blur. I'd left from the opposite route as I did before—and as I would in a few minutes.

At the crosswalk, I jogged. Pressed the button at Unity and Main. And whipped my head around in search of my explosives.

Either because I was early enough to catch it, or because my intuition all that time ago was right, they sat on the roadside, behind the shrubbery, beside a pole littered in environmental protection posters and stickers with conflicting politics. Something cyclical hit me as I halted, scraping the hair from my face.

Oh.

I moved so fast that my breath was thick in my throat. The switch trailed to the road, where I uncapped my tiny, round explosives in the shape of marbles.

Smiling, trying not to get a headache at all of this and failing, I slid the explosives into my pocket. I called the system to check the time.

It hadn't reached zero.

Yet.

Cars whizzed by. The system pinged to tell me I needed to get moving. I sped through the streets to Tanner's house. My pulse thudded against my neck. But the air was crisp, the weather perfect for running.

It took me longer than usual to get there, at which point my fingers moved on instinct to give me access. I wouldn't have opposed breaking in through the door, but I needed the pomp and circumstance, as Tanner would call it in a few moments.

Breathe.

I needed for me to think of it in a certain way.

And I couldn't think of a better way to do that than this.

Underneath his awning, leaves collected on the roof. For a moment, I scrunched my face. His lawn grew wild with grass and un-mowed dandelions. That's not like him. Not at all.

I tore the explosives free and pressed my nail into the divot upon its side to activate it. I pointed to the window on the second floor, across from where I could only guess Tanner was. It took me a second to calculate the trajectory, backing up and stepping to the side.

With a toss, the marble struck the glass and expanded, adhering to the material.

My excitement bubbled like a cauldron that might soon go up in flames.

Tanner's going to be mad. The faint beep of the inner workings counted from three, two, one, and my ears rang at the glass shattering. I gazed at the hole, and an idea struck me.

I removed the auto-knitter from my pocket and unspooled it, making the threads as thick as I could. The wheel spun, and with the slight resistance of its pull, I secured it on the window ledge.

Time to scale a window. I can't believe I'm doing this. And I hitched my leg onto the wall.

As I reached the windowsill, Serena swung the door open and scooped one of the cats into her arms before she could escape.

For a beat, we evaluated each other in the room. The bedroom. Tanner and Serena's room.

I blinked. The silk sheets, I'd expected. The lack of cleanliness, not so much. Cat beds and toys scattered over the floor, beside boxes and boxes of file folders and office supplies.

Serena looked me over. "You're one of Tanner's students, aren't you?"

My heart raced. She was shockingly calm for a woman whose house I'd broken into. She should have screamed. Or something. She could have, and I wouldn't have blamed her. But I would have felt guilty about having to pin her to the floor. She was only Tanner's wife. Still Tanner's wife, and why did that make me want to cheer so loud? Why did I even care?

Well, I know why. It means everything is the same. But it also meant he was still okay.

For some reason, I wanted to collapse. "Rory Lennox," I said at last, like I had the first time, like it didn't matter.

"Yes, yes, yes." She stroked the cat's fur. "Home appliances, isn't it?"

This pricked my familiarity. The room chilled around us.

Serena smiled. "You've been here before, haven't you?"

I faltered. Had no clue if she meant in the past few months or years.

"What?" It came out in a small whisper.

Serena moved to the hallway of newspaper articles. I startled at the headlines, at the distinct empty voids where I remembered certain ones being. Gone were the sponsored local hockey leagues. Replaced by neon red and bold. Scandal: Horizons employee fraud. Our reflections melted in the glass, and I swallowed.

He hadn't broken up with Marin yet in my timeline. In my unstable, collapsing timeline. I swayed as though on a ship about to capsize.

Serena stopped. "You've been here before." Except it wasn't a question now.

I stared. In a few moments, would she still remember?

Was that why she didn't? Why she did? But didn't?

Why did I feel like I was about to turn to dust? Was it because, technically, I was?

"Yeah." I didn't bother to erase the shock in my voice and on my face and everywhere. "I'll be back."

"Yes, yes," she said. "You will. Go see Tanner."

My throat was dry as I headed into the room.

He hadn't moved an inch. And my heart almost collapsed from gratitude that he looked the way he was meant to. That I was in the room where everything began, three minutes early.

That my current self was about to arrive. That I was going to do this. Again.

I needed to remind myself to speak.

"Tanner," I said.

It must have been the urgency that made him half-turn. The smile on his face made me regret everything I'd ever threatened him with.

The deep etched lines on his face made me hesitate. It came over me all at once that I knew he hadn't done this. That I wanted to hug him.

He'd probably understand.

"Rory." He held out a tray of macarons. Still rainbow-coloured, at least. "You let yourself in, I see."

"Yeah." I could hardly get the word out. I needed to do this. But there was something so odd about living it all over again. I knew what I was doing. But it seemed out of order. "Sorry about your window."

He shrugged.

"Sorry," I repeated. "I mean it. I'm sorry. You don't deserve it, but I'm going to blame you. I'm going to ruin this for you, and... that's a real shame. Because you're not all bad."

Tanner narrowed his eyes.

I moved closer to the machine. Inspected its display. It looked nothing like what I'd made—but when I touched the sensor, I still had a vague sense of knowing. My fingers found a manual override at the back and changed the time. January 1, 2999.

"What are you doing?"

"It'll make sense. Eventually." I leaned over the dials. They were right where they needed to be. Right where I left them in the past. In a way.

"Rory, what is going on?"

"Listen. You"—I swung around to face Tanner—"have to act like I wasn't here. You'll go through a regular conversation when I get back from fighting June, and you have to send us both into the machine. To my time. Don't touch anything else and find a way to convince me. And June. Get June."

He stared at me blankly.

"I have to go. Now. So I can fix it," I said.

Tanner's brows pinched. "I think I need coffee." He reached for the kettle not too far away. "Rory, you're all..."

"Out of order, I know. But I haven't got long, so at least try to make sense of it."

"Okay." He poured. Held out a cup.

I shook my head, and a pang shot through me. This is so messed up.

"Do you remember the parkade?"

He froze. Thought. Really thought. "Are you... you're from the—"

"—beginning," I finished for him. "Thanks, Tanner. For everything. Without you, I'd probably never have fixed it. And now I always will."

I doubted he understood a thing. But he still smiled. I spun to look at him. Maybe this was the last time I'd see him—as my sidekick or otherwise. Maybe this was the last time I'd see me like this. I hoped it wouldn't be, but I also couldn't hope for much. So I tried to sear his face in my head, the scent of Tanner's baking, and the slight amusement in his gaze. Tried to remember, tried to experience, maybe this once. Or again and again.

I slid into the machine so he could shut me within. Not for the last time, he closed the door, and my eyes fluttered shut.

It seemed to take a long time. Longer than before.

Something in the fabric of the universe threaded around me. Cycling. Chugging. Washing me clean.

I knew where I was when the door flooded with light. Michaela—my Michaela—pulled me into her arms and swung me around.

My chest squeezed. When she set me down, the light of Beaumont's laundry room came into view. Alongside her was me; past me.

Sirens called outside. I forced myself forward, the lights steady contrails overhead, and found Han running downstairs. Her partner flanked her, and together they pinned Parkland in place.

My system went haywire with bursts of colour. Like before, I silenced them.

Han glanced at me. Then to Rory. She shook her head, lips firmed into a line.

"You know," I said, "he's going to fake more evidence. Make up pretty convincing videos."

She nodded. "None with concrete proof. Real-world proof."

With a start, the two dragged him up the stairwell and into the shadow above. I slumped back into Michaela's arms and rolled my shoulders. Everything hurt. But a rush of adrenaline coursed through me, and the wonderful feeling of her hands around my body.

As my gaze landed on Rory, I found she was still there. That we were both still here. Neither of us had faded. Folded into the other. We were both two, but one.

Softly, I said, "I forgive you."

Silence.

The lights flickered.

"How can you forgive me? How can I forgive myself for something I've done?"

"I don't know. But I do." She still lived inside of me.
That was how it was possible. In the chamber of my heart. In the cycle of who I was, and always would be.

She stared at the ceiling; the lights went off. We both lifted our hands, to signal to it, to the universe, to show it we were here. Still here. Always here, in the dust fragments, in the shadows, in the brilliant white reflection of the machines.

She would forgive me, too. Someday. Sometime. Every time.

The light grew brighter. Michaela and I watched it shed over me and Rory until she shivered. Sniffed, and stepped closer to me.

"This is it," she said, looking at me in the eye. "Do you hear that?"

I did. The sound. Our systems humming together. The overwhelming waves of the lights, so bright they rivalled the sun.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

She smiled. A wisp. "I think you'll remember, eventually."

That is what I would say.

I reached my hand out. She sighed, letting me take hold of her clothes, wrinkled and from somewhere at the back of her closet.

Softly, like she could read my mind, she said, "I need to do laundry now."

My breathing slowed, and I led her to the stairs, the direction from which she'd come, and would see for the last time in years.

And we stared at the lights like moths to a flame.

She swallowed, looked at me over her shoulder, and stepped back. Her body consumed by the glow, getting brighter and louder and more fragmented. Until she was gone.

With a click, the lights turned off, and all I had was the sunshine outside to guide me back to Michaela.

"How'd you know I wouldn't end up at the lab again?" I asked.

"Intuition, I suppose." She smiled a little. "It seemed like the right way for it to go. The cycle ending the way it started."

"Of course." I hooked my hand into hers. "You want to go first, or should I?"

She hummed. The machine matched her tempo perfectly, as though they were on the same frequency. "I'll go."

And with that, she stepped forward, letting me close her inside. In a way, it was her last show of trust—to let me choose the timeline.

Twisting the dials, I set them a few minutes from seven years in the future, and the sound overpowered me. Michaela dissolved into light, into electrons, observed.

I stopped. Basked in the basement of my residence building, for the last time, before a smile graced my lips.

I climbed in, where seven years in the future, Michaela awaited me.

My body lifted. I wasn't worried. Not for her, or the future that likely came with its own problems. It should have mattered, but it didn't.

Without her, this whole grand debacle would have been such a waste of time.