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  “Enough,” Charlotte said, her heart hammering inside. “Our biological parents are assholes. Great. No one is talking about that. As far as I heard, Monroe? No one’s talking about stopping anything but the Blast.”

  “Oh, come on, Char. You’re taking his side? Did you see him at the Lusitania? And how was he underwater at the subway? Just one hundred percent reasonable?”

  Cold dread rushed through Charlotte. She hadn’t told Monroe a thing about Bill’s final sweep of the train. She’d tried to tuck that moment away into the same spot in her mind where she kept her feelings about her biological parents. No use dwelling on things that were unchangeable.

  Bill seemed pale, too, but quickly swallowed whatever he was feeling. “And your idea? Let’s illuminate Charlotte on that while we’re at it, huh?”

  Monroe held his jaw clenched.

  “He wants to go to the future, Charlotte.”

  “Isn’t that safer?” Monroe threw his hands before him. “At least I understand my problem, Bill. Yes, history is too distracting for me. Yes, I love it. So what’s the right solution? Visit the future.” He shifted his gaze to Charlotte, and lowered his voice to a reasonable decibel. “After it was clear you weren’t coming back, I went out. Bought a book about the Blast. All this time, we’ve been thinking about the Blast as this unknowable event. Because that’s what it is to us. But in the future?” His eyebrows lifted up to his hairline. “In the future, they’ll know what happened. A hundred years from now, they’ll have the resources to investigate. Maybe they’ll even understand all the technology because Ana’s probably from there. So we go to a hundred years from now, two hundred years, grab a book about the Blast from there and boom.” He tapped his book. “Done. All the information we could need.”

  Charlotte closed her eyes. Shut out the apartment that seemed like a lit fuse. Two ideas, so simply stated. Bill searching the past for Ana so they could find the bombs. Monroe researching the Blast from the future so they’d know how to easily defuse the bomb they found.

  This argument didn’t stem from fear of a rift. Their time away had continued their separation. One desperate to go to the future, one desperate to go to the past. They couldn’t be more different.

  But Charlotte knew more than both of them. Not just about the astrolabe. Not just what would tempt Monroe and Bill along their way. But about Leanor and her intentions.

  “Do you remember what Leanor said?” Charlotte asked Monroe. He needed to remember. “Before we left, before we’d decided when to go. Do you remember?”

  Monroe opened his mouth, then closed it. Beside Charlotte, Bill shook his head.

  “We were discussing dates, even though you didn’t know why. And Bill asked if you could see the stars of the future. Do you remember?”

  This at least was distracting them. Hopefully helping remember the night when they had so much in common. Two men together, about to have their dreams come true. To see history. To live in a science-fiction world.

  “You didn’t respond,” Bill said. “You checked with Leanor.”

  “And she said to stick with what I knew,” Monroe said, eyes peering at her. “What’s wrong with the future?”

  “We don’t know what,” Charlotte said. “That’s the problem.”

  “Exactly,” Bill said, folding his arms over his wide chest. “Exactly what I said, Monroe. You can’t go to the future because you don’t know it. The Blast happened here. What’s to stop it from happening again? You could travel into a new Mid River, a building, a dystopian nightmare. You have no clue what you’ll find.”

  Monroe rolled his eyes, tossing his hair over his shoulder. “Do you know how long the roads of Manhattan have been this way Bill? Do you know how often they’ve changed? For all that it has endured, New York is one of the most stable places, geographically speaking.”

  “Yeah, except for hurricanes.”

  “Geographically speaking,” Monroe repeated. “Char. Charlotte. This is our best chance to get ahead of Ana. To actually see what she’s up to. Long after she did it, they’d probably have a better idea. You know they’re still looking into all the samples. The FBI has a warehouse of stored evidence.”

  “I know, ’Roe,” Charlotte said softly. She refolded her hair, making the buzzed side visible. Trying to get them both to slow down. “I know. But what if there isn’t any helpful evidence?”

  “Then …”

  “No.” Charlotte held up a hand. “You’re not listening. There won’t be any evidence about the bombs for them to recover.”

  Once again, both men watched her. If she just kept talking, maybe she could keep them from fighting. Keep them from forcing her to take a side. Because she knew which side she’d take, and it wouldn’t fix anything.

  “All night last night, all morning, and on my walk back, I’ve been thinking about Ana’s bomb. The few components I was able to grab, the rest that I was missing. I think I know, at least a little, what the bomb did.”

  They waited.

  “See, look.” Charlotte set her bag down—surprised it was still on her shoulder—and grabbed the two orbs she’d pulled from the first bomb. While explaining everything to Felix, she’d pulled out the orbs and, with his suggestion of talking to Leanor, began to fiddle with them. It didn’t take too much work to pry them open and see what the Blast had done. “I figured, if these orbs are time devices, I could see where they went. So, look.” She passed one orb over. “This is the first one I pulled out. The one I threw to Bill.”

  Bill took one half, and Monroe took the other. Inside—where Charlotte had pulled out dozens of wires—were a bunch of soldered points. They’d all seen something similar before—inside the top level of the Octagon—so it didn’t take Monroe or Bill long to say in unison, “Constellations.”

  “Exactly. More to the point, the constellations of Earth as they looked on the Blast day, exactly.” She shrugged. “So what? We’d guessed that that orb took Ana’s bomb forward through time. All that does is prove it. But look at this one. The second one.”

  She passed the half-orbs over, but this time they weren’t so quick to speak. They inspected their halves, then got closer to look at the other’s. Making sure they weren’t missing anything. There was nothing to miss. “No constellations,” Monroe said.

  “No recognizable constellations,” Charlotte corrected. There were soldered points where the wires had clung, like before, but no familiar groupings. No Cassiopeia, no Ursa Minor or Major. “Wherever the bomb went next, it was to sometime so distant that the stars had degraded to an unrecognizable period.”

  “But that’d mean—” Monroe began.

  “Millions of years,” Bill said.

  “Millions at least,” Charlotte said.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Bill replied. “Why bring the bomb forward to our time, then have it keep going? Anyway, the bomb can’t have gone anywhere else. The explosive still has to go off. Isn’t that what the Blast is?”

  “You said it, Bill,” Charlotte told him. She remembered standing outside Suni’s, the space before her illuminating in white. No explosions, no heat. “You said ‘That looked nothing like a bomb.’ Because it wasn’t. It was a time event.”

  “A time event?”

  “We’ve seen white lights before,” Charlotte explained, spreading her hands. “We’ve seen things disappearing, almost as if they weren’t ever there. Just because we’ve never seen something on such a grand scale as this doesn’t mean it wasn’t caused by a time orb.”

  “So the explosive?” Monroe asked.

  “To destroy the evidence. This orb”—Charlotte gestured to the half-orbs they held—“is the Blast, all the circuitry extending across the Blast lines, connecting them together.”

  “A time event,” Bill said, his voice soft with awe. Then his eyes widened, glittering. “That means New York wasn’t destroyed at all! It’s not gone, just somewhere else in time.”

  “Somewhere in time so far away that the constellations
aren’t even recognizable.”

  Once again, Bill and Monroe looked at each other. But as they did, she could she Monroe gulp down his astonishment. Could see Bill’s brow flicker downward. She hadn’t distracted them well enough.

  “Felix gave me an idea,” Charlotte said, before they could start again. “He suggested I talk to Leanor. Ask how to defuse the bombs. Now that I know that the bombs exist, and know what they do, maybe she’ll tell me how to find Ana.” To Monroe, she said, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe they did work together. And if they did, Leanor will know how to stop her.”

  Monroe widened his stance. “And if I’m right that they worked in the future, as they must have?”

  Charlotte sighed. How could he do this to her? Force her to take sides, particularly when he was so off base? “You can’t, ’Roe.”

  He clenched his jaw. “I fucking knew you’d take his side. And Bill’s idea?”

  She gulped. Even worse than saying Monroe couldn’t go to the future was this. “I think it’s smart. Leanor and I traveled a lot; it’s possible that I could run into myself. Whereas Bill …”

  “Fuck. You,” Monroe said.

  “’Roe!” Charlotte couldn’t stand this. “We need you here! We need you researching the Blast from here. Not for any idea on how to defuse bombs—Leanor could know about that, too—but to search for signs of Ana! You’re so good at researching, so good at—”

  “Save it.” Monroe spun around and stormed to his room. “Teach him everything; send him through time. And when you find things changed that you don’t remember? Don’t you dare blame me.” He slammed his door, leaving Charlotte to stare at Bill.

  It took him only a moment to whisper, “I’m sorry we put you in that position.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “Don’t be. You were right. He’s wrong. That’s all there is to it.” But she wished she could reject right and wrong, give Monroe what he wanted, even if it was too dangerous. But she couldn’t risk that.

  As much as she felt like she was right to keep him safe here in this time, she was also pretty certain that Monroe had never been farther away.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CONFRONTING LEANOR

  JUNE 24, 2023

  Charlotte should’ve just gone to see Leanor before coming home. If she had, she could’ve stopped this argument in its tracks entirely. With Leanor’s help, there’d be no need for either Monroe or Bill to travel through time. No need to risk more of a delay that Paris would notice.

  Well, now she would rectify that.

  Still standing only a few feet from the door, Charlotte knelt to grab her bag. Monroe had taken one half of one of the bomb’s orbs, but that didn’t matter. The other half would be enough to prove to Leanor that Charlotte knew what was going on. “May I?” Charlotte said, holding out her hand to Bill.

  It took a second for Bill to realize what she needed. He hesitated, biting his lip, then passed it over. “You’re going?”

  Charlotte sighed, placing the metal half-orb into her bag along with all the other detritus from Ana’s bomb. “If I talk to Leanor, then maybe neither of you needs to lift a finger. No traversing time, no researching bombs, nothing.” She leaned her head in, meeting his green eyes, trying to make him see what she was offering.

  If all went well, they’d do more than just find Ana, save New York, and keep Charlie safe. The rift that had grown between Bill and Monroe would evaporate, neither of them gaining Charlotte’s favor.

  “I guess that makes sense,” he said, his lips pulled to the right. He twisted to check the bedroom door Monroe had disappeared through, then turned back. “And I guess you don’t want company?”

  With a gulp, Charlotte shook her head. If Leanor was as freaked out as she had been on the phone, seeing a bigger, shorter man would only amplify that. Even if Bill was white and taller than Paris, the night Charlotte planned to visit would conceal that. “But you won’t have to wait long,” she said. She’d do her best to spare him staying in this room, muggy with tension. “I’ll just be gone the few minutes it takes me to get out and to the alley, okay?”

  He watched her, then at last nodded. “Okay,” he said, then trudged back over to the couch and turned on the television. But this wasn’t her failing him. This wasn’t her pushing him away, or taking Monroe’s side. This was her trying her hardest to repair her family.

  Come hell or high water, she’d have everyone back at her side by the end of this.

  “Don’t get too mired in that show,” Charlotte tried to joke.

  Bill didn’t turn, didn’t reply, so she left him to it. Headed out the door, down the stairs, back into the wet evening to shift through time.

  The rain was finally slowing, just a few drops here and there. In the alley, the wet concrete reflected her astrolabe, making it a little difficult to see the readout. But eventually she got to the date she wanted—the exact moment that she’d called before. The same day as her interview. She twisted time back an hour earlier to give her time to travel, and released.

  Without someone to travel beside, it was harder to get excited about the sun strobe, the ghostly figures. Worse still was that after seeing things move so fast, she’d have to take the slow subway down Manhattan, and across to where Leanor lived on the Triangle. And no matter how much she thought along the way, she had no new ideas.

  If this didn’t work, she’d have to let Bill travel through time, which would only infuriate Monroe. And which, now that she had time to think, was as risky as Monroe said. But what other option was there? Bill was right that she couldn’t go. And if Monroe wouldn’t join him, then there was nothing to do but trust Bill.

  If this didn’t work.

  Charlotte stepped off the subway, and headed above ground, into the Triangle. As always, this section of Manhattan shone brightly. Lights gleamed off of every building, enormous signs ran the height of storefronts, tourists chatted and laughed loudly as they wandered the waterfront. Since the Blast, the Triangle had become a new Times Square—a place Charlotte would’ve avoided had the lab not been here.

  Despite all the changes, the fact that the lab was still here meant something. Meant that Leanor had still set everything up. Was still her benefactor, somehow. In order for her to have traveled with Charlie, it meant she’d still invented the astrolabe, still gotten the schematics from Leanor. All of that meant that Leanor still trusted her, even if they’d never worked together.

  Charlotte turned onto a side street, and the noise level dropped. Not quite silence, but a gentle murmur, distant enough to be ignored. A few of the brighter lights reached into this street, but by the time she made it to the next cross street, it was dark. Only a few dim street lamps led the way through the apartment buildings, which had been built denser and denser, after cars were banned from this part of Manhattan.

  In truth, Leanor could be anywhere in Manhattan tonight. At Suni’s, wandering Central Park, drinking on some of the newly installed tour boats. But her apartment was the best place to start. It was the only sure place that Leanor could be.

  The brick apartment building was five stories tall, hemmed in on either side by more apartments. Leanor’s window shone on the top floor, two windows to the left of the column above the door. The light was on and, when a shadow passed by, Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief.

  If Leanor hadn’t been here, Charlotte would’ve had to search all of Manhattan in a single time.

  Only a few minutes out from the moment she would call, Charlotte stepped in the shadows. The schematics, the lab rental, all of those must’ve been ready to spring at the moment of Leanor’s disappearance. And if Leanor saw someone watching from the streets below, it would make her more skittish than before. Charlotte could lose Leanor before she even had her.

  Then Leanor’s shadow froze in the light of the window. She lifted her phone up.

  Charlotte’s call.

  Now Charlotte placed her phone against her ear, stepped from the shadows, and waved. Best for Leanor to know that s
he was out here, waiting, instead of worrying about Paris or Ana.

  The shadow of Leanor lifted a hand, paused, and waved it stiffly. Then she walked away, leaving the window bright and empty. Quickly, Charlotte crossed the distance to the apartment’s door. The key Leanor had given her long ago still fit—which made sense; “long ago” was only months from now—and Charlotte pushed through. Her call with Leanor would last only so long. Afterward there was no telling what would happen.

  So Charlotte pounded up the steps, finally reaching the fifth floor where four doors waited. One to the left, two in front, and one to the right—Leanor’s. She pressed her ear to the door and heard Leanor’s final words, “You can do this. Just do what I said. Everything will be okay, you hear me? You’ll make everything okay.”

  Now the Charlotte on the other end of the phone would sputter, ask for help, and Leanor would hang up. Well, Charlotte could make her do that now. She knocked on the door, three booming times, just to get Leanor’s attention.

  “Leanor?” she called. “It’s Charlotte.”

  She heard a clatter from behind the door. Leanor dropping her phone? Charlotte kept her ear pressed to the wood, but she didn’t hear anything else. Not the creak of steps approaching. Not a flurry of activity to pack a suitcase. Not even a voice calling back hello.

  “Hello? Leanor?” Charlotte knocked again. “I know you’re in there!”

  Still nothing.

  Now Charlotte pounded on the door. Thick booms, using all her muscles. Couldn’t Leanor see that they couldn’t do this without her? That she couldn’t make everything okay? Ana had run. Without knowing where, without knowing when the bombs took New York, there was no way ahead.

  A twinge of guilt flickered inside, staying her hand for a moment, as she thought of Bill and Monroe, waiting in that apartment three years from now. Leanor wasn’t the only path forward, just faster than Bill’s plan of searching all of time. Smarter than Monroe’s suggestion of going to the future.