Technically.

I stared at the floor in the main room, at the colored dots that marked the Historians currently in the field, absently touching them with the toe of my slipper, one after the other. The seven Historian Elders were spread out, all observing different times and places. My brother’s dot hovered in the present, inside the Academy. Jonah had dug the bio tattoos out of his neck, throat, and wrists before running away. Since they were linked with skin and arteries, veins and blood, he must have had help. Someone from the Medical Academy, or at least someone with training. One of the other pirates was the prevailing opinion, which means they’d been planning his disappearance.

Maybe rebellion ran in my blood.

The ache in my center gnawed harder at the reminder of Jonah. No one knew where he was now, or where he’d be spotted next. No one talked about the outliers, and the Elders tried—mostly unsuccessfully—to keep news of their attacks and whereabouts off our radar. It made people uncomfortable, the idea that they lived outside. Apart.

I touched Oz’s dot idly, remembering he was scheduled to be at Pearl Harbor, in 1941, today.

Except he wasn’t.

The embedded bio stats read Bukhara, 1221. Eastern History gave me trouble—I’d banished many of the details to the back of my mind when I’d decided Renaissance Europe would be my specialty—but focused concentration knocked loose a few facts.

Bukhara. A city in Asia, part of the Persian Empire in the ancient world, and I thought part of the USSR at some point, but in 1221 … it would have been under attack or recently felled by the Mongolians. Their invasion of the Rus territories lasted for another several years before it spread into Europe.

What was Oz doing observing the Mongol invasions instead of watching the Japanese drop bombs on Pearl Harbor? Not to mention visiting the way wrong century? It crossed my mind briefly that he’d lied on purpose, but I dismissed it. He had to be with an overseer, even though he appeared to be alone.

System glitches weren’t unheard of, so maybe the tracking comp needed a reset. Or maybe their assignment had changed for some reason, even if the Mongol invasions weren’t typical training observations—not high-profile enough, and far too broad in subject matter—and while the Mongols were an impressive civilization, there was nothing significant about how they conquered the Eastern world. At least, not that I could recall.

Before I could turn in an electronic request to reset the comp or sate my curiosity about what Oz might or might not be up to, the doors to the Archives whooshed open, spilling warmer air into the cool space and distracting me from my thoughts. I looked up to find Zeke and his deep purple Elder robes sweeping inside, the Historian emblem on his breast glittering gold under the harsh fluorescent lights.

Surprise turned quickly to suspicion in his steely dark gaze. “What are you doing in here, Miss Vespasian?”

Chapter Five

His eyes narrowed to slits, and my mouth went dry. He closed his eyes briefly, and I knew he was asking the brain stem tat to give him my schedule. “You’re supposed to be in … Research, are you not?”

Instinct said to lie, but he could bust me with a few punches into the table comp. “I got my Companion card and was curious. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t. Run along.”

I escaped out the hatch behind him, my fast steps betraying my nerves. His black gaze followed me, pricking sweat between my shoulder blades until I turned a corner and dropped from his line of sight. I stopped, pressing a palm to the wall of the cold, stainless steel corridor until my heart slowed to a normal pace.

Ezekiel was the unofficial leader of the Elders and the head of our Academy. After studying the past for clues, collective humanity decided no one person should hold power, and that went for the Elders as well. But everyone listened to Zeke. Everyone. Even though he never treated us poorly or sanctioned us more harshly than required, he scared the pants off me, a chemical and physical reaction I’m sure my bio stats reflected and catalogued. He had the same effect on Analeigh and Sarah. And before Jess, Levi, and Peyton split off into their own clique when we were twelve, they had felt the same, too. Oz never mentioned it. He never mentioned much of anything, though, so it was hard to tell whether that meant anything.

I felt sorry for Sarah for getting stuck with him even if she did get to be the one in ten million who experienced true love. If Oz’s name had showed up on my card … Well, it wouldn’t have been a happy day no matter how intense his gray eyes were behind those glasses. I didn’t know if he liked me, or anyone, for that matter. He was probably the best student in our class, giving Analeigh a run for her money both in that department and the seriousness one.

The empty hallways whispered back the sound of my slippered footsteps. I followed twists and turns by memory, nothing on the bare walls to guide me down a correct path, and when the doors to the Research Lab whooshed open, Analeigh’s shoulders slumped with relief.

“Oh, thank the System you’re back. I was worried.”

I smiled, hoping to hide the remnants of nerves slicking my forehead with sweat. “Worried you’d have to lie if someone came looking for me, you mean?”

“Maybe.” She gave me a sheepish grin. “You know I can’t lie.”

It was true. Her face and neck got these impressive, bright red blotches when she tried. It was why I hadn’t told her about finding Jonah’s cuff, at least not yet. If I did decide to use it—if—she couldn’t be involved. It had to be my secret.

“Did you find anything?”

Discussing Caesarion held little appeal, and there wasn’t much to tell, anyway. I shrugged and joined her in one of the circular booths. A screen sat atop a waist-high pedestal, and three of the surrounding walls were mirrors. The fourth projected clothing on our bodies based on the coordinates we typed into the system. The comps and tats could provide us any and all required information on the spot, but evaluations showed a higher likelihood of retaining facts when we ingested information the old-fashioned way—manual research. Not having to manually learn languages was the only cheat the Elders allowed, so the days leading up to a new trip were filled to the brim with reading about clothing, mannerisms, customs, and anything else we needed in order to blend into a certain time period.

“Do you need any help with our wardrobe for the Triangle?”

“Nah. Check it out.” Analeigh punched a few buttons and spun me around.

Ankle-length skirts and fitted tops lined with buttons down the back covered us both. The blouses tucked in at our waists, and boots—with more buttons—covered our feet and ankles.

“Hmm. Don’t we get hats? I feel like Edwardian fashion means hats.”

“No hats in New York City!” Sarah called over the wall from the next cubicle.

“Hats for the wealthy, but we’re going to be fitting in with immigrants. So no hats, but we will get to pin our hair up,” Analeigh clarified.

“But I like hats,” I replied, being difficult on purpose.

She rolled her eyes and punched another button. Wide-brimmed hats appeared on our heads in the mirror with fat, sheer ribbons secured under our chins. I nodded. “Much better.”

“You can’t wear hats on the trip!” Sarah yelled.

“Sarah, I know you can’t see us, but we’re still only like four feet away. You don’t have to yell.” I gave Analeigh a look, and we shared a quiet giggle.

“Whatever,” Sarah said, poking her head into our cubicle. “We need to finish downloading facts before supper.”

Analeigh switched off the hologram. She and I stepped into the empty space in the room, a circle at the center surrounded by fitting booths, and then the three of us headed for the hatch, matching again in all black, supple Kevlar. We stepped into the labyrinth of sterile, steel-and-white hallways, our words bouncing back at us like pellets from an old firearm.