Then Truman, the least likely candidate for help, came unwittingly to my rescue. “Is it because my son has been researching the same events for his independent reflection application?”
Zeke grunted, mouth turned down as though he’d bitten a lemon, and Maude shifted, her gaze on Truman. I gathered all of my courage and met Oz’s father’s eyes. He tried and failed to convey a false empathy—all I saw was the typical contempt that withered my courage into fear.
They knew what Oz was researching. Did they know about his travels, too? His interference? Tears burned the back of my throat and welled in my eyes.
These people, the Historian Elders, had raised me from the age of ten. I believed the things they’d told me about our world, about the truth of what had happened on Earth Before, about my duty to protect the past from alteration and ensure a profitable future. It hurt in unexpected places that now, in this moment, I’d lost the ability to trust any of them when I needed it the most.
“Why would I want to copy Oz’s research?”
“He said you’ve taken a special interest in him lately,” Truman clarified.
If he thought I wanted to be more like Oz the Perfect Student or something, let him wander down that path. It was littered with fewer landmines, for sure.
Unless he thought I was interested in Oz. Shit.
A second glance at the smug assumption darkening his eyes suggested he just might.
“Elder Truman, Oz is the True Companion of one of my best friends.”
“I am aware of my son’s unique situation,” he replied dryly. “It doesn’t mean that you have not developed some ill-conceived feelings for him.”
Before I could control my reaction enough to play along—the Elders thinking I had an embarrassing crush on Oz Truman was a far better choice than their learning the truth—Truman turned to Zeke with a dismissive shrug.
Zeke studied his friend for a moment, then checked with Maude before focusing his intensity on me. “Is this true, Miss Vespasian? A teenage infatuation led you to research a path concurrent with Mister Truman’s in order to cultivate idle conversation in the hallways?”
A giant, sloshing pitcher of my pride fought to pour denials past my lips, but I swallowed them back. They burned in my stomach and my face caught fire, growing so hot my hair might have smoldered. My indignation must have looked like mortification to the Elders, but it was best if they believed their ridiculous interpretation of recent events. So I nodded. “Yes. I know Oz and Sarah are together, but he’s just so smart and, uh, handsome,” I managed to choke out.
Zeke pointed a bony, yellow-tipped finger in my direction. “That had better be the truth, Miss Vespasian. Your family was given a reprieve after the egregious betrayal of your brother due to your grandfather’s stature in Genesis. His dedication molded it into the safe haven it is today. But I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that another exception will not be made. We take our mission to protect the future of our System very seriously, and Historians are held to the highest standard. If you hope to join our ranks at the scheduled time, you would do well to remember that.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, keeping my eyes on my hands and the indignation out of my voice.
Resentment roiled in my chest. That I had to falsely cop to a stupid crush on Oz Truman, that these Elders had been keeping secrets even as they lectured us about duty, and that Zeke threatened my family and insulted my brother twisted my stomach painfully. I clamped my teeth together to keep it all trapped in my throat.
In principle, I agreed with the thinking behind flagging certain files. It should have occurred to me, actually, that anyone researching the trajectory of weapons development—or anything that had contributed to the previous society’s downfall—would be monitored. Humans hadn’t changed, not at their core, no matter what the Originals had hoped. We all guarded against relapse, against a repeat of Earth Before. It was the reason for the Hope Chest. The reason this Academy existed.
The way they’d gone about it felt icky to me, though. Slimy, somehow, as though they’d covered me with a hundred slugs. And Oz. Maybe he had been working on his certification application the entire time, and he’d tripped into that woman on accident, nothing more. It wouldn’t be the first time my overactive imagination had gotten the best of me. His father could have loaned Oz the cuff, given him permission to collect those recordings alone.
Or I could have been right all along.
Everything I’d been told for the past seven years had been upset in a matter of days. Nothing felt familiar. The last time things had felt right, felt like home, had been wrapped in Caesarion’s arms. I might have promised to stay in line but the idea of the slightest bit of peace drove every thought of keeping that pledge right out of my mind.
I was tired of thinking about doing the right thing. So, without much thought at all, I did what I wanted.
Chapter Seventeen
No one knew where Truman had taken me or how long I’d be gone. On one hand, it kind of seemed like the dumbest time ever to sneak back to Caesarion, but I convinced myself otherwise. My friends wouldn’t go looking for me or asking questions when the Elders were involved, and the Elders seemed convinced I was nothing more than an easily distracted, lustful teenager.
Not wrong, just misguided.
Let them think I’d gone back to my room and cried myself to sleep, then woke up telling myself all of the ways I was going to be a better apprentice in the future.
Making my roommates worry gave me pause, but just for a moment. I had the rest of my life to make it up to them, but Caesarion had only a handful of days. A couple of weeks, at best. I considered sending Analeigh a wrist comm, but she wouldn’t let me get away with a vague don’t worry for a second time and besides, it would blow the cover the Elders provided when they grabbed me from Reflection.
By my calculations, even Caesarion’s tentative timeline in our Archives seemed to be off. Historians on Earth Before guessed that his mother had sent him from Alexandria prior to her death, but now I knew he left the same day Octavian ordered Cleopatra to surrender or die. I promised myself that one day I would correct his path in the Archives so my True Companion would be remembered by everyone, not only me.
I jammed in the scrambling chip with more efficiency than the first couple of times and grabbed a change of scarves from Sarah’s closet and a bottle of painkillers, then hurried down to the travel chamber. My Egyptian clothes waited in the broken decontamination drawer where I’d stashed them the other day. A quick switch of the sash from navy to aqua changed enough to make me feel fresh, and the dusty sandals molded to my feet. More and more, ancient Egypt felt like home, but I knew it was Caesarion and not the time or place that suited me.
With time travel, Caesarion never really had to die, at least not for me. If I were a full Historian—one willing to break the rules—I could return to the day in the gardens and meet him for the first time again and again. I could return earlier, run alongside him in the reeds along the Nile, play silly games together as children, or I could arrive in the days before his death and steal the same hours from now until eternity.
But it didn’t feel right. It’s why we chose to return and observe specific moments and events in a linear fashion, and why the Originals had implanted the twenty-four hour self-destruct. No matter the advancement of our technology, or the tattoos and comps that helped us seamlessly adapt to different worlds, languages, and cultures, life was meant to move forward.
As I set the date, time, and place on Jonah’s cuff, then lowered my mouth to the speaker to request that it take me to Caesarion, I knew that once he returned to Alexandria I would never see him again if I could help it.