3:59

Josie tried to wriggle free. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. Not about Dr. Byrne either.”

Josie stopped struggling. “What about Dr. Byrne?”

“Dr. Byrne? Dr. Byrne?” Nick pushed her down on the bed and climbed on top of her. He squeezed her throat, constricting airflow. “Jo would never call her mom that.”

Josie pawed at Nick, desperately gasping for air. She didn’t even care about the gun anymore, only prying Nick’s hand off her throat. She kicked, trying to free herself, but he straddled her legs, rendering her almost completely helpless. She could feel her face burning, all the blood trapped as Nick methodically increased the pressure around her neck. Josie couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Her lungs burned, her eyes watered, and slowly, her vision began to go dark . . .

Just then, Nick released her. Josie’s head lolled to the side as she gulped in huge mouthfuls of air. Her body felt limp and tired.

“One more time,” Nick said. He’d regained his composure. She felt cold metal pressed against her cheek. The muzzle of the gun. “Who are you?”

Josie was screwed. She was Josephine Byrne—only not Nick’s Josephine Byrne. How could she explain it to him without getting her head blown off?

“I’m not going to ask again.”

“Okay!” Josie said, panting. “You win.”

The gun didn’t move. “Go ahead.”

“Just hear me out,” Josie said. Nick’s face was impassive, his eyes quick and alert, like a tiger hunting its prey. But the knuckles on the hand that gripped the gun were white and tense. He was scared too.

“Quickly.”

“My name is Josie Byrne.”

Nick pressed the gun into her cheek. “I said—”

“Listen to me!” Whether it was the tone in her voice or the look on her face, it made Nick pull back as a wave of hestitation passed over him.

“Josie Byrne,” she repeated. “Not Jo, Josie.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I haven’t had plastic surgery to look like Jo, okay? I am her.” As soon as Josie said the words, she felt her face flush bright red. It was true, sort of, and even with Nick sitting on top of her holding a gun to her head, she felt a rush of excitement at saying those words.

Wow. That was completely fucked up.

“You’re not Jo,” Nick said, turning ever so slightly pink.

Josie ignored him. “We’re the same person. Sort of.”

Nick barked a disbelieving laugh. “Are you trying to tell me you’re long-lost twins or something?”

“No.”

“Then?”

Crap, what was she trying to tell him? “We’re like the same person. The exact same person. Only not.”

“A clone?” Nick sat back on the bed.

“No, not a clone.” Josie pushed herself up to a sitting position. Nick still held the gun pointed in her general direction, but he seemed to have forgotten it was even in his hand.

“Because I wouldn’t put it past the Grid to start cloning us.” Nick looked out the window, clearly lost in his own thoughts.

Again, the idea of making a break for it crossed Josie’s mind, but something held her there. Maybe . . . maybe he could help her? She was going to need an ally if she was ever going to get home.

“I don’t know anything about clones,” Josie said truthfully. “But what I’m about to tell you is going to sound strange.”

“Stranger than clones?”

“Actually? Yeah.”

Nick half smiled. He was still tense, but there was an instant lightness to his face. “This had better be an awesome story.”

Josie glanced at the clock. Five minutes to four. Well, that was the first thing that had gone right for her in the last twenty-four hours. At least she would have concrete, irrefutable proof of the completely insane story she was about to tell her gun-toting not-boyfriend.

“Well?” Nick asked.

It was now or never. Josie pointed to the mirror. “I came through there.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

3:56 P.M.

NICK ARCHED AN EYEBROW. “YOU CAME THROUGH the mirror?” he asked skeptically.

“I know, it’s crazy. But something happened last week and suddenly there was this connection between my world and yours and then—”

Nick snapped to attention. “Hold up. Your world?”

“Yeah. I—I don’t come from here. I’m Josephine Byrne, but in another world.”

“You mean in another dimension.” Nick didn’t sound incredulous. In fact, he said the words like they were common knowledge.

“Exactly.”

“How?”

“Um . . .” Yeah, wasn’t that the million-dollar question. Would he have any idea what she was talking about if she mentioned her theory about the ultradense deuterium? Doubtful. “I’m not really sure,” she said instead. “Something happened and then I started having these dreams, like I was me but not me. Every night at the same time. Then I started seeing things in the mirror. Jo. This room. Every twelve hours at the exact same time. I realized I was seeing Jo’s life, like through her eyes. Just for a minute. Every twelve hours.”

“At what time?”

“Three fifty-nine.”

Nick’s eyes grew wide. “Three fifty-nine? You’re sure?”

Josie nodded. “Positive.”

Nick fell silent. He stared at the bed and bobbed his head up and down slightly. Was he trying to remember a month’s worth of 3:59s? Josie looked away. Hopefully he wouldn’t remember exactly what he’d been doing at those times. What snippets of his life Josie had been eavesdropping on.

“So if you’re not bullshitting me . . . ,” Nick started.

“I’m not. I swear.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nick nodded. He was staring at the clock on the nightstand. “If you’re not bullshitting me then in about thirty seconds there’s going to be an image in that mirror that is not a reflection of this room, right?”

“Right.”

“It’ll be your room in another dimension.”

Ugh. Josie shook her head. “Not exactly.” Nick arched an eyebrow.

Josie was about to explain, when she caught sight of the mirror. It was starting.

“See for yourself,” she said, nodding at the mirror.

Nick turned his head and, Josie saw with some satisfaction, his jaw dropped. He stared for a few seconds as the glass undulated, distorting the reflection of Jo’s room. Nick slowly rose to his feet, the arm with the gun hanging limply at his side.

The concrete wall was still there, stark, gray, impenetrable. Nick reached his hand out to touch it, pausing just before his palm grazed the surface as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing and feeling was real. He gingerly brushed his fingertips against the mirror, breaking the surface of what, just seconds ago, had been solid