It is not lost on me that 1989 is the year my grandfather disappeared from Bellevue Hospital. But I push that thought away. I already tried to change time once and look what happened. I don’t want to risk the butterfly effect again. I just want to be with Wes.
I hear him sigh. “There is no way for that to happen. I’m trapped in this world. And you will be too if you do this.”
“We just need time.” I lean in closer to him. “We can figure out how to get you away from them. The important thing is that we’ll be together.” His expression doesn’t change, but I feel his body relax slightly.
“If we can’t break you away from the Project, then I’ll come back here to this time line, and you can tell them Seventeen is dead. We’ll be exactly where we started. But we have to try.”
He is quiet.
I feel myself tense, wondering what he’s about to say.
“I won’t do this to you. I can’t.” He lets go of my arm and steps back.
Why won’t he at least try?
He doesn’t want to be with you. The thought is a twisting coil in the pit of my stomach. “You’re not doing anything to me. You’re doing something for me. I can’t be here anymore, Wes. I don’t have a life here. I can’t start over. I just . . . want to be with someone who knows me. Who remembers me as I really am.” My voice is raw and I feel completely exposed. I shift away, staring down at the ground near our feet. “I want to be where you are. Even if we can’t figure out how to get away and it’s just for this one mission. I need more time with you.”
“Lydia.” His voice is softer. “Look at me.”
I turn back to him. He searches my face, but I don’t know what he’s looking for.
“We can’t let them win.” I push my hands forward, as though the idea is a physical thing I’m holding out to him. “You know that better than anyone, especially after what you saw tonight. I refuse to let this be our fate—apart no matter what we do. I don’t know how we’re going to find a way out of this, but we can do something right now. We can choose each other.”
He shuts his eyes as if in pain. When he opens them, there’s a look I’ve never seen in his gaze before—something bright and wild.
He moves closer. “You might be giving up everything. Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes.” No hesitation.
I hold my breath, waiting for him to send me away again. But then he slips his hand into mine. “I want to be where you are, too.”
CHAPTER 4
Wes holds up a thin piece of metal, about half an inch in diameter. “I took this from Seventeen’s body before I buried her. It’s a tracking chip, and I didn’t want them to find her yet.”
I take it from his hand. The metal is warm to the touch and there’s something slippery covering it. Blood. “This was inside of her, wasn’t it?”
Wes nods, his jaw tight.
“Arm?”
“Just under the skin.”
I shove it back at him, ignoring how my hand shakes. “Maybe you should put it on the inside of my arm. That will keep them from noticing the fresh wound.” I hold out my left arm and squeeze my eyes shut. “Do it fast.”
There is no answer, and I open my eyes again. Wes is staring at me in horror.
“You have to do it. We have no choice.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t. I can’t cut into you.”
“You did it to Seventeen.”
“That was different. She was . . . and you are . . .”
“Wes, if you don’t do it, they’ll know I’m not one of you. Then we’ll both be dead.”
“You can keep it in your pocket or something.” He visibly swallows.
I take the chip from him again. “I’ll do it, okay? Do you have a knife?”
“Lydia . . .”
“Wes.” My voice is firm. “Do you have a knife?”
He slowly reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a Swiss army knife. I take it from him and flip open one of the blades.
I lift my arm and press the tip of the blade to my skin. It’s an awkward angle, and I wince as my hand spasms, jerking the knife into my upper arm. Suddenly I feel warm, strong fingers covering my own. I look up at Wes. He guides our hands in a quick, neat movement. Before I have time to react, there is a thin incision on my arm.
I don’t watch as Wes slides the chip under my skin. The cut didn’t hurt much, but this does. I grit my teeth against the burning pain.
“There,” Wes says softly. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, round roll of surgical tape. I hold the two sides of my skin together as he tapes it closed.
I wipe the blood off my arm. There’s surprisingly little of it. “So you carry around surgical tape,” I say lightly.
Wes cleans the knife off on his pant leg and then puts it back into his pocket. “I need it a lot.” His voice is just as light. We are both trying to pretend the past few minutes didn’t happen. “You’ll need this, too.” He reaches into his shirt and pulls out an ID badge. It looks like an electronic hotel key.
“It belonged to Seventeen. This will
