“Is that why you’re not asking me to help you save your grandfather?” He sounds curious.
“I guess so.” I twist onto my side, facing the gray wall. “I don’t want to tempt fate anymore. I learned my lesson.”
We are both quiet for a minute.
“Lydia . . .”
“What?”
“Do you have feelings for him?” His words are soft and I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
I tilt my head up. “Who? Grant?”
He doesn’t answer.
“No. Of course I don’t.” It is a struggle to keep my voice low.
“You kissed him.”
“I had to. I didn’t want to disrupt time again.”
“Maybe he’s—” Wes falls silent.
“What?”
“Maybe he’s better for you. Than someone like me.” His words are muffled, as if he’s speaking into the pillow.
“I don’t want him. I want . . .” You. But after he pushed me away in the subway, I’m afraid to say the word.
“What about you?” I ask instead. “I saw the way that girl watched you.”
“What girl?”
“The dark-haired one in the Outfitting room.”
“You mean Twenty-two?”
“I guess so.” I cross my arms over my chest.
As though he can see the movement, Wes says, “She’s just another recruit, Lydia. I’ve never even spoken with her. You’re the first person I’ve . . . since . . .”
Oh, Wes.
“I know,” I whisper.
There’s a pause. “We should sleep.”
I close my eyes and listen to him breathe. “Good night, Wes.”
“Good night, Lydia.”
I wake up to Wes lightly touching my shoulder. “Time to go,” he says.
I feel as though I haven’t slept at all, and I stretch my arms over my head as I sit up slowly. “Okay,” I mumble, then freeze. I’ve forgotten where I am for a moment.
At my expression, Wes slightly tips his head back. I look over his shoulder. There is another recruit in the room, a girl asleep on the top bunk of the opposite wall. Her short blond hair tangles around her face. In her sleep, she looks peaceful, like a normal girl.
I stand up and pull my dress off the end of the bunk. The gun is no longer in my pocket, and I wonder if Wes took it out at some point, knowing that its presence made me uncomfortable.
When we’re both dressed, Wes leads me to another Outfitting room. This time I don’t avert my eyes every time we pass a soldier or a recruit.
We’re the only people in the room. I quickly fix my makeup while Wes tries to tame his hair, though I know that in a few hours the thick black strands will just be hanging in his face again. By the time we’re done, we look like two yuppie kids from 1989.
Breakfast is served in a large mess hall. Wes and I sit across from each other at a low table. We don’t talk. No one does, despite how many recruits are in the room.
We leave the Center the same way we came in, through the sewer room, up the elevator, back up the dirty staircase. Soon we are standing on the sidewalk of Central Park West.
When the sunlight hits me, I shut my eyes tight. “You okay?” Wes asks when he sees my face.
I squint at him. “It’s too bright.”
A shadow falls across my cheek. Wes is holding his hand up high, using it to shield me from the sun. I give him a half smile, and he smiles back, just as tentatively.
“I guess we should go to McGregor’s apartment first,” I say. “We need to at least keep up the pretense of your mission for the time being.”
Wes lowers his hand. He seems distracted as we start walking toward the subway station. “We have to find out where McGregor is for the day, what he’s doing, and who he’s seeing,” Wes says. “It’s the only way to find out how the rift happened.”
“You mean aside from me somehow altering the past in nineteen forty-four.”
He gives me a look. “Obviously.”
I grin at him. Now that we’re out of the Center, I feel like I can breathe again. And despite the fact that I’m not sure what’s going on with Wes, I’m in a surprisingly good mood.
“And all we have to go on is his address.” I look up at the sky. There is only a small stretch of blue visible, the rest taken up by buildings and trees. “Thirty-two New Street. Apartment . . . Fourteen B?”
“Fourteen D.”
“What would I ever do without you?” I say, only half joking.
Wes flashes his dimple at me. “What has gotten into you?”
“I’m happy.” I shrug. “You’re alive. I’m alive. And we have six whole days together.”
“Five now.” He sounds serious, but his eyes crinkle at the corners and I know he’s amused.
“Five days! That’s a lot of time to figure out how to get you away . . .” But I don’t finish the sentence as I see his face darken. He starts walking a little more quickly, and I hurry to catch up with him.
“Wes, wait. I’m sorry.” I touch his arm and he stops. “I don’t know what’s going on. I thought you wanted to be free of them. Isn’t that why I’m here? Isn’t that why you brought me?”
He goes still for a moment, his head turned away. Finally he looks at me, and his expression softens. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not . . . this is just hard for me.”
“I get it. I do.” I drop my hand. “Let’s concentrate on McGregor right now, okay? We can deal with the rest later.”
“Yeah, okay.” His lips tip up, though the smile never reaches his eyes. “Let’s check out that address.”
We step out of the subway and into the heart of the Financial District.
“I didn’t think anyone even lived down here,” I say as I stare at the men and women walking quickly down the sidewalk, briefcases by their sides. “I thought it was just office buildings.”
A balding man knocks into me, but I catch myself before I stumble. “What time is
