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Then I wait, taking note of the sharp intake of breath, the way his eyes widen and his jaw slackens. This is my chance, the only one I may get, so I clear my throat and continue. “And, I hope this doesn’t seem weird, but if we could go someplace more…” I take a quick look around. “Well, someplace more private, there’s something important I need to tell you.”

I pause, anxious to hear what he’ll say. Only my dad doesn’t immediately respond like I hoped. He doesn’t spring into action and whisk me away.

Instead, he remains frozen in place, staring at me like he’s just seen a ghost. Which I totally get, because I feel the same way.

“What’s this about?” he finally says, his voice a mix of the same sort of anticipation and dread I currently feel.

“It’s about…” I hesitate, aware of the weight of everything still unsaid pressing against me, urging me to share the truth before it’s too late and the moment has passed.

It’s about dropping a bombshell—a startling revelation that transcends time itself.

It’s about the Antikythera Mechanism getting dangerously close to being restored.

It’s about Arthur Blackstone’s plans to control time and remake the world.

It’s about your premature death, and how I need you to teach me everything you never had a chance to…

“Natasha,” my dad breathes, his voice slicing through the charged air like a finely tuned blade.

I take another look at Elodie to see she’s now predicting the other guy’s future. Still, knowing I can’t risk being overheard, I press a finger to the wound on my palm. Then, using my own blood and the tip of my fingernail, I set about drawing a series of crude, interlocking circles meant to represent the flower of life, on the crook of my forearm.

As I complete the final arc, I chance a look at my dad just in time to see him blink, once, twice. When his eyes reconnect with mine, there’s a shared understanding that goes beyond spoken words.

“It’s about…” I stall, aware of the world, once again, whittling down to just him and me. Then, sensing it’s now or never, I lean closer and whisper, “It’s about…a family lineage thing.”

The words pulse between us. The air tightens with the weight of my words.

“My God,” he breathes, his gaze drinking me in as though he’s not sure if I’m real. “Are you—” He shakes his head. “Is this—”

My eyes fill with tears. “It’s real,” I say, choking down a sob that leaves my throat tender and burning. “It’s really happening. It’s not an Unraveling.”

He nods quickly, but the uncertain glint in his eyes reveals he’s still trying to process, wrap his head around it, make sense of the completely inexplicable situation I’ve put us both in.

If I weren’t the one who traveled back nearly three decades in time, I’m sure I’d feel the same way.

“And the thing is,” I continue, voice steady but urgent, knowing that this, most of all, is what needs to be said. “I’m here because…” I inhale a breath, and on the exhale, I say, “Well, Dad, I’m in desperate need of your help.”

4

“Dad.”

I actually called him Dad.

I mean, of course that’s who he is. But still, considering how I won’t be born for another seven years, it must have been pretty shocking to hear.

And yet, it’s out there now, and there’s no reeling it back. So all that’s left is to wait. Wait for my dad to respond. To say something. Do something. Anything that might give me some clue as to what he might be thinking about me and the startling truth I revealed.

But he just stands there, his jaw locked tight, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his eyes—confusion, fear, maybe a reluctant spark of recognition? All I know for sure is he’s taking me in, scrutinizing every inch, and with each passing second, the wall of silence between us continues to build.

I never should’ve pushed the reveal. I should’ve waited until I could get him alone before I dropped that bombshell.

The quiet is unbearable. Just when I’m sure I can’t take another second, my dad shakes his head as though awakening from a trance. Sliding an arm around my shoulders, he announces to his friends, “Natasha injured her hand. We’re going to swing by my apartment to get her cleaned up.”

His friends turn in surprise, shooting me an appraising look that makes me feel so gross, I have to fight every impulse to explain how this is not at all what they think.

“You’ll be okay?” I ask Elodie, feeling weird, and a little guilty, about leaving her alone with the two guys we just met.

“Please.” She rolls her eyes with her usual bravado. “When am I not okay?” And just like that, she returns to her admiring audience again.