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He shifts uncomfortably. “You mentioned something earlier about me being part of your first eight years. Which leads me to assume I wasn’t around after that.”

I inhale a quick breath. “Oh. Yeah,” I mumble, pretending to inspect the ancient reproduction, turning it around and around in my hands to avoid looking directly at him. This is the part I was dreading the most.

“It’s okay,” my dad says. “Really. Life as a Timekeeper prepares you for this sort of thing.”

I glance up to see him nodding, trying to convince me. Still, I hesitate. What happened to him is far from okay. I don’t think I’ll ever make peace with it, so how could he?

“How much do you want to know?” I ask, deciding it’s better to let him set the limits.

“Whatever you’re comfortable sharing.” His shoulders lift in an obvious effort to appear nonchalant, when I get the impression that, like me, he’s feeling anything but.

“Okay…” I start, hesitant to go on, “here’s the thing—while it’s true that our time together was brief, the thing is, Dad—” I freeze, aware of what I just said. “Um, is it all right if I call you that?”

His lips curve into a grin. “I’m getting used to the idea,” he says, as I fight with all my might to hold back the sudden threat of tears.

“So,” I continue, “if you really want to know what happened, or rather, what will happen, I’ll tell you. But I am on a bit of a time crunch. If I’m not back in two days when Arthur returns, I’m pretty sure there’ll be hell to pay.”

My dad pauses for a handful of beats. Coming to a decision, he says, “Give me the short version.”

Taking the Antikythera from me, he sets it on a nearby table, then directs me to an overstuffed chair while he drops onto a velvet floor cushion. Once we’re settled, I pull the wool throw tighter around me and proceed to catch him up on everything that happened over the last ten years.

Through it all, my dad doesn’t breathe a word. He just listens intently, his expression veering from stricken, to heartbroken, to angry, only to circle right back again.

When I finish, he says, “He who controls time, controls the world. This is what Arthur Blackstone has planned?”

“Yes,” I say. “But exactly how he plans to control the world—what that might look like—is a mystery.”

My dad leans back, pondering. “From what you’ve told me, Arthur sees himself as a curator of beauty and art. And he despises the results of the very technology that built his fortune.”

I nod. It’s all true. “He claims that, unlike the Timekeepers, he believes humanity has a right to know the true workings of time. But everything he does contradicts that. He steals great works of art because he thinks people have lost the right to appreciate them. He’s a control freak like you’ve never seen. On the surface, Gray Wolf is an amazing place, but he runs it with an iron fist—constant surveillance, strict rules. Oh, and we’re not allowed to leave unless he sends us out on a Trip.”

My dad’s eyes narrow, the tension in the room thickening. “Sounds like he’s building a prison under the guise of a sanctuary.”

“Exactly,” I say, my voice trembling with the weight of the truth. “And if the way he runs Gray Wolf is any indication, it’s a glimpse into how he plans to reshape the world.”

“The name alone says it all.” My dad stares into the distance.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Well, like I said, it’s the penultimate stage in making the philosopher’s stone. It makes me think Arthur views this academy as the final step to achieving his ultimate goal.”

I nod. “By restoring the Antikythera Mechanism, yes.”

“But to what end? Aside from controlling time, what else does he want? Is it immortality he’s after, by inserting himself and his influence into a vast selection of timelines?”

I shrug, wishing I had an answer.

“Tell me,” my dad says, “how many more pieces are left to find?”

“So far, I’ve brought him the Sun and the Moon, which means there’s still quite a long way to go.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” my dad says. “At least it gives you time to hone your skills and stop him before it’s too late.”

My fingers instinctively reach for my talisman, swinging the small golden charm back and forth on its chain.

My dad immediately takes notice. Narrowing his eyes, he asks, “What is that?”

I gaze down at the tiny lapis moon, and the diamond-encrusted star nestled inside the small gold cage. “Braxton gave it to me. All of us Trippers carry some kind of talisman,” I say, going on to explain about the dangers of Fade and how wearing this reminder keeps me grounded, centered, never losing sight of my real identity, my true time and place.