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A newfound strength surges within, and as I find my balance on this small patch of wood, I speak to whatever unseen force is driving this vision.

“Show me,” I say. “Show me what I most need to see.”

In less than a blink, the Unraveling obeys.

A flash of vivid red streaks across my vision, and I lean closer, palms pressed firmly to the window. I strain to discern all the details I missed the last time I saw this. I watch closely, following the twisting path, as a cloaked figure moves through the labyrinth of hedges toward the glimmering crystal sphere that sits at its heart.

Peering intently, I struggle for a clearer view as the red-cloaked figure reaches the center of the maze, touches the glimmering sphere, and then disappears as if into thin air.

Moments later, the figure reemerges, now holding a small brown object clutched in their hand—an object that wasn’t present before, which I now recognize as the leather-bound book Elodie and I just used for time travel, identifiable by the rose encased in an infinity symbol on its front cover.

The very book that’s now in my possession.

This is where the vision ended last time, when Braxton appeared in my room and grabbed hold of my arm.

But this time, determined to watch through to the end, I silently ask for guidance from whatever unseen force may oversee this thing.

I need the whole story. Don’t hold back. Show me everything!

My wish is granted when the cloaked figure reaches up, fingers grasping the edge of the hood that conceals their identity.

As the fabric cascades down their back, my breath freezes when I take in a tumble of long, dark waves that mirror my own.

In this unfathomable moment, time itself grinds to a stop. My heart stalls, and a numbing chill spreads across my fingers and palms.

Trapped in an inescapable web of shock and disbelief, I watch as the girl lifts her head, then slowly, deliberately, looks directly toward the place where I stand at my window, revealing herself to be none other than me.

25

Impossible.

This cannot be happening.

And yet, as I watch this red-cloaked girl—the mirror image of me—now racing toward a destination I can no longer see, I’m overcome by the chilling realization that I might’ve just witnessed some sort of inexplicable manifestation of myself, perhaps from a past life or a long-forgotten dream.

Time is a flat circle.

The phrase spins through my head, reminding me of the conversation I had with my dad.

The illusion shatters when my slab emits a loud, piercing ping. Just like that, reality snaps back into place—the voice in my head falls silent, the room reassembles, and the labyrinth returns to the comforting familiarity of the tarot garden.

My heartbeat slows to a more regular rhythm as I go in search of the purse from last night. Finding it, I retrieve my slab and squint at the screen to find Arthur’s inspirational quote of the day:

The eternal hourglass of existence is turned upside down again and again, and you with it, speck of dust! –Friedrich Nietzsche

It’s a deeply unsettling choice, especially considering the bizarre Unraveling I just witnessed. It leaves me to wonder if Arthur might be monitoring us more closely than I initially thought.

A knock sounds at the door, and I race toward it, thinking it could be Braxton and eager to tell him everything I just saw. My shoulders sink with disappointment upon finding Freya standing in the hall.

At first, I assume she’s here to clean my room, and I’m about to ask for a few more minutes before I go. But then it strikes me—she’s not wearing her usual uniform, and there’s no sign of her cleaning cart.

“Can I help you?” I ask, taking in her wild mane of bright coppery curls now freed from their usual bun, remembering the story Killian told me—how he went back in time and rescued her from a witch trial by water, a test from which virtually no one survived.

“Natasha,” she says, her green eyes flashing on mine. “I have come for the book. I assume you still have it?”

“Oh, of course,” I say, slightly taken aback.

Waving her into my room, I search for the backpack I brought to New York. Inside, I find a small square of paper and wonder if my dad might’ve put it there. Running a finger along the crease, I’m eager to read it. But knowing it’ll have to wait, I set it aside and return to Freya, who waits by the hearth, and hand her the book.