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To change history. To re-write it, despite Azura’s attempts to sway it in the other direction.

“Ladies,” Cori said in greeting. “Well done. Skye went through the Aion Gate. This little coup just became considerably more probable.”

“By approximately 200%,” one of the variants called out. “Bringing us to a whopping 17% chance of actually pulling this off.”

“That’s better than I was expecting,” said another to a chorus of murmured agreements.

“Oh, and Skye taking the keeper’s deal also bumped us another 1.5 points.”

Cori pressed her lips together. She could admit when she was wrong. But 1.5 points wasn’t wrong. It was a… rounding error.

Still, she had to give credit where it was due. Even if it stung.

“Not bad,” she admitted. “57, I had my doubts when you suggested waking up the grimble—”

“You called it an overly complicated suicide,” another voice cut in.

“—but it worked out in our favor. So, good job.”

A raised hand. “I have a complaint.”

Cori sighed. “Yes, 34. What is it?”

“Are we all just going to ignore how Luck seemed hell-bent on sabotaging us?”

“Yeah, what exactly was that fever-dream of a tea party, pipsqueak?” someone else chimed in. “Kinda looked like you forgot which side you were spying on.”

The ten-year-old was sullen, sitting alone in the corner. Of everyone, she was struggling the most with the realization that her world was never real—just a distant offshoot, severed long ago from the Primary Timeline.

“Relax,” Luck grumbled. “I just wanted to get a sense of her. If she’s as impressive as you all seem to think, a bit of poking around shouldn’t throw her off.”

“You were supposed to let heroutof the dream. Not keep her locked in until she had to claw her way free.”

“And let’s not forget the part where you sicced a bunch of shades on her because you decided to throw a fit,” another voice said.

Luck rolled her eyes. “Everything still worked out.”

“What’s next?” This question came from one of the Adjacents. They all had their proximity to the Primary Timeline, but the Adjacents had lived nearly parallel lives. It made them, in a word, more real.

The room quieted, waiting as Cori pulled a folder from her desk. “Next, we’ve got a recruitment mission. Currently taking volunteers.”

She threw the folder into the middle of them to a chorusoohs, let-me-sees,gimmes,andpass-it-heres.

On the front it read simply: Variant 62.

“Ow,” Taly groaned. She’d been falling forever it seemed—and when it ended, it ended abruptly, her body slamming into the ground.

Wherever they were, it had grass. And sunlight. It beat down on her as she panted, mind spinning so violently she barely managed to roll onto her back. The air smelled scorched and dry, and sand clung to her sweat-dampened skin.

“Taly!”

“Here!” she called, reaching up and tearing away that awful crown.

Skye came tearing through the underbrush. His face was scratched, but the lacerations were already healing. His eyes were wild, his hair wind-swept and messy. When he was close enough, he wrapped her in a fierce hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered. Over and over,thank you, thank you, thank you.

When he pulled back, he didn’t ask if she was okay. For that, she was grateful. He just pushed back her hair with a tenderness that a part of her, however small, had feared she’d never see again. Looking into those strange, new eyes, his expression didn’t waver, didn’t flinch.