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I look at Leilani, but she’s still invoking Anton.

I imagined it. Imagined hearing my old name. Imagined hearing it in Anton’s voice, because he knew it, though he never called me that. Only my mom called me Janica, while sighing that everyone ignored the lovely name she’d picked for me, in favor of the boyish diminutive, Nic.

But might Anton use that name if he reached out? So I know it’s really him?

I shake it off, making Shania glance over, worry clouding her brown eyes. I smile reassuringly and focus on the metronome again.

Tick-tick-tick.

Anton in his office, working out a problem. Finally, with a start, he realizes I’m there.

What time is it?he says.

Finish up.

Sorry. I lost track of—

Finish. We have time.

All the time in the world.

“Janica,” the voice whispers. “Careful…”

The hair on my neck rises. I seem to hear Anton. Isn’t that what I’m here for? So why am I stiffening, my heart picking up speed, panic rising?

Because it can’t be him. Because I’m imagining—

Something moves, a shape caught just in the corner of my eye. I startle, and Leilani’s soothing voice stops.

“Nicola?” she says.

There’s nothing there, and I’m not even sure what I thought I saw. A sensation of movement. I sensed…

I blink hard.

“Continue,” I say, my voice croaking.

“I don’t think I need to,” Leilani says. “He’s here. I sense him.”

A soft whisper has Shania jumping and one of the observers gasping softly.

“Nic…” The name swirls around me. The voice says something else, but it’s garbled, indistinct.

“Anton?” Leilani says. “Am I addressing Anton Novak, husband of Nicola Laughton, who is here with me today?”

“Yes…” The word comes as a hiss. Then more, still garbled like two radio stations coming in at once.

“Anton? We’re having trouble—”

Cold air snakes over my bare calves.

Shania jumps and squeaks. “Did anyone else…?” She claps a hand to her mouth. “Sorry.”

“Did you experience something, dear?” Leilani asks.

“Cold air. I felt—”

“I did, too,” the male observer says.