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“Um, no,” I mumble, my heart racing so fast I can hear the thrum of it crowding my ears. “Just be on the lookout, that’s all.”

He stands before me, so close I can make out the individual violet flecks in his eyes, see the exact spot where his nose takes a bit of a bend, smell the shower-clean scent drifting off his damp skin.

My chin begins to quiver, my knees to shake, though I can’t tell if it’s because the only things left standing between us are a fluffy white towel and a shallow breath of space, or if it’s because we both know I’m trapped in the center of a twisted web of my making.

Braxton lifts a finger to the underside of my chin, presses his forehead to mine, and says, “As long as you’re okay, that’s all that truly matters to me.”

Then before I can respond, he’s turning away, gathering the clothes he’ll wear for the day.

I watch as he pulls a navy cashmere sweater over his head, the circular tattoo in the crook of his arm disappearing when he yanks the sleeve past his wrist.

A mistake, he’d called it that time I asked him about it. Like the boots, he was quick to brush it aside, clearly unwilling to discuss it. And while I agreed to let it go, there was so much charged energy around it, I filed it away with all the other odd things about him.

And the more I think about it, the more I realize how quickly those odd things are starting to pile up.

Just how many secrets is this boy actually keeping from me?

He steps into a pair of dark denim jeans, and when he drops onto the ottoman to pull on some socks, I find myself saying, “So, I’m guessing our beach day is cancelled?”

“Sorry,” he says, and the look he gives me really does seem legit. “But I promise I’ll make it up to you. You know I can’t tell you anything more.”

“Of course,” I say, and though the words carry an unmistakable edge, it’s not like I don’t know the ropes. Braxton has been here longer than me, which means he’s no longer a student but also not quite an instructor. He basically goes wherever Arthur needs him, and sometimes, the places where Arthur needs him are kept between them.

My eyes wander back to the boots.

What the heck was up with that vision they gave me?

I mean, how can those black leather boots possibly be connected to my dad, when my dad walked out of my life years before I even met Braxton?

“And you?” The sound of Braxton’s voice draws me away from the thought. “You can still go. I’m sure Jago would be willing to teach you to surf.”

I watch as he ties the laces of his sneakers, then goes in search of a belt. Jago is great, and he’s become a good friend. But last time I went to Gray Wolf Cove was with Oliver and Finn. This time around, I was hoping to visit that large indoor space—an incomprehensible marriage of high-tech and nature, filled with white sand and turquoise waters with actual waves—with my boyfriend in tow. But with my plan now dashed, I’ll need to come up with some other way to spend the day on my own.

Though it won’t include a visit to the library. That much is sure. Ever since I returned from Versailles with the Sun—one of the missing pieces Arthur needs to restore the Antikythera Mechanism—only to learn I’d soon be heading to Renaissance Italy to go in search of the Moon, I’ve spent the last three weeks immersed in research. And my brain could really use a break from all the rigorous memorizing and fact-gathering I’ve put myself through.

“Maybe I’ll stop by the spa. Followed by a visit to the stables,” I say, though I’m not really interested in either of those things.

I’m about to go look for my shoes when Braxton retrieves his talisman from a drawer. And as I watch him slip the small golden compass into his pocket, I’m overcome with alarm.

“Are you—” The question stalls on my tongue. “Are you—Tripping today?” I ask.

Ever since Song disappeared, the thought of Tripping fills me with dread. Of course I know that time travel comes with its own inherent dangers and that getting stuck in the past is just one of many risks. Twice it nearly happened to me, though luckily both times I made it back safely. But clearly Song wasn’t so lucky.

Braxton shrugs, rubs a hand against the back of his head. “You never know with Arthur. Better safe than sorry, right?”

My lips press tightly together, and though I try to play it cool, Braxton’s by my side in an instant.

“Hey, what just happened?” He slips an arm around my waist and pulls me in close. “Is this about Song?”

I rest my forehead against his chest, feeling grateful for his support but also ridiculous for how much I need it. Tripping is what we do here, and I can’t panic every time he goes back in time. Still, I say, “It’s like no one cares.” I bend my neck until my eyes meet his. “Or at least, no one’s trying to find her.”

“You don’t know that.” Braxton traces a hand down my hair. “We only know what Arthur wants us to know, and he goes to great lengths not to alarm us.”

“But don’t you think the silence is worse?” I search his gaze, wondering if he really believes what he said. “I mean, one day you’re making plans with someone, and the next, they’re gone, never to be seen or heard from again. What if that happens to you?” My eyes widen. “I can’t even imagine what I’d do.”

“It’s not going to happen to me,” Braxton says. “There’s no reason to worry.”

I take a deep breath, hoping he’s right while assuring myself that Arthur would never let Braxton disappear. He’s been here too long, become too important. And if the worst were to happen, he’d send someone to find him.