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“You really should head over to Medical,” I tell him. Reaching for a roll of gauze, I begin wrapping his head.

“Head wounds bleed a lot,” he says. “I’m sure that’s all it is.”

“But what if you have a concussion? You went down pretty hard.”

“I promise. I’m fine,” he insists. “Surprisingly, Savonarola’s zealots took pity on me. As for the rest…I take all the blame. I should’ve been straight with you from the start. That morning, on your first day here, when I found you caught in the middle of an Unraveling, I wanted to tell you everything then, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“You knew what was happening?” I stare at him, wide-eyed.

“I recognized the signs. And you looked so scared, it took all my will not to comfort you—tell you I knew exactly what you were going through. That I’ve experienced it myself.”

“What stopped you?” I ask.

Braxton sighs. “This place can make you so paranoid, it’s impossible to know who to trust.”

“But you knew I was a Timekeeper?”

He nods. “From the moment I first read your file.”

I take a moment to process all that. “And Killian? Were you aware he knew about you—that you’re a Timekeeper, too?”

Braxton shrugs. “After his return to Gray Wolf, I suspected as much.”

“And I’m the one who brought him back.”

“You had no way of knowing,” he says, quick to defend me.

But while it’s nice of him to try to ease my guilt, there’s no denying I bear some of the blame.

“And how long have you known?” I ask. “About your Timekeeper legacy.” I wonder if, like me, he stumbled upon it along the way. Or if someone might’ve prepared him for the journey ahead.

“I’ve known since I was old enough to really know things,” he says. “My tattoo, just like my training, is left unfinished. My father was killed long before he could teach me anything useful. Soon after, Arthur found me. I was living in Boston by then, and he brought me back here.”

“So, if your training had finished, you’d bear a mark like my dad’s?”

“Yes,” he says. “It’s the Flower of Life.”

75

The moment Braxton says it, I’m flooded with the memory of my dad showing me the tattoo he had inked into the crook of his arm. A series of equally spaced, interlinking circles—a symbol, he explained, that’s well over two thousand years old.

A symbol that can be found throughout the world—from Buddhist temples in India to stone carvings in Scotland.

A symbol that embodies so many designs that it’s said to contain the secrets of the universe—the workings of time and space—a record of all living things.

I remember gazing at it and how, depending on the way I centered my focus, I’d see a field of flowers, a six-pointed star, the tree of life, and more.

But now I know what it really is—the Flower of Life is the mark of a Timekeeper.

The Flower of Life

“There was a man,” I say. “When I was in Regency England. I’m pretty sure he was a Timekeeper, but it was obvious he didn’t know I was one, too.”

Braxton inhales a quick breath and waits for me to continue.

“He had a pocket watch,” I say. “A—”

Before I can finish, Braxton closes his eyes and, in a quiet voice, says, “A golden pocket watch with the Flower of Life engraved on its back.”