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“Because he lived there?” I ask. When Arthur fails to respond, I go on. “All I know is Killian claimed he was a threat and he left him for dead.”

“Sounds like Killian was looking to protect you.”

I shrug, but what I don’t say is that I didn’t need protecting. And even if Killian believed that I did, he could’ve just injured the man. He didn’t have to kill him.

“Don’t make the mistake of mourning your enemies,” Arthur says. “Do you really believe that Timekeeper wouldn’t have killed you, given the chance?”

I think back to both Versailles encounters. That man I initially mistook for a groundskeeper—mainly because that’s how Elodie referred to him—was menacing, enraged. But he mostly seemed focused on stopping me from claiming the Sun—and on the second visit, stopping me from bringing it back. And while I readily admit to being scared out of my wits, in retrospect, I’m not convinced he was the murdering type.

But what about the guy in England? The one who found me in the library—was he a Timekeeper, too?

Probably. If for no other reason, he instantly recognized me for what I am—a Time Jumper. And the way he pulled his sword…

I can still see the malicious glint in his eyes, the flash of his blade. And though he seemed reluctant to kill me, if pushed, I’ve no doubt he would’ve left me for dead.

Though of course I don’t share any of that. Instead, I say, “I think they’re the ones who hid the pieces and will stop at nothing to ensure they stay hidden.”

Arthur’s expression is guarded, giving nothing away.

“And so…what I’m wondering is—just how many Timekeepers are out there? Are they in every timeline or just a few?”

I watch as he leans back in his seat, rubs a hand over his chin as though weighing just how much he should share. “There are many,” he finally says. “You’ll find them throughout history. Their roots extend all the way back to the Great Mystery Schools of Egypt.”

I suck in a breath. I have no idea what that means, but something about it sounds occult-like and dangerous.

“I don’t—” I start, but Arthur’s quick to cut in.

“It’s an ancient society with access to great wisdom. The Timekeepers have sworn an oath to keep that knowledge secret, forbidding access to the rest of us.”

“But why?” I ask. “And what sort of secrets?” I imagine clandestine meetings, complicated handshakes, and men dressed in masks and long robes. All of them gathered into a room lit by torches, attempting to conjure some powerful entity from the great beyond.

Arthur pulls at the ring that once belonged to the Black Prince. “Why, the secret of time, of course. That, and the true nature of reality.” Responding to my confusion, he adds, “By which I mean the power that exists within all of us but has so far been accessed by only a few.”

I stare at him, hoping he’ll elaborate, because honestly, I’m totally perplexed.

“As for thewhy…” Arthur’s voice fades, and his gaze wanders to the far side of the room. “I suppose it’s because they believe the common man can’t handle that sort of power—that it would only result in tragic misuse—that the very nature of man bends toward destruction. And because of that, we’re not fit to create our own world.”

My breath comes a little too quickly, leaving me feeling hollowed out, queasy.

“And do you know these secrets?” I ask, wondering if he’s a descendant from a long line of Mystery School initiates.Is that how he became who he is, built all that he has?

As though reading my mind, Arthur says, “I’ve been called many things, but I’m no Timekeeper. If it were up to me, I’d share the knowledge, allow everyone a chance to create a better experience. It’s the foundation my company was built upon—providing access to great knowledge and the world’s greatest teachers with only a few taps on a keyboard.”

“So, the man who hoards art wants to share knowledge with the world?” I shouldn’t have said it, and the moment it’s out, I’d do anything to reel the words back into my mouth. But if Arthur is annoyed, he doesn’t show it.

“I believe humans have reached this current miserable state because intuitively they know they were created for more. That they’re here to do better—to be better. But they’ve gotten so sidetracked by false messaging, they’ve descended into a shadow world and have no idea how to claw their way out. Think about your own life.” He gestures toward me. “The person you were before you came to Gray Wolf, and how eagerly you participated in your own downward spiral. You certainly weren’t born that way. You came into this world eager and bright-eyed.

“It’s the constant barrage of toxic messaging you received through the years, the ones that told you all the things that were wrong with you, all the instincts you had to curb to fit into that miserable box we call a society—a box of people so afraid of their own power, they want you to be afraid of yours, too. But it’s the outliers, the ones who resist the noise and tune in to their inner compass and voice—they’re the ones who pave a new way. Throughout history, it’s the nonconformists who are the true wayfinders of their day.”

“I get what you’re saying,” I tell him. “But I’m not sure I get how the Timekeepers are responsible for the state of our modern-day world. I mean, aren’t we each responsible for who and what we become? Aren’t we the ones who decide whether we rule our own destinies?”

“Perhaps,” Arthur says. “But I’ve always believed great knowledge should be shared. And the Timekeepers believe that sharing their knowledge will lead to our doom.”

While the conversation does hold a certain appeal, I feel like we’ve veered way off track. I wasn’t looking to start a philosophical discourse. I was mostly looking for answers.

“I guess what I really need to know,” I say, “is that, if these Timekeepers are everywhere, scattered throughout the centuries, tasked with guarding the missing pieces, then that must mean there’s a Timekeeper in Florence, just like there was in Versailles.”Versailles and London, though I keep that last bit to myself.

Arthur nods, which I take as both good and bad news. It’s always good to be right, but it’s not so good to confirm there’s an enemy in the sixteenth century waiting for me to arrive.