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“Okay, and so, what exactly am I supposed to do about that? Do I wait for a Timekeeper to come after me? Or is there some easier way to head them off before they can get very far? I mean, how will I even know? Is there a way to tell them apart? And one more thing—” I’m on a roll. There’s no stopping me. “Why is it always so easy for them to find me? Is it because I happen to be in just the right place at just the wrong time? Or is it something more? And—”

Arthur flashes a palm, bringing my questions to a grinding halt. “As for how they find you—while I can’t confirm it, it’s said there are many who came out of those Mystery Schools with a sort of heightened psychic ability—a gift that’s been passed down through their lineage, and—”

I have no idea what Arthur says next because my mind is stuck on the wordsheightened psychic abilityandpassed down through their lineage.

That sounds an awful lot like the Unraveling.But it can’t be that—can it?

I shake my head, sure I’ve misunderstood. “You mean like—like a psychic or a medium?” I say, my voice gone noticeably shaky.

Arthur shrugs, flicks a piece of lint from his sleeve. “I’m not up on the details, but yes, they can access scenes from both the future and the past. As for how to spot them—” He pauses, centers his gaze on mine. “I suppose you could always look for the mark.”

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My jaw drops. My limbs start to shake.

Look for the mark,Arthur said.

If this were a movie, the sound of a record scratch would screech through the room, the action would halt, and the main character would be catapulted into an awkward scene from the past.

But this isn’t a movie. And while Arthur continues to study me like I’m a bug under a powerful lens, an image bursts onto the screen in my brain.

The man is lying before me, bleeding from a knife wound to his belly, as I focus on the strange round symbol tattooed on his arm. An intricate series of interlinking circles—a design that seemed so familiar, though I couldn’t place it at the time—

It was only later that I realized my dad bore a similar mark—and it’s the same mark that was engraved on the back of that gold pocket watch.

A wave of dread hits me so fast, I clutch the arms of my chair to steady myself.

It can’t be.

It’s ridiculous to even think such a thing.

Not to mention how it doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense.

But while my brain trots out a long list of arguments against it, it fails to convince my heart to play along.

All my dad’s long-forgotten teachings that I started remembering from the moment I entered Arcana…

Our shared gift for Unravelings…

But no.

There’s no way.

Absolutely not.

Because if my dad were a descendant from the Great Mystery Schools, if he really was a—a Timekeeper—then wouldn’t that makemea Timekeeper, too?

And yet, how can I be a Timekeeper when I’m working for Arthur, and Timekeepers, according to what Arthur just told me and what my own experience has taught me, are my sworn enemy?

My hand shoots to my throat, holding back the sob before it has a chance to slip out.

Breathe, you fool. Just calm the hell down.

You don’t have a mark.

And yeah, maybe your dad had a tattoo, but big deal, lots of dads do.

Not only are you being ridiculous, but you are seriously on the verge of becoming one of those paranoid weirdos who see conspiracies wherever they look.