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Harte looked over at Esta when she paused at the foot of the long expanse that would lead them up and over the water. She was wearing a shapeless pair of workman’s overalls, the only thing she could find in Dom’s warehouse to replace her bloodstained dress from Chicago. Her hair was short now, but the humidity hanging in the air had it curling around her face in a way that almost suited her better than the long locks she’d had when they’d first met. Her mouth was set in its familiar determined line. He’d kissed that mouth—though not nearly enough—knew what her lips felt like when they molded against his, what she tasted like when their breath intermingled. Suddenly he felt more helpless than he ever had before, more helpless even than when he was lying in that filthy hole back in San Francisco, barely able to breathe. Barely able to do anything more than hope for death.

The angles of her face had become more than familiar to him—they’d become essential. She’d become essential. Maybe she’d always been that for him, though. His life had changed completely from the first moment he’d seen her on the dance floor of the Haymarket.

“What if it doesn’t work?” he pressed. “What if we go after Nibsy and it isn’t enough? What if he still wins?”

“He won’t,” Esta said, her jaw going tight. “I’ll die before I let that happen.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” he told her softly. Because he knew that when Esta set her mind to something, there was no stopping her. And Harte didn’t know how he’d keep her safe.

The sky above was growing heavier and more threatening as they started across the span of the bridge. Behind them, Brooklyn lay quiet and still. Ahead, Manhattan promised nothing but danger. His entire life, all he’d wanted was to escape from that very city. He’d plotted and planned, lied and betrayed, all to be on this side of the Brink. And he’d made it. Now he found himself in the unbelievable position of preparing to return to the prison he’d been born into.

There was no question that he would return. Esta was right; they had no choice but to cross back into the city, to go after Nibsy Lorcan, and to find the missing part of the Book. And there was nowhere he wanted to be but at her side.

“We need a plan,” Harte said. “Once Nibsy realizes we’ve escaped, he’ll be expecting us to come for him and the key. We’ve already seen what he’s capable of. If we want any chance of walking out of this alive, we’re going to have to think around him. But with all he’s capable of, I don’t know how to get past his talent.”

“There might be a way,” Esta said, glancing over at him. “But you’re not going to like it.”

Harte had a feeling he was going to hate it. But he squeezed her hand gently and waited for her to speak.

“We don’t have to cross the Brink now,” she told him. “We could choose any time to arrive.”

“You think we should go back?” he asked, considering the possibilities. “It’s where we have to go eventually. We can use the Book to hold the stones and—”

“He’ll be expecting that too,” she said. “He knows I have to take the cuff back. He’s probably been ready for us to return all along—and we have to expect that he will be ready, whenever we finally do return.” Her expression was thoughtful. “I think we should go forward.”

“Forward?” It wasn’t really a question of what she meant—Harte knew what she meant. But there was a part of him that needed her to say it.

“If we go back to 1902, we play right into his plans. We still don’t have any answers about how to control Seshat’s power or to use the piece of magic in the Ars Arcana to make things right. We haven’t even figured out how to use the Book to take the stones back. But if we go forward in time?” She shrugged. “Professor Lachlan might still be waiting. He probably will be. But half a century is a long time to stay on high alert.”

“But it’s not impossible,” Harte reminded her. “Not when it’s Nibsy.”

“No, not impossible,” she admitted. “But before, there were decades when Professor Lachlan was waiting for me to reappear. During that time, he wasn’t powerful. He wasn’t the leader of the Devil’s Own or any gang. He was a college professor, quietly biding his time and trying to keep his unnatural longevity from being noticed. He was alone for a long time before he put together the team I grew up with. At some point, he’d have to start lying low. If he’s still using healers, he wouldn’t want to draw attention to himself.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Harte said. “He isn’t the same Professor that you grew up with. If he has that fog, he’s liable to have more tricks.”

“Probably,” she admitted. “But we can expect that. We can be ready.”

“We can’t be ready for everything, Esta. We have no idea what kind of a future we’d be walking into,” Harte argued.

“That’s true, but right now? Nibsy is a grown man solidly in his prime. That attack back there tells us that he’s strong and surrounded by allies. Maybe if we go far enough ahead, he won’t be. When he’s old, maybe he’ll be weaker. Maybe he’ll be alone. Maybe we’ll have a better shot at getting the piece of the Book back from him.”

“Or maybe he would have had even longer to plan,” Harte said darkly. “Who knows what we’ve changed, Esta. He could have surrounded himself with more protection. It might be even harder to get to him. And with his affinity, we have to assume he’ll know that we’re coming the second we arrive in the city—whenever that is.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But we can plan for that. We know what power he has now. If we go forward, though?” She shrugged. “That’s a future that none of us can predict. We have a real chance to take advantage of his surprise. We can’t be ready for everything, but then, neither can he.”

Harte hated the idea every bit as much as he’d expected to, but he couldn’t deny that Esta had a point. If they crossed the bridge now, Nibsy would definitely be waiting for them on the other side of the bridge. He’d be waiting for them no matter when they came for the missing page, but slipping ahead—dealing with an old man instead of one in his prime—might at least give them the possibility of victory.

“Fine. We’ll do it your way,” Harte said, wishing there were some other option that didn’t require multiple trips through time. She’d slipped him through time before, and it was always awful. Worse, once they were… whenever they were going, he’d be working blind. It wouldn’t be the New York he knew. “When will you take us forward? Before we cross or…?”

“Before makes sense,” Esta said. “It’s likely that Nibsy will have bigger numbers on the other side waiting for us now. And if we slip forward now, we’ll still be outside the Brink. In case anything goes wrong. But I think we should get closer—maybe on the bridge. Maybe right before the Brink?”

He gave her a small, resigned nod. “Then I guess we better get going.”

They walked on together, hand in hand, and as they approached the midpoint of the enormous span, Harte began to feel the telltale ice of the Brink’s energy cutting through the heat of the summer day.

Esta looked up at him, her golden eyes calm and steady. “I’m going to have to release time to slip us forward. Are you ready?”

“Not even a little,” he told her. But there wasn’t really a choice. There was no way to run from this, no way around what they had to do. All roads had always led here, to this place—this city. The ring waited for them somewhere across the river in the years that had already gone by, and now they knew the key to stopping Seshat—to fixing the Brink—waited there as well, with Nibsy.