The strings in my head only seem to snag when I think of Kaori. I thought we were friends, I said to her that first time she pointed a gun at Yusuf in the Theater to inspire me to connect with the machine and change the future. If we were, then you’d understand why I have to do this. Then her trying to bargain with me in Hassan’s lab.

Sure, keep blaming her, Figueiredo’s shadow voice scrapes through my head. The strings vibrate—taut—like with just a little nudge they might just snap. I can almost see the researchers with their white coats in their white rooms, swarming around a dozen Envisioners, all we’re seeing some unusual energy spikes. Like I could just let the fire in my gut light the fuse on all the machines throughout the whole network and then sit back and watch the fireworks. Like the footage I saw of Figueiredo pacing his gray hangar full of Envisioners and opening gateways to drop the machines across the multiverse is so hokey, now. You think you’re hot shit, but you can’t even touch what I can do.

Some part of the machine under my hands quivers like a dog skittering towards me for comfort at the sound of fireworks exploding outside. She flicks her ears back and flashes me with her big, melty eyes. A whine, pushing her wet nose into my hands. Easy, girl. Easy.

*   *   *

It’s time to go.

The air mattress finally deflated during the night. I roll off the packed sand with one hell of an adrenaline hangover thanks to the Envisioner. The pink sand and the turquoise water are the same watercolor still-life of a perfect beach morning. Goodbye to my sorta paradise, to me and Yusuf skinny dipping and wandering the tropical fern forest naked. Joking about sunburns on our bare asses. Kissing coconut water from each other’s lips.

I ask the Envisioner about what I should do and what the future will be, but she plants her feet and won’t budge. Instead, she spins me equations, and star charts, and a recipe for the rice pudding my mom used to make, just because. Like, you’re on your own.

Fair enough. I’ll decide things from here on out.

Back at our campsite I pull on my paint-splotched khaki shorts and Rui’s polka dot shirt, the fabric sandpapering against a sunburn on my shoulders. I lid my dome with Yusuf’s Red Sox hat, already knowing that when I see him I’m going to make a crack about just popping by to drop off something you left behind. And if—even after this nightmare—a hint of a smile touches his eyes, I’ll know we can make this work.