Flotsam litters the lake, bits of metal and plastic-y stuff I couldn’t begin to identify. High above the spot where the tower used to be, a giant tear rends the gray clouds. Their edges seem blackened with char, and they crackle with tiny fingers of lightning.

But beyond the tear in the clouds is blue, blue sky. Sunshine pours down in streamers, like waterfalls of light.

“I wish Manny could see this,” Tanq says.

“Tanq,” Wyatt says. “You were awesome out there.”

“I know.”

“How did you know that would work?” I ask Trey.

“Methane is highly combustible,” he says. “If we compromised the integrity of the tower’s hull and introduced oxygen and a heat source, then . . . what? What are you staring at?”

I gaze up at him, my heart surely in my eyes. “I’m fetishizing your brain,” I say.

He grins.

Then he takes my face in his hands, leans down, and touches his lips to mine.

Somehow my arms end up around his neck and I’m kissing him back, and his hands are dropping low, pulling me against him, and nothing separates us but these damned wetsuits and I totally forget about anything but him and us and—

“It’s about time,” Tanq growls.

I ignore her and keep kissing Trey.

“Don’t even think about it, Wyatt,” Tanq adds. “I’m not kissing you or anyone.”

It’s a while before Trey and I come up for air, and when we do, my face is flushed and my lips feel swollen, or maybe a little bruised but mostly wonderful.

Trey takes my hand, pulls it to his lips. “You’re the bravest person I know,” he says.

“I’m one of the bravest people in the whole world,” I tell him.

I’m suddenly aware that Tanq and Wyatt have disappeared with Emmaline. I glance around—there. Up the beach a way, toward a grassy area.

Trey and I link hands and go after them.

“Finally done sucking face?” Tanq says as we approach.

“For now,” Trey says.

“Check this out,” Wyatt say, pointing toward a marquee.

It’s a big brown sign with gold lettering that says Ohio Historical Marker. Below that is a year: 1813, along with the words THE BATTLE OF . . .

But I don’t get to see the rest because Tanq pulls a can of paint from her soaking wet pack. Quickly, she scrawls a near perfect oval with a line through it, the null sign in bright fuchsia, obscuring the date and the details.

“Hey, you’re destroying a piece of history,” I say. “I want to remember this stuff.”

“I don’t think that’s what she’s doing,” Trey says. “Paige, do you know what day it is?”

I frown, considering. “April-ish?”

“Exactly. I don’t know either.”

“It’s day one,” Tanq says. “Of Year Zero. The year humanity starts over.”

“Wouldn’t it be Year One?” Wyatt says.