Dorothy slipped out of Ash’s room and made her way down the hall. Electric lights flickered from sconces on the walls, making the shadows twitch. Her boots echoed off the tile floors and, somewhere deeper in the house, she heard voices that might have belonged to Avery, or might have belonged to her mother. They were too far away for her to know, for sure, whether they were male or female, all she could hear for certain was the cadence of speech, that familiar rise and fall.

Heart hammering, she slipped into her own room and pushed the door closed with a soft click.

This had been the room where she’d stayed in the weeks leading up to her wedding, when it would have been unseemly for her to stay with Avery. She hadn’t been here since she’d gotten back, preferring, instead, to curl up in the chair beside Ash’s bed, but now she could see that it was exactly as she’d left it. Plush, four-post bed and fussy furniture, expensive dresses left to wilt on the backs of chairs or else kicked into the corners where they would be out of the way.

Dorothy closed her eyes and leaned her head back against her heavy, oak door. She forced herself to focus on her breathing, trying to match her inhale to her exhale. She needed to focus. What did she know? What did it mean?

According to Ash, she’d gone back in time, to Fort Hunter, in 1980, the same day the rest of them had broken into the base to . . . what, exactly? Follow the Professor? Talk to him, perhaps? But why?

“Blast, this is giving me a headache,” she muttered out loud, lowering her face to her hands. Think you silly nit, think. What possible reason could she have for talking to the Professor?

It was true, now that she thought of it, that she wouldn’t mind having a word with the man. She’d never met him, but he was supposed to be the most brilliant scientist who’d ever existed. He could explain these earthquakes that were going to end the world, for one thing, and whether they were, actually, caused by time travel and, if that was true, what were they supposed to even do about them now. She could ask him if there was any chance of saving Ash. And oh, he could explain those damn journal entries. Traveling through time without any EM . . .

She lifted her head, blinking into the darkness of her room.

Traveling through time without any EM.

Dorothy wasn’t sure what time it was, but the sky outside was already darkening, so it must be late. She’d left the lights in her bedroom off, too, and the only light that she could see came from Roman’s dagger. It sat on her bedside table, the teensy tiny bit of EM still clinging to the blade sparking and twitching in the darkness.