“Yeah, yeah, whatever. He let on that that the Randall-Torreses were involved, and I’d seen for myself that your key had Delia’s maker mark on it. Once again, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that she must have a copy of it. Well, she didn’t have one made. But between the two of us, we were able to put one together. And let me tell you—it wasn’t easy, getting past GSAF to the arch. They have guards everywhere. But I made a promise to Delia that I’d try to find you, see if I could bring you back.” He put his hands in his pockets, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “And besides… if I have to say it, I was sorry I’d gotten you mixed up in all this. Raymond here may be a dumbass, but you didn’t deserve it.”

My dad flipped him off, and offered a choice expletive to go along with it.

“Wait a minute, Emil,” I said. I was almost afraid to ask what was weighing on my mind, but I had to know. “How long have I been gone, anyway?”

“At the time I left, I’d say it had been about sixteen months.”

“Sixteen… months?!” It felt like the floor had dropped straight out from under me. “As in almost an annum and a half?”

He nodded grimly.

“Oh my God,” I said. It was all I could say. Sixteen months gone. Celeste would almost be in second grade now. And Mom—Mom would kill me! Being gone for two weeks was bad enough, but almost a whole Martian year?!

“Now you know how it feels,” Dad said, his voice bitter. He crossed his arms, leaning against one of the trees growing out of the longhouse’s walls.

“Am I missing something here?” Emil asked, his bushy dark eyebrows furrowing.

“Time passes differently here,” I croaked. “I’ve only been here, like, two weeks. Dad was here less than a month before that.”

Emil’s eyes widened, but then he nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose that makes sense. Our timelines aren’t synced—the only thing determining our arrival date is the coordinates programmed into this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bright, silver key—brand new and untarnished. Freshly printed in Mama D’s basement workshop.

I stared at it blankly for a moment, then something clicked in my brain. “Emil,” I hissed. “You’re a genius.”

“Obviously.”

“No, you don’t get it! We can go home with this.” I snatched the posternkey out of his hands. “We can fix everything! Gitrin can just program it to take us back to the moment I left—”

“Are you mad, boy?” Emil ripped the key away from me, clutching it protectively to his chest. “Think! If you return to a time before the date when I left, you’ll be opening an alternate timeline!”