They make me change into a hospital robe for the tests, and I hide the reports from the future and the fake fingerprints in the changing room, stashed between the pages of a magazine. The entire time they run the scans I worry someone will find the evidence. But when I get back, the reports and fingerprints are still hidden there, even though they’ve taken the clothes I wore in the future. I stash the evidence inside my own clothes, which they’ve left for me.

I’m given food and water, then left in a small room and told to wait. It’s like an interrogation room, with a mirror on one wall and a table with two chairs in the middle. I sit in one of those chairs and get that creepy tingling on the back of my neck like I’m being watched. I feel like I should be in an orange prison suit with my hands cuffed to the table.

Dr. Kapur walks in, frowning, with his clipboard under his arm. “Elena Martinez,” he says. I’m not sure if he’s just saying my name or expects an answer. He studies me for a moment and then sits across from me. “How do you feel?”

“Tired and sore.”

He nods and jots something down on the clipboard. “Any…confusion? Memory loss?”

“I…” I have to pretend like I don’t know anything, to stick to the plan Chris laid out, even if I wasn’t intended to be a part of it. I drop my gaze to the table. “I remember entering the accelerator and the light…but that’s it.” I squish my face up like I’m confused. “Did it work? Did we actually go to the future?”

His frown deepens and he taps his pen against his clipboard. “So you remember the moments before you entered the accelerator?”

“Yes.”

“And you remember the time before that—the medical exam, the lunch with the others, and so forth?”

“Yes…”

“Hmm.” He marks things down on the clipboard. “But you don’t remember anything between the moment you entered the accelerator and when you walked out?”

“No, I don’t.” I rub my eyes and try to look pained. It isn’t a struggle since my side still burns with each breath. “So we did go to the future?”

He ignores my question again and leans forward. “How did you get your injuries?”

“I-I don’t know.”

His eyes narrow. “You have a cracked rib, a sprained ankle, and a bruise on your face, and you don’t know?”

I didn’t realize my face was bruised too, but I guess it’s been a while since I checked a mirror. Probably from when Chris punched me. I make my voice go higher like I’m starting to panic. “No—what’s going on? Why don’t I remember?”