We step into the longest living room I’ve ever seen. I swear it must be big enough to fit the Robertsons’ entire house inside. It’s filled with what I assume is antique furniture, all lush fabric and scrolling wood, in colors like navy and burgundy and gold. Heavy curtains block out all natural light, and art that looks like it should be rotting away in a museum watches over us.

“This place is sweet,” Chris says, flopping down on one of the love seats with little wooden feet.

He’s right, but there’s something sad about it too. Empty. Lonely. It looks staged, like it’s all for show to prove how rich and important Future-Adam is. There are no photos anywhere. No trinkets. No clutter. No dogs running around or kids playing. It doesn’t feel lived in.

“Dude, I’m starving,” Trent says. “Where’s the kitchen?”

I’m pretty hungry too, now that he’s mentioned it. Our last meal was at lunch before we went to the future, but that was—I check my watch—over nine hours ago. And who knows when we’ll have a chance to eat again before we return to our time.

“Didn’t Aether pack us some food?” Zoe asks.

“Yeah,” Chris says. “But I bet this place has something better than soggy old sandwiches.”

We wander through wide hallways until we find the kitchen, with its dark-green marble counters and shining stainless-steel appliances. The fridge looks wide enough to pack a couple bodies in. I can’t imagine anyone needing that much food.

Chris jerks the fridge door open and a whoosh of cold air rushes out. We peer inside, but all I see are half-empty salad dressing bottles and a plastic container with something growing in it. Suddenly the idea of soggy sandwiches doesn’t sound too bad.

Zoe wrinkles her nose. “I guess your future self orders in a lot…”

“Step aside. Let the master get to work,” Trent says, brushing past me.

“The master?” Chris asks, crossing his arms. “You?”

Trent starts pulling things out of the back of the fridge and from inside the pantry. He checks each item and either tosses it on the counter or in the nearby trash bin. The rest of us just stare at him. I’m not sure if I’m more blown away by the fact that he’s taking charge for once or that he seems to know what to do with all this food.

“What, like you’ve never seen a guy cook before?” Trent checks the drawers next and keeps poking around until he finds whatever he’s looking for. Within a minute he’s got the stove running and is throwing things in a skillet. “We’re having breakfast, even though it’s the middle of the afternoon. It’s the best I can do.”

“Hey, breakfast is always good,” Adam says.