Changing in Future-Adam’s bedroom feels too personal, so we split up to find other rooms. It’s my first chance to be alone and I head into a bathroom off the front entry of the house, far from the others. The bathroom has a counter you can sit at with special lights and a mirror (for putting on makeup?), plus two ivory-colored chairs in the corner and a separate room for the toilet. I can’t imagine why anyone would need all this in their house. I half expect someone with a towel to pop out and ask for a tip.

I take a few minutes to change from my clothes into the dry ones Future-Adam left for us and clean myself up a bit. My hair is all stringy and has dried in a weird crunchy way, but without a brush, all I can do is run my fingers through it. I’m a mess, but at least I’m a dry mess now.

I sit at the counter on a fuzzy cushion with tassels and dig around in my backpack. The origami unicorn is a bit smashed from being stuffed inside, but the silver paper still glints in the light. I slowly unfold the paper, trying not to tear it as I unravel its intricate design. As it flattens out, I see numbers scrawled in black ink on the matte-white back: 73 21 12 37.

Huh? I read the line again, trying to make sense of the four numbers. I thought there’d be some secret message inside, some words of wisdom, something to explain what is happening to us—but all I get are numbers? What kind of sick joke is this? I know that Adam is a genius, but these numbers don’t mean anything to me.

I go over the message again. The numbers are mirrors, forming a palindrome. That must be a clue of some kind, but what? I rub my palms against my eyes. Think. Future-Adam wants me to understand whatever he’s trying to tell me. He wouldn’t make it too obscure or he’d know I would never figure it out.

I replay his words about the unicorn: Open it when you’re at my house, when you’re alone and somewhere safe. Somewhere safe—this could be a combination to a safe. But he didn’t tell me where the safe is, and I don’t have time to search this entire massive house.

No, Future-Adam would know that, so it can’t be too hard to find. There’s only one room that looks lived in, and that’s his bedroom. He left our clothes in there too. The safe must be in there.

The hallway outside the bathroom is empty. I walk through the silent, hollow house, my footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. I don’t see any of the others, but they’re probably still getting cleaned up.