To my surprise, Serina and Sam were already in two of the seats, and I found my eyes drawn to them. It wasn’t that I’d never been around active Glitchers before, it was just that I’d never been around ones so young. Seeing them made my future more tangible somehow, and I felt a shiver of excitement race up my spine. That excitement was doused a moment later when I remembered that my future was no longer just mine—it was forever tangled with Regan’s.

Serina and Sam must have come straight from another mission because Sam was dressed head to toe in the gear of a soldier from World War I, and Serina was in a matching nurse’s uniform. Both of them were liberally coated in mud and what was probably blood. I wrinkled my nose and chose the seat as far away from them as humanly possible. While I appreciated their commitment to furthering their education, the fact that they hadn’t showered before joining the class grossed me out.

Everyone else took their seats and a moment later a man who I could only assume was Professor O’Reilly sauntered into the room. He was dressed in the uniform of a British soldier, his bright red jacket neat and pressed over tight-fitting pants and high black boots. Immediately, all eyes focused in. He walked casually around the perimeter of the circle, allowing everyone a closer look before stopping in the middle of the platform.

“Well?” he said. “Who spotted it?”

Five hands including mine shot into the air. He nodded his approval and pointed to Corban.

“What do you think?” he asked, holding his hands out as the platform carried him in a slow spin for the class.

“Is it your belt buckle, sir?” Corban asked, but from his tone I could tell this was a 100 percent shot in the dark.

Professor O’Reilly shook his head. “This belt buckle is authentic iron from a forge in seventeenth-century London. What about you, Tess, what do you think?” he said, looking to my right.

“Um,” said Tess, “is your hat the wrong shape?”

“Wrong again,” O’Reilly said, relishing the moment as he whipped off his black triangle hat. “This is authentic too, my dears. Any more guesses?” He was just turning to call on me when a loud bang behind us made everyone turn. Regan stood there, cringing down at the copy of All the Gallant Men she’d dropped upon her not-so-sneaky entrance.

“You must be Regan,” Professor O’Reilly said. “Glad you could join us.”

“Yes, sir,” Regan said, stooping down to grab the book. I put my hand back in the air. I knew the answer to this.

But Professor O’Reilly ignored me as he watched Regan. I pushed my hand farther into the air. I knew the answer.