Callaway just shook his head. “Regan,” he said, his voice tight with warning, “I’ve already told you all that I know. The clock is ticking, and we need to get ready for the retrieval. The longer we wait, the longer our agents are without a line back to the present.” I nodded, trying not to think about how tricky the timing on this one would have to be. If they sent us too early, the agent might confuse us for the Butterfly, catch us, and haul us back to the Academy just in time for it to explode, but if we showed up too late, the agent could have accidentally become a Butterfly themselves.

“Can’t we just connect them to our equipment?” Regan asked.

Callaway shook his head again. “If only it were that simple,” he said. “But since we didn’t send them, we can’t bring them back. They will have to hitchhike home with each of you via your Chaos Cuffs. Now, we don’t have any time to waste. Each team will be briefed by a professor and costumed appropriately for the jump. Move!”

We moved. Or rather, everyone moved around us as professors started pulling each partner group in a different direction. Callaway hustled Regan and me over to the corner of the atrium that housed the combat mats, Professor Tramble close behind him. Regan walked with a stiffness that made it obvious that it was taking every ounce of her self-control not to pummel Callaway with more questions.

“Keep it together,” I whispered under my breath.

“I am,” she replied through gritted teeth. “I went through all the same crisis training as you. I know not to fall apart.” I raised an eyebrow at her and her hands balled into fists at her sides. “I’m not!” she insisted.

“Okay,” I said, holding my arms up in submission. “You’re not. But remember this is the real deal, okay? Someone’s life is on the line, and the entire history of the United States and possibly even the entire world could be altered if you screw this up.”

“We,” she said. “If we screw this up, and we won’t.” Callaway turned to face us when we reached the combat mats, and he shuffled through the papers in his hands until he found the one he was searching for and looked up.

“What do you know about the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Regan said at the exact moment that I said, “Everything.”

Regan turned to me. “There is no way you know everything about it,” she said accusingly.

“There is no way you know nothing about it,” I countered. “It’s a really important historical event. It’s the reason factories changed their labor laws. It’s why we have fire extinguishers everywhere. It’s . . . ,” I said, pausing as I gestured hopelessly in the air for the right word.

“Important,” Regan said. “Got it.”