I pace the room, bunching my fists in frustration; a tray of food slips through the slot in the wall; standing on tiptoes, I sketch the clouds of a city skyline; I burrow in the sofa; I lunge away from a Black Helix guard; I—

I shook my head to cut off the flow. The timeghosts layered over the present like bits of sketches drawn on tissue paper. I could see through them, but too many got overwhelming fast and all the sights and sounds and smells from other times muddled together.

When they blurred like that, I couldn’t pick out single ghosts, let alone tell whether they were from the past or future.

Opening myself to all that randomness would pass the time and all, but right now I wanted answers. Like how much longer is this flipping punishment going to last?

Focusing on that question, I paged through the options. Most of the futures showed the same fuzzy fluff—snippets of me going about my routine. I mentally tossed those to the side and squinted at the front door. When will it open? Who’ll be there when it does?

A few solid-but-ghostly pasts wormed into my head in bursts of voices and fuzzy figures that quickly faded. My forehead pinched, but I was getting closer. First super-sketchy futures that would probably never happen. Then wavy futures. Almost-solid futures.

There.

In the chaos of blue-tinged potential people, I spotted my caretaker, Akua, and gave another mental tug to pause on the spot I wanted—like a dog-ear in my own little book of the universe. Akua holds a tray of plastic-covered plates as she strides down the hall.

With the vision, the tantalizing scent of hot cocoa wafted through time.

Breakfast.

Akua’s long, black braids still had a tinge of future fuzz. This one wasn’t absolutely certain, but it was firming up by the second.

Soon. I’d bet less than an hour.

About time.

The tension in my shoulders eased. I could last another hour.

What’s coming next?

A few half-hearted images flipped past: I cross the living room, heading toward the holographic window of faux skyscrapers; the cleaning bot sucks crumbs from the white carpet. When those fluttered away, nothing.

Like nothing, nothing.

The silence rang in my ears and I blinked fast, trying to make sense of the weird stillness, but the emptiness stayed empty. The hairs on my arms lifted in alarm.

There couldn’t be nothing in my future…

Right?

I flicked back to the image of Akua I’d dog-eared. This time, I followed her timeghost as long as I could:

“Good morning, Quanta.” Akua strides through the door and sets down my tray. “Have you been well?” She uncovers my plates and then hangs back, afraid to come close.