I hadn’t met anyone new in a while, but when I did, I always got blasted with the highlight reel of their past. First kisses. Tragic deaths in the family. All the high notes.

But this guy…

Blank. Blank. Blank.

Even with him standing straight in front of me, I couldn’t get into his pages of the universe. I flexed my mental muscles until my temples throbbed, but nothing.

Meanwhile, he stared back, taking me in piece by piece.

My stomach fluttered. The way he looked at me…

Trouble. I just didn’t know what kind yet.

Nagi was observing our stare down and he came as close as I’d ever seen to smirking. “Altair, this is Quanta. You’ll be working with her directly.”

As soon as he heard my name, Altair’s pupils widened. Not checking me out, but trying to make sense. Why should my name hit a nerve?

He had to know exactly who I was by now. How could he not, between Eva and Nagi?

“It’s nice to meet you, Quanta.” He extended his arm for a handshake, making the potential future I’d seen a disturbing reality. “Please call me Tair.”

Right. Let’s have happy fuzzy nicknames, idiot.

I wrinkled my nose at his hand. I didn’t like touching. The contact made it too easy to get lost in a person’s timeline and then they’d be stuck in my head for days…

This time, I didn’t have a choice. I needed to know where Altair was coming from.

And I needed to know what was next.

Plus if I had to pick, I’d rather drown in too much information than deal with a blank future. I took a deep breath before extending my charcoal-smudged hand. I’d sell him out so fast if he’d come here to screw with me.

Our fingers brushed.

New layers burst from our joined hands in a thousand curly edges. A million past moments and a million new possibilities.

Finally, I could read Altair’s book.

My pulse quickened as I greedily flipped through the layers of Altair-shaped timeghosts.

First the past. Who was he? What did he really want?

Young Altair—maybe ten years old?—sits on folded knees. Dark hair. Golden-brown eyes. He kneels in front of a huge sheet of paper, drawing symbols using a long, inked brush.

A woman appears at his shoulder, but her face is a blur. “What beautiful calligraphy, Tair.”

He sets the brush on a stand. “Can I go outside now?”

She pats his head and a Helix shimmers on her arm in the UV ink that marks her Seligo. “You want to be immortal someday, don’t you?”

Little Altair scowls.

“Only the best are elevated, baby. Are you going to be the best for your mother?”

“Yes.” He says, so obviously begrudging.