I sit up a little, but he cautions me to stay still. “You’ve been through so much. You need to rest.”

“I need to find Mabel,” I say. I look around at the white walls. I don’t know where I’ve traveled back to. I’m not quite sure how I managed it either. I don’t remember making it to the giant oak tree. I try to think back to the woods and the rain—

Dad interrupts my thoughts.

“Sweetie,” he says softly. “Mabel . . . Mabel, she’s not—” His voice cracks.

When I look at his face, the reality of the situation lands on me like a brick. I’m flattened by it.

I haven’t time-traveled.

I’m in the exact same world I was before.

A world without my sister.

“What happened? Where am I?” Those questions burn like acid in my throat. I don’t want to have to ask. Asking means that I’ve failed.

“Quinn found you in the woods. You fell in the creek. She called the paramedics.” Dad squeezes my hand again. I wince at how hard his grip is. “Thank goodness Quinn was there. She saved your life.”

I blink. “What?”

Dad tilts his head to look at me. “What were you doing in the woods?”

I contemplate lying. But as I stare at the plain white walls, I can’t bring myself to do it. “I was trying to time-travel. I was trying to save Mabel.”

Dad doesn’t say anything. I can feel his pulse change in his hand. It quickens.

“That probably sounds silly, but you told me it was possible. You said I just needed to figure out the shape of thunder, which would lead me to the shape of time.”

“Oh, Cora,” he says, and his face looks so impossibly sad.

I feel impossibly stupid.

“But I couldn’t pull it off. I don’t know why. I just . . .” My voice is shaky. My voice is never shaky, but I don’t know how to manage these words. “I just wanted to fix things so badly.”

Dad leans over and gently strokes the top of my head. “Kiddo, it’s not your job to fix anything.”

I shake my head. My throat tightens to the point I’m not sure I can breathe. Let alone talk.

“It’s okay. Calm down,” Dad says.

“I don’t want to calm down!” I jerk away from him. A wire that’s attached to me snags, I feel a sting in my wrist.

“Calm down,” he repeats.

I stay still, but I frown at him. “I’m so tired of people saying it’s not my job to fix things. No one else is fixing them.”

Dad hangs his head. “I know. You’re right. And I’m so sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t do anything. I’m the one who ran into the woods in the middle of a storm because I thought the energy from the thunder would help me.” I shake my head as though I can get rid of my embarrassment, but it doesn’t work. “I was trying to figure out the shape of thunder. I thought if I found that, I’d find the shape of time. And then I’d be able to . . .” I trail off and look at the white hospital wall. “I’m sorry.”