Darting past cars and ducking through the rain until, finally, they’d reached Tent City and found a younger Roman kneeling in the clearing, holding his dying sister in his arms.

Ash had felt numb, watching them. The Roman kneeling in the clearing had been younger than he’d been when Ash had known him, but not so much younger. A year, perhaps. And yet Roman had never mentioned a sister. Not once.

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?” Ash asked Roman now.

A snort of a laugh and Roman said, “And what, exactly, would you have done about it, Asher?” He spat the name, as though it’d left a foul taste in his mouth. “Would you have tried to help? Or would you have been like the Professor, telling me we don’t use time travel to change the past with one breath, and then going back to save the people he loved with the next?”

Something heavy settled over Ash’s shoulders. He knew exactly what Roman was talking about. After his wife died, the Professor went back in time over and over again, trying to save her. The Professor had always maintained that time travel shouldn’t be used to change the past, that they didn’t yet know the effects that might have on the world around them. But, when it came to the woman he loved, he hadn’t cared.

Ash had always wondered why Roman had betrayed them. Of course he’d wondered. Roman had been one of them, after all. He’d been Ash’s best friend. The Professor had thought of him as a son. But, beneath the wonder, there’d been anger, and the anger had a way of rising up to obscure it. It was so much easier to believe that Roman had left because he was selfish, because something about him was wrong. Never had Ash considered that he’d wanted to save someone, too.

Ash found his eyes drawn back to the clearing where Roman’s dead sister had lain. She was gone now, and so was the younger Roman, probably frightened by the fighting, but Ash could still see the flattened bit of ground where they’d been.

He could understand why his presence here had set off Roman. Roman was a fiercely private person, and Ash had seen a glimpse of him at his most vulnerable. This was a secret he’d been guarding for years, and now it was out.

“Roman,” Ash said, his voice thick. “I didn’t know, I swear—”

Apologizing seemed to be the wrong move. A grunt, and Roman was lunging for Ash again, fist swinging. His first punch missed, barely catching Ash on the arm, but his second connected with Ash’s jaw, spinning him back a step. Ash blinked, seeing stars. Damn.

“Hit me,” Roman spat at him, furious. “Come on, Asher. Aren’t you going to defend yourself?”

“Wasn’t my plan,” Ash said, stretching out his injured jaw. He could feel his bones shifting in place where Roman had hit him. The pain wasn’t bad, yet, though he knew he’d feel it later. “But I’ve got to admit, that last punch didn’t help.”