“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dorothy said through the tightness in her throat.

Zora cocked her head, and now Dorothy could see that, beneath all that anger, she was barely holding herself together. She was breathing fast, and her eyes were wet and wide and desperately unhappy. Something was very badly wrong.

A chill went through Dorothy, and it had nothing to do with the gun still pressed to her forehead. “Zora,” she asked, more firmly now. “What happened?”

Doubt flickered across Zora’s face. She lowered the gun. “You really don’t know.”

She didn’t say it like it was a question and, before Dorothy could respond, she’d dug something out of her pocket and thrust it into Dorothy’s hands.

It was a note.

Outside the anil. Midnight.

Whatever Dorothy had braced herself for, it wasn’t this. Her eyes traveled over the words scrawled across the ripped sheet of paper, the way they looped and curved, angling slightly to the left.

This note—it was written in her handwriting.

Dorothy breathed and read the note again, trying to understand. It was her handwriting and yet she hadn’t written it.

And that wasn’t all. There—that splotch of ink over the word anil, it reminded her of the fountain pens in Avery’s study, so unlike the cheap plastic things people used now. As far as she knew, there was only one such pen left in the entire world, and it was down in the basement of this hotel, along with the rest of the things she and Roman had taken from the past.

She looked up at Zora, her mind spinning. “Where did you get this?”

A flash of fury lit Zora’s face. “You left it in Ash’s room an hour ago, Fox. I found it on his bed.”

But . . . but she didn’t. She hadn’t. She was about to say so when—

Oh God. Dorothy brought a trembling hand to her mouth, remembering. Back in the parking garage, hadn’t Eliza claimed to see her meeting with Ash on the docks outside the Dead Rabbit?

And then, again, she said she’d seen Dorothy helping Ash escape from Mac. Dorothy had done neither of those things, and so she’d assumed that Eliza was lying. It hadn’t even occurred to her to consider the alternative, and now she felt stupid for not seeing it.

She lived in a world where time travel was real.

It was possible she just hadn’t done those things yet.

Dorothy took a step closer to Zora, feeling as though her breath and her heartbeat were lodged in her throat together. “You asked me what I did to him? What do you think I did to him?”

Zora’s voice was steel as she said, “Let me show you.”

The anil looked iridescent in the distance, a soap bubble sitting atop the waves. And then it looked like a jagged crack through ice, its sharp edges spiderwebbing into the sky. It was a tunnel made of mist and smoke. A distant star. The beginning of a tornado.