“No—Lyss—don’t!” Falon cries, just like last time. And just like last time, it’s too late, because she’s already turning the handle.

But unlike last time, Smith and I don’t disappear. Instead, we watch as the door opens and fear floods the face of my memory-self as she is pushed roughly backward by a tall man who shoves his way into the house. The second figure remains outside, acting like a bodyguard who has been told to wait. Having stepped to the side upon the door opening, that person is now out of sight, giving me no hint as to their identity.

It’s clear that the real threat is the man who barged inside, so I return my focus to him, my chest pounding as he steps into the light of the living room and I get a proper look at his face.

All the air leaves my lungs.

“What?” Smith demands.

“I know him,” I say through numb lips. I’ve only seen him once, but even three years younger, he’s easily recognizable.

It’s the security guard from Luna Park.

What

the

hell?

Everything that happens next is almost impossible for me to follow, for me to understand.

Upon his bursting into the house, everyone has jumped to their feet—my parents, my brother, Falon. I can feel the panic in the air as, at the exact same time, three of us open our mouths to Speak—my younger self, my mum, and Riley. Blinding light bursts from each of us, and while I have no idea what words Mum and Riley used, I can clearly hear my scream of “Stop!” rising over the rest.

Only, the man doesn’t stop.

When the light from my command hits him, it’s like he’s surrounded by an invisible barrier. A reflective barrier. The light bounces right off him and returns to me.

No—to all of us.

The man doesn’t stop.

But the rest of us do.

Falon is paused midair, half risen out of his chair. Riley has frozen in the act of running toward me, his anxious blue eyes the only part of him that’s able to move as he looks from me to the man and back again. My parents are standing side by side, their hands clasped together, my mum’s mouth still open on the word she screamed. And as for my younger self, I’m barely feet away from the man, both of my arms outstretched toward him, as if to aid the power of my Spoken command for him to stop—a command that worked, but not on him.

“You all made this too easy,” he says. His voice is as deep and rumbling as it was when he woke me under the roller coaster, but there’s nothing calming about it now. There’s a sinister edge to it, simmering with fury.