“Forty-six. That’s how many people were eligible to receive my brother’s liver. That means you had a one in forty-six chance of getting it, a two point two percent chance. And you think, what, you were lucky?”

“You’re just saying shit now to piss me off,” I growl.

He shakes his head and puts some space between us. “You’re not that stupid, Andre.”

“I got this liver because I was the best candidate on the list, and it was the right liver for me.”

“Sure, you’re half right. You got it because you were the best candidate. But not for whatever scientific reason your doctor told you.”

All I want to do is punch him.

“My parents selected you, Andre. They looked at all the files to decide who would be best to receive my brother’s liver. They weighed the pros and cons of who should receive the chance to be gifted with time travel, and they selected you. Who would be the best person to take that chance, who would be the least likely to reject it? You’re not special in the way you think you are. You’re special because my parents think you’re special.”

“I don’t believe you.”

But do I, though? It always felt…too perfect. Even when it happened, the perfect liver, at the right moment, on the right day? Mom and Dad told me that miracles happen, and that we don’t question them, which sounded strange to me, considering they’re scientists. But even scientists believe in a higher power. I guess miracles are just like that.

“Why?” I ask.

“Why what?”

“Keep being short with me, and I’ll leave,” I threaten. “I’m not the enemy here.”

Blake mutters something under his breath that sounds close to a string of curse words. But, like a restrained dragon, he breathes heavily through his nose and relaxes, the tenseness in his broad shoulders calming.

“Why what?” he repeats, softer this time.

“Why would they select me?”

“I told you before. We’re a dying group of people, Andre. Time travel has been in my family for generations—at least six. My mom and dad are from Traveler royalty. When my dad lost his ability to travel… It was just a glitch. It happens with age sometimes. Sometimes you lose it, sometimes it comes back, sometimes it’s limited.

“But when I was born unable to do it, and—”

“It means that the time-traveling gene is dying,” Claire says from the doorway. Both Blake and I jump. Her face is almost unreadable, like a Mona Lisa of anger, sorrow, frustration, and calculation. The only sign of genuine regret is the slow tapping of her right index finger, like Morse code, on the doorjamb.

“Andre, will you join me in the study? I think we should have a conversation, just you and me. You deserve to know the truth—the whole truth.”

Nineteen