“Where are you traveling next week?” Dad swallowed a mouthful of peas and met my gaze.

Our dark eyes matched—chocolate brown threaded with gold—though he didn’t wear glasses. I didn’t need them outside of recording memories, either, but they were like a familiar friend by now. Most Historians wore them all the time.

“Our next trip is to New York City, 1911.”

I smiled and waited. This was a game Jonah had begun years ago, telling Dad a year and a place and seeing if he could recall the event. Instead of the competitive glint that typically shone in my father’s eyes, a trembling fear skittered past.

Then it disappeared, gone too quickly for me to ferret out its source. He swallowed another bite of vegetables, tapping his fork against his chin. “Plenty going on in that time and place, but given that you’re still training, I’d have to guess the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire.”

“Right.” I stuffed more food in my mouth and chewed.

His knowledge didn’t surprise me, but the fear in his eyes lodged a trickle of trepidation at the base of my neck.

The Triangle Fire remained a fixture on the apprentice training schedule, but was kind of a mixed bag. The Historians considered it an important stop because it reminded humanity what could happen when desperate circumstances remained hidden behind walls erected by rich, socially irresponsible men, but the event also birthed labor unions in the United States, which had, after intense reflection, been deemed a detriment to society as a whole.

“When is your first certification exam?” Mom asked, her light gaze holding on to mine.

“We’ve still got a few months, but Analeigh’s already got a study group going. We’ve got a session tonight after I get back.”

“What’s on the first round?”

“Genesis foundation, the Originals, function and location of planets. First and second year stuff. No problem.”

“Well, Analeigh is right. It still can’t hurt to go over it and make sure.”

I managed to avoid rolling my eyes, but it was a struggle. My mother thought Analeigh was the best thing since hover transports. She was my complete opposite in almost every way, and I suspected my mother thought my best friend’s natural caution kept me in line.

After dinner, I helped her clear the dishes from the table and pile them into the sanitizer. It was seven-thirty—time to head back to the Academy. I excused myself to use the toilet, even though I didn’t have to go.

My parents probably knew that I snuck into Jonah’s room every time I came home, which wasn’t all that often—every three months or so—but they never asked why or bothered me about it. Papers covered my brother’s walls, leaving no hint of the sturdy metal behind them, and reflected the glow of the blue moon that hung close to Sanchi. They were pages from actual books, mostly religious and historical texts, that had all been transcribed into the digital library in the Archives. I wasn’t here to read them; I could do that on the comps any time. It was the smell that drew me back—stale sweat, lingering male cleansing powder, and a citrusy scent that reminded me of Jonah more than anything else, the result of my brother’s strange obsession with oranges. When he had apprenticed as a Historian, he’d lifted them from every site where they existed, no matter how many times the overseers sanctioned him.

Tanis, the farthest planet from Sanchi, grew citrus trees, but the transports never made it all the way here before the fruit started to spoil. The oranges Jonah brought back from his trips to Earth Before exploded in my mouth, dribbled juice down my chin, and gave me a sensation I’d never experienced until my first observation—one of being suspended in a brief, intense moment. Alive.

I sank down on the edge of Jonah’s neatly made bed with a sigh, running my fingers lightly over the wrinkles in his dark blue quilt. I loved my friends, but they weren’t my brother. They didn’t understand the wrenching loss that still startled me when I remembered I couldn’t talk to him, or the resentment that stemmed from what he’d done to our family. The increased scrutiny applied to me at the Academy just because we shared DNA.

The quiet of Jonah’s space pressed against me, kneading peace into my muscles until a short beep shattered the moment. I looked down at my watch, expecting the noise to be the alarm warning me of my approaching pass expiration, but found that, as usual, I’d forgotten to grab it.

The sound came again, and I listened for a couple of seconds before exploring the stand beside his bed. The metal transferred a chill to my fingertips and I was about to give up when the beeping erupted again, definitely coming from inside the piece of furniture. My fingers hit the bottom of the drawer about two inches down, but the front made it appear at least double that depth. I rapped on the base, receiving a hollow echo that confirmed my suspicions—a false bottom.

It appeared Jonah kept secrets even before abandoning us.

My brother had been a teenage boy, so perhaps I would regret finding what he saw fit to hide, but if the drawer harbored naughty pictures or lube or something else disgusting, I would deal. Most boys hid that crap under their beds, anyway. If Jonah had gone to the trouble of crafting a false bottom, he must have squirreled away something good. Three broken fingernails later, I’d discovered a prize worth all ten.

Jonah’s travel cuff sat in my lap, its red lights winking at me.

It hadn’t been deactivated—I didn’t even know if they could be remotely disabled—and the cuffs weren’t assigned to specific Historians. They didn’t need to be since the bio-tats tracked our movements. I’d always assumed Jonah had taken his with him.

I ignored my excitement over all the possibilities of owning my own illicit cuff and grabbed the only other thing in the drawer—Jonah’s light blue True Companion card. His name and birthday were stamped across the top: Jonah Samuel Vespasian (October 3, 2538–), and under that, the name of his perfect match:

Rosie Shapiro (February 17 ^th , 1894–March 25, 1911)

Sad. Rose Shapiro had just turned seventeen when she’d died, and given the exact date of her death, I immediately wondered if she’d died in the fire my friends and I would observe in a few days—another horrible event that would be tough to stomach. I tucked the card into my waistband, thinking that I would research Miss Shapiro before our visit to the Triangle Fire, and slid the heavy metal cuff up my arm until it stayed put above my elbow. I’d thrown a long-sleeved Kevlar on over my tank tonight, but the tight black material didn’t conceal much of anything. I’d have to try to pull my cloak on quickly so that my parents wouldn’t notice.

My mom met me at the end of the hallway, tucking her long blond bangs behind her ear. “Oh, there you are, honey, I was coming to check. Everything all right?”

Her blue eyes softened as she took in my face; we both knew I’d been in Jonah’s room and not in the toilet. I bit my lip and nodded, surprising us both by wrapping my arms around her back, careful not to let the cuff bang against her. “I miss you guys.”

“We miss you, too.” She squeezed hard for several seconds, then pulled away and pushed my long waves over my shoulders. “Please make an appointment for grooming. Your hair needs a cut, and I can’t believe Analeigh is letting you get away with those eyebrows.”

I snickered. “The pointed looks have turned to subtle hints.”

“Your father hoped you’d be able to stay a little longer, maybe watch the System Reports, but I see your pass only gives you another twenty minutes.”

“Maybe next time.”

Every single evening the reports replayed a significant event that happened on the same day on Earth Before, and the Elders very rarely chose to remind people of the good decisions that were made. Those weren’t what landed us here.