Roman stood, abruptly, and made a show of tugging his jacket straight. He wouldn’t look at her. “It’s getting late.”
“You aren’t leaving.” Dorothy sat up taller. “We need to talk about this.”
“Later,” Roman said, glancing at her. He looked on the verge of saying something else but only shook his head and took up a glass of bourbon, downing it. He jerked his chin in goodbye and started for the door.
The nerve, Dorothy thought. She stood to follow him, noticing as she did that the guy at the bar had twisted around on his stool and was watching her. Her eyes landed on him as she made her way to the front of the bar, and she froze, feeling slapped.
Ash.
Ash was sitting at the bar, staring at her. His expression was stormy, eyebrows pulled down low on his forehead, gold eyes blazing. Electricity seared the air between them.
Dorothy’s heart was doing something complicated inside of her chest.
What was he doing here?
He was the one who broke their gaze first. He stood and wove his way to the door at the back of the bar. He lingered for a moment and, though he didn’t look back at her again, Dorothy understood.
He wanted her to follow him.
LOG ENTRY— JULY 2, 2074
06:32 HOURS
THE WORKSHOP
Today’s crash: Dog darts across the street, causing a mother of three to swerve and drive her Chevy Avalanche into a tree.
No one dies in this one—not even the damn dog—but I’m going to keep this mother of three from having to replace her windshield if it’s the last thing I do.
Don’t even wish me luck. I don’t need luck. I’m a man of science, for Christ’s sake.
UPDATE—12:33 HOURS
This is almost comical at this point. Seriously, I’m sitting here laughing hysterically because I honestly don’t know what else to do. If I don’t laugh, I think I might cry.
I found the dog. I figured this time, it might be easier to deal with a dog than a person, you know? How hard is it to control a dog?! All I was going to do was get the dog on a leash and keep him from running across the street as the woman’s Chevy Avalanche drove by.
But the dog hated the damn leash. As soon as I clipped it onto his collar, he started freaking out, thrashing and barking and pulling. I tried to keep hold of him, but he was too strong. He knocked me off my feet and darted into the road—
Right in front of the Avalanche. Which swerved. And hit a tree, cracking its windshield.
You know what this means, right? It means I caused the crash. I grabbed the dog and put him on the leash, and that’s why he freaked out and darted across the street.
Did I cause the other crashes, too? Did delaying that driver at the diner cause him to drive more recklessly to make up for lost time? Did I put the idea to get on his motorcycle that day into that kid’s head, just by showing up and telling him not to?
Is all of this my fault?
24
Ash
Ash moved down the hallway in a daze, his heart hammering in his ears. Black Cirkus posters blanketed the walls—THE PAST IS OUR RIGHT!—and any other time he might have ripped them down. But not now. Now, he barely saw them. His mind was focused on only one thing:
Would she come?
He hoped she would. It embarrassed him how much he hoped for this, but there it was. He felt like he was lit from within, like there was fire blazing in his chest, eating away at his skin and muscles and bones.
The hall grew cooler as he made his way toward the bathrooms, and a shiver passed through him. Distantly, he heard the sound of water sloshing against the docks on the other side of the bar’s thin wall, wind pushing into the side of the building.
There was an extra door at the end of the hallway, an exit. Ash glanced over his shoulder. Would Dorothy know to follow him?
He pushed the back door open—
Dorothy was just outside, waiting. Ash stepped onto the dock with her, letting the bar door close behind him. “You’re already here,” he said, surprised.
“I thought you . . . wanted me to come,” Dorothy said, hesitant, fingers twisting around the braid hanging over her shoulder. It was messy, white curls escaping and frizzing in the damp. There were already a few