“Why?” Jo wanted to punch him and kiss him all at the same time.
“This is the only way we can protect you. Somewhere, you know that’s true.”
It was like being transported back in time. Had he not said something similar to her long ago? If he had, her mind couldn’t locate the memory; everything had gone soft. “What? Why would I need to be protected? And from what?” she asked no one, because the man who held all the answers had run from her once again.
Chapter 10
Seven-Hundred and Thirty
IT WASN’T EXACTLY a surprise to anyone (least of all Jo, given the prior night’s encounter) that they were ushered into the briefing room the next morning. That didn’t mean Jo wasn’t instantly filled with dread over the fact. Breakfast was bypassed, the television blank and silent, and like a funeral march, everyone filed in to take their seats.
Snow’s words had circulated in her brain clean through to the morning and played underneath his appearance in the common room, announcing their presences were required in the briefing room.
Though when Jo looked around the table at the rest of the group, she would have sworn by the atmosphere that everyone else already knew. Everyone seemed to share the same exhaustion, the same forlorn expression. Everyone except Pan, that is; she just looked mildly amused.
Jo frowned at the now hazy memory of their last encounter that was stinging at the edges of her mind. Pan’s eyes landed on hers and Jo promptly looked away. Nico had been right, Pan was likely just making trouble for trouble’s sake. Well, Jo wouldn’t give her the upper hand. She forcefully shifted her attention back to the matter at hand.
We are to prevent the loss of all life.
How were they supposed to deal with such an impossible wish?
To prevent something on such a drastic scale, especially when so much damage had already been done. . . there was no way. But Snow had acted as though they had no choice but to try. Despite herself, Jo couldn’t help the nervous intrigue worming its way into her stomach. Did he truly have the kind of power that could prevent a volcano from erupting? Could they even hope to close the Severity of Exchange on something like that? How exactly would they handle the fact that the life had, already, been lost?
As if on cue, Snow weaved his way in one fluid and authoritative motion from the doorway to the head of the table. It had already been quiet in the briefing room before, but with Snow’s arrival, the quiet seemed to shift into an almost tangible thing, heavy and expectant. Like some grotesque, pregnant monster ready to pop.
“You all know why you’re here,” Snow started, looking to each of them in turn. When his eyes locked briefly with Jo’s, she swore she felt her heart stutter. Now wasnotthe time to recall the deeply vulnerable man who had come to her the night before. If she reached for anything of that memory, she’d reach for her frustration at his vagueness first. After a second to steel himself, that same detached expression settled like a second skin over his features. Snow lifted a hand. “Let us begin.”
Much like every wish since Jo’s arrival at the Society, she watched with undeniable fascination as the table came to life, changing and sifting through forms and images until settling on one everyone recognized instantly. They’d been watching the same pictures flash across various news broadcasts for days. Except, where Jo had begun to expect destruction and heartache, all she saw was life, normality, and a country untouched by catastrophe.
“What is this?” she heard herself say, though she didn’t recall giving her lips the express command to move. Her body continued on its own accord, and Jo felt herself inch forward in her seat, as if getting a closer look at the images might help her understand them better. “A recording? Or—”
“As of roughly nine hours ago, our current timestamp has been updated,” Snow offered, as if that explained anything at all. It was a simple statement with an impossible implication that her mind rebelled against. Surely Snow didn’t mean—
“Snow.” Eslar’s voice was low, almost scolding, despite its usual tenor. “What does this mean for the Severity of Exchange?”
Before Snow could answer, as though Eslar’s interjection had awoken them from a stupor, everyone at the table seemed to come back to life. Jo blinked blearily, trying to join the rest of them.
“How far back did we go then?” Wayne asked at about the same time Nico said, “What were the protocols of the wish?”
The questions seemed almost frantic. The only people not chiming in were the usually silent Samson and a rather shaken-looking Takako.
All at once, it came rushing back.
Prevent all loss of life.
Without realizing it, Jo had gotten to her feet, the movement bringing the sudden buzz of the room back into a tense hush. She understood in one sudden moment of clarity what he had meant when he had said he’d “done all he could.”
“You rewound time,” Jo demanded, looking past the footage of a destruction-free Japan to stare down their powerful leader. “You reset to before the disaster.”
“I did.” There was no hesitation in his voice, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t without its unspoken consequences. Snow gave a wave of his hand and the image of a young boy appeared on the table. As was the case with their wishers, there was some basic information laid out (it always reminded Jo of a character bio from one of Yuusuke’s video games). “Our wisher is Shiro Yamada from the Hakone region. His circle was made of many once-living things, ashes—” Snow didn’t clarify further. He didn’t have to. “Thus, the scale of his wish is. . . quite large. His wish is for us to ensure survival of any and all Japanese citizens in Mt. Fuji’s path.”
“So we’re not meant to stop the volcano,” Jo elaborated for him, mostly just to get the words out into the open, prove to herself and everyone else that the pieces had fallen into place: a jigsaw puzzle glued to the board. “We just need to save the people?”
“An evacuation? That could work, perhaps. . .” Nico frowned, looking from the table to Snow and back. “But what’s the current timestamp?”
“A month before the eruption.”
“A month. We have a month to get hundreds of thousands of people out of the line of fire.” Jo balked, running a shaking hand through her hair. With a desperate flick of her wrist, she wrestled her watch free of her hoodie’s sleeve. There, in soft, illuminating proof, was the number766:00. Seven-hundred and thirty hours added to the time she’d collected from their past few wishes. One month’s worth of hours. He wasn’t joking about any of it.
