Jack’s eyes flared. His voice was hoarse but desperate. “Time travel is real. Iknowit is! If you’d just listen—justlisten—you’d understand!”
He slammed his hand across the podium, scattering his notes and charts. Papers fluttered like dying leaves to the floor. Then, without another word, he spun and bolted offstage.
“Jack, wait!” I shouted, launching from my seat. Metal groaned. People gasped. I shoved past bodies and stumbled down the aisle, slamming into shoulders and elbows.
By the time I reached the backstage corridor, it was empty.
Jack James was gone.
Chapter 27
Alina
My heart pounded as I tore through the empty hallway, desperate to escape the auditorium’s suffocating murk. I burst through the exit and into the blinding daylight, gasping for air.
Up ahead, Jack was already sprinting toward the clock tower, his body fueled by something wild and unhinged. I didn’t hesitate. I forced my legs to move faster, lungs burning, the world narrowing to the figure ahead.
What is he doing?
The thought burrowed in my gut.
He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t try to kill himself, would he?
He was fragile. Desperate. Shattered. And yet… I needed him. I needed the knowledge he carried, the path to the Sun and Moon Daggers.
Jack disappeared through the tower’s arched entrance just as I reached the lawn. Panic gripped me. The vibrant green beneath my feet blurred as I raced across it.
I skidded beneath the stone archway. There were spiraling stairs. Without a second thought, I launched upward.
My feet slammed against ancient stone as I ascended the winding staircase, two steps at a time. Sweat stung my eyes, trickled down my spine. My breath came in harsh, ragged gasps.
When I finally reached the top, I collapsed against a pillar, chest heaving, the wind knocked clean out of me.
Then I saw him.
Jack stood near the open window, one foot braced on the ledge as if preparing to climb out. The sun hit his sweat-slicked hair, casting shadows across his face. He didn’t notice me.
His voice broke the silence, low and bitter.
“I’ve never been accepted,” he muttered. “That idiot Carlton Smith—always making me his target in sixth grade. He loved watching me trip over myself in gym class. Made him feel powerful.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “And Amanda Ray… senior year. Her voice dripped with disgust when someone asked if she was taking me to prom. ‘Jack James?’” He mimicked her tone, sharp and mocking. “‘No way. He’s like a brain in a jar or something.’ Then she laughed and said, ‘I’m going with Dylan. He’s got muscles. Jack’s just... weird.’”
His voice broke, and I saw it all for a moment—years of ridicule, rejection, invisibility. The world hadn’t just ignored Jack James. It had mocked him repeatedly, until he became the punchline of his own story.
And now, he was on the edge.
He stood at the window, staring at the unforgiving ground below.
His voice wavered with pent-up rage. “Jeremiah Schmidt—my high school philosophy instructor—he loved humiliating me. ‘Mr. James,’ he said with that smug grin, egging the class on, ‘if you can’t keep your head out of the clouds with these fantasy theories about time travel, maybe you should transfer to a science fiction course. This class is for serious minds.’”
Jack’s jaw clenched, his fingers tightening against the window frame.
“I’ve been the joke my entire life,” he confessed. “No one’s ever believed in me. No one’s ever said, ‘I see you.’ I’m the biggest goddamn failure alive.”
A blaze of frustration lit in my chest.Man up, I wanted to shout.Stop crying over the past. Stop begging the world to accept you. Take responsibility and grow a spine.
Instead, I thought of Balthazar—his iron will, his brutal resolve, the way he stood tall even when the world was burning beneath him. That was strength. That was power. Jack was a shattered mirror, desperate for someone to pick up the pieces for him.
