Lyall squeezes my forearms. “Nothing that happened that day was your fault.”
A part of me wants to ask Lyall to show me what happened that day. Another part of me never wants to know. “Lyall—”
“Now, where are we going?” Lyall asks, his smile cheery but forced. Guess we’re changing the subject.
“It’s not far. Just stay close. It’s pretty busy today.” I take his hand and lead the way.
Bryant Park still has its Christmas market up, and the pathways are flooded with tourists buying overpriced food from vendors. Lyall sniffs the air constantly, taking in the surrounding sights with wonder.
“Do you know what ice skating is?”
Lyall’s face lights up. “Aye. Skates are a useful way to traverse patches of ice. It can be fun as well, so long as you avoid weak spots in the ice—” His eyes widen, lips going slack in horror.
I follow his gaze, but I don’t see anything unusual. “Lyall, what is it?”
He yanks me close, whispering in my ear, “You know nothing of your past, remember that. We’re on a date, nothing else.”
Before I can ask, Lyall plasters on a smile and waves. “Ms. Cartwright! A beautiful day, is it not?”
A woman in a black Canada Goose coat looks from Lyall to me with suspicion before she gives us a smile as equally fake as Lyall’s. “Mr. Erikson, how are you?”
What the hell? Who is this lady?
“I-I am well.” Lyall’s hand trembles in my grip. Whoever she is, Lyall is terrified of her, and that alone makes me immediately distrustful of her.
“Who’s this?” I ask Lyall, because seriously, who is this bitch and why is he so freaked out?
“Ms. Cartwright, this is Soren.”
“How nice to meet you.” She couldn’t sound less sincere if she tried. “Mr. Erikson, how are your brothers?”
Lyall squeezes my hand so hard, I have to bite my lip so I don’t grunt in pain. “They’re fine.”
A man, British by his accent, calls out, “Lena!” To my surprise, Lyall immediately relaxes as a blond man makes his way over, carrying a tray with two drinks. “Did you find us any seats?”
“No, they’re all taken.”
The man nudges her. “Want to head back to the office then?”
She sighs. “A shame. It really is a lovely day. Nice to meet you, Soren. Enjoy yourselves, and Lyall, remember what we talked about.”
At those words, Lyall’s shoulders stiffen. “How could I forget?”
The blond man tugs on her elbow, and they walk off together, chatting.
I round on Lyall. “What in the hell—”
He puts an arm around my shoulders and leads me farther into the park. “Not here.”
My heart races as Lyall stops us by the carousel. Obnoxious carnival music plays, and children laugh and shriek as they enjoy the ride. It’s noisy, but I suspect that’s what Lyall wanted. “That was Helena Cartwright. She’s in charge of the TTA’s branch in New York.”
That’s the same agency Fergus mentioned. “They’re connected to the Council, right?”
Lyall nods, mouth pinched in a grim line. “Aye. She’s the reason I was able to travel to this timeline. Anyone wishingto travel between realms needs approval from the TTA. Unsanctioned time travel is prohibited.”
“But I never got approval to travel.” My stomach starts to cramp as the realization festers inside me. “Would they erase people’s memories if they found out about time travel?”
Lyall sighs. “Aye, if they were ordered to by the Council.”
