Pretty, I thought. Very pretty.
I felt nothing.
I knew I should feel something. Awe. Homesickness. Even irritation at the cold. Instead there was only quiet. My feelings existed somewhere out of reach, like they belonged to someone else. The world kept being beautiful or terrible orinteresting, and I kept noticing it, cataloguing it, understanding intellectually that I should react.
But I didn't.
It had been two years since Nathan rejected the mate bond and maybe eighteen months since I stopped crying. Stopped hoping. Stopped caring if I woke up the next morning.
The snow was still pretty, though. I could see that much.
"Bloody hell," Stephen said from the front seat, breath fogging the window. "Look at this place. It's like a film set."
"UNESCO World Heritage Site," Dev added, pulling his phone out. "Sixteenth century. Renaissance planned city. They call it the Pearl of—"
"If you say 'Pearl of the Renaissance' one more time, I'm throwing your phone in the snow," Stephen said, but he was grinning. "You've been reading that Wikipedia article for two hours."
"Someone should know where we are."
"We're in Poland. In January. About to get hypothermia. There. I know where we are."
They were always like this. Bickering, joking, filling silences. Three weeks of training had welded them together. I stayed on the edge, close enough to be polite, far enough that they stopped trying to include me in everything.
They were nice. I liked them.
But I couldn't make myself care.
"You alright back there, Ellie?" Stephen turned in his seat, concern creasing his forehead. "You've been quiet."
"I'm fine," I said. "Just tired."
"You're always tired," Dev said, but his tone was gentle. Not accusatory.
Because they'd noticed the way I picked at food during meals and the way I politely answered questions but never asked them. The way I smiled at the right moments but never laughed.
They thought I was stressed and overwhelmed by the mission. In all fairness, I probably would have been at any other time, but they had no idea I'd been like this long before the Council recruited me.
"Well, we're here now," Stephen said, clapping his hands together. "Time travel tomorrow! How cool is that?"
"Very cool," Dev said. "If the weather holds and the site preparation finishes on schedule. I was told the two scientists coming with us have been here for a week or so already."
"One day until we save the world." Stephen's grin was bright, almost manic. "No pressure."
They were nervous. I could hear it beneath the jokes. Dev had barely slept last night—I'd heard him pacing in the room next to mine at the London hotel. Stephen kept checking and rechecking his bag, like the contents might have changed since the last time he looked.
They were scared, but they were also excited about what we were about to do. We were going back in time when no one else ever had and possibly even meeting people from twenty five thousand years ago.
I envied them that ability to feel fear and excitement and anticipation all tangled together. Or the ability to feel anything at all.
"Come on then," Stephen said, pushing his door open. "Let's see what kind of hotel the Council's put us in."
The car door opened, letting in a rush of air that bit at my cheeks and cleared my lungs. I tugged my coat closer and stepped out after them.
My boots broke the perfect surface of snow with each step. White clouds formed and vanished with each breath. Church bells tolled somewhere beyond the buildings, their sound dampened by the snowfall. Only a handful of people moved through the square—locals with shopping bags, touristssnapping pictures by the frozen fountain. They all had purpose. Presence. Substance.
I had none of these things.
Hotel Arkadia announced itself with understated gold lettering against weathered stone. Its tall windows and classic facade promised discretion, comfort without ostentation.
