“Here.” The word is a rasped whisper stumbling over his tongue. He points to another frame. The white backdrop remains, but the headshot is gone. Not as if the picture itself has been taken from its frame, but as though the person occupying the space has been unnaturally removed. As if they’ve beenerased.
My breath turns shallow, panic crackling across my skin. When my narrow tunnel vision widens, I see what he sees. Multiple empty portraits, blank spaces where people have been stripped away.
No.
This can’t mean they’re permanently erased from this version of our reality.
But we hadn’t fully considered the implications of William’spresence here, had we? If our universes are somehow connected, if he never goes back, it would mean he never continued to live out his existence in his timeline.
It’s as though Earth’s rotational axis tilts in the opposing direction, jerking my world off-kilter. A high-pitched ring fills my ears. I don’t believe this. I need to sit down. I need to—
My back slides against the wall as I slip down to the cold linoleum floor.
And then Sumner’s kneeling beside me, saying my name over and over again. He sounds distant compared to my own heavy breaths filling my ears. The pain in my stomach intensifies. Spots like silver stars blink in and out of my line of vision. Every single nerve along my legs feels like pulsating hot waves.
“Delaney, hey.” Concern creases between his brows. “Are you okay?”
I push sweaty strands of hair away from my forehead, my fingers coming into contact with my headband. “I need to sit for a second,” I manage. My head tips against the wall, frantic eyes clinging to his. “Do you know what this means?”
Sumner’s Adam’s apple pulses as he swallows. “I have my guesses,” he says, voice ragged. “And I think my theory may align with yours.”
I blink away tears. Of course he sees this for what it is. My heart doesn’t want to accept it, but my mind already has. William unknowingly created a hiccup in time, one that comes at a cost to our present reality.
Our universe is aware of its own anomaly. And it’s rejecting it.
It’s a theory, but the evidence is on the wall. He is the cause; the effect is not only the disappearance of the school, but the trajectory of everyone and everything it’s impacted. The people who came here to study or teach will go on to live other life paths instead, forgetting their time here as though Ivernia never existed. It’s already happening.
If William is unable to live out the rest of his life in his own timeline, if he doesn’t go on to follow the same path, then he’ll never build Ivernia and none of this will be here—these pictures, this hallway, this campus. This place, my very first home.
It is the single most terrifying revelation. I desperately want Sumner to convince me I’m wrong, though I know he won’t. He seeks answers rooted in logic, and although this theory seems otherworldly, he can’t deny the proof. This is evidence, no matter how far-fetched.
“I’m so sorry,” Sumner whispers, finding the understanding written in my worry. “I’ll do whatever it takes to try to fix this.”
I’d stupidly believed we could take our time because wehadtime. That there weren’t any consequences to William staying. And yet, there are. Irreversible ramifications.
We were focused on the wrong thing, worried about saving Ivernia from falling into the wrong hands and permanently closing. The gala doesn’t matter now. Soon there won’t be anything to save. Not if we can’t figure out how to recalibrate the timelines.
Hot tears slide down my face. “What if wecan’t?”
Sumner rolls off his shins and leans his back against the wall, stretching out his legs. He runs a hand through his hair. Thoughts race behind his eyes.
“There’s more you’re not telling me,” I say quietly.
His eyes drop to his hands, and I know what he’s about to say won’t be good.
“Please,” I urge.
I shift toward him, heart pounding. He’s hesitant to go on. It’s in the way his arms cross, how he nervously taps his pointer against his elbow.
“Do you remember,” he starts, “the first time we met in Danforth’s room? One of the posters was missing from the wall by the time we left. I was exhausted—between crew and William badgering me with questions—so I convinced myself I was seeing things. But then we went back and…I wasn’t wrong.”
Then it dawns on me.
“The first time we met in the lounge,” I whisper, dread thickening in my stomach, “you sat on that chair and it broke—”
“The back leg disappeared.” He tugs at the hair at the crown of his head. “And the rest did too, eventually. I mean, have you seen it lately?”
Burning anxiety skates across my nerves. I tuck my knees close, elbows sinking into my thighs as I squeeze my temples with my palms. If these are things we’ve noted, what about everything that’s gone unnoticed?
