Those papers had no drawings, and no numbers, but a single word written over and over in different sizes, different pressures—almost like the artist had been in different states of mind.
SILAS
SILAS-SILAS-SILAS
Some letters were neat, some barely legible. Some were scratched so deep into the paper the pen had torn through to the wall beneath.
“Who isSilas?” asked one or the other.
I couldn’t tell who because I was too busy falling—whether it was that hole I always fell down or another—didn’t really matter. That word kept me under, kept my ears full, my mind racing.
The others talked, shared their theories. I moved deeper into the room, stepped over piles of paper, crouched besidethe bed as if possessed. There were more drawings there, of faces.
Thesameface, actually, drawn again and again with the left hand, judging by the angle of the strokes. No features. Just the outline—sharp jaw, long hair, hollow cheeks. No eyes or nose or lips, like the artist couldn’t quiteseewhat he was looking for in his head.
I knew this because it had happened to me plenty of times, especially with Jinx’s face. I kept forgetting the details, and I always had to turn to pictures to remember.
But that wasn’t the reason why I was frozen in place so completely.
No—the reason was that Iknewthat face shape. Time’s Teeth, Iknewit, and if I were to see a picture, just a glimpse, I’d remembereverythingabout it.
“What is it?” March asked. He’d come close and had squatted down near me, and I hadn’t even realized it.
“It’s…it’s…” I shook my head, the words refusing to leave my lips at first. “It’s a face. I think I know it.”
He reached for one of the other identical drawings on the bed and analyzed it, thick brows narrowed, lips parted.
And while he did, I analyzed him—the shape of his jaw, the color of his skin, the curve of his nose.
How did I geteverythingright in my drawings? How had I known the exact shape of his nostrils?I hadn’t missed a single line. Not a single one.
Then March looked up at me, and I fell again, but this time in his eyes. In all the colors that made them. Sparetime save me, all of it was brand new to me, andancientat the same time.
My own mind was running from me. I couldn’t catch my thoughts.
“Ora.”
His voice vibrated throughout me.
“Do you know where you know it from?”
He’d asked me a question, which made sense because his lips moved. I just hadn’t heard his voice at all, so lost in my own head.
“I don’t know,” I finally whispered.
“Is ithim?” Seth was suddenly on my other side, taking the paper from my hand, for which I was thankful.
“How wouldweknow?” said Levana.
“Could be. That’s the only name written here—Silas,” said Cook, then flinched. “It’ssofamiliar, that name. I just can’t figure out where I heard it.”
“Hey—what if this is it?” said Russ. “What if this is the proof the Timekeepers wanted us to find?”
It would make sense, wouldn’t it? There were numbers here and drawings that we didn’t understand, but maybe we weren’t meant to. And the guy who’d made them was clearly a Timekeeper himself but…
It didn’t feel like it. It wasn’t it.
Thiswasn’t it. My whole being said it. Every single instinct in my body.
