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Which means that, somehow, I’ve got to find a way to make sure she stays.

There’s no way I’m going to fall back asleep now, so I go straight to the hospital instead to take another look at Quinn’s scans. There’s got to be something I’ve missed. There’s got to be a way to save her. It’s light out by the time I’ve showered, but the city is only beginning to rise. Birds and the clamor of garbage trucks in the distance are all I hear as I walk on silent streets.

The night staff is still on duty when I reach my floor, heavy-eyed and paper-laden as they get ready to change shifts. A few brows are raised when I walk by the nurses’ station, but they’re too eager to get home to worry about why I’m here so early. I unlock my office door but freeze as I cross the threshold. There is a woman at my desk—inside an office to which only I and one other person have a key.

I grip the door handle, stunned into silence. How? How could this woman possibly have gotten in?

I’ve never seen her before but there’s something intensely familiar about her. The pale blond hair, the fine-boned beauty. There’s this feeling inside me when I see her face—rage, terror—that I can’t begin to explain.

She takes in my shock, unimpressed, then looks back casually at the scans she has spread on my desk. Quinn’s brain scans, placed in chronological order. “It looks like nature’s done my work for me,” she says, her mouth curving into a smile. “Hasn’t it?”

Stop her, my sluggish, stunned brain commands. I lunge, but before I’ve reached the desk she vanishes. Only the scrubs remain behind, sitting in a pile on my chair.

37

QUINN

The woods behind Nick and Ryan’s house are finally free of snow. There are buds on the trees, tiny green shoots poking out of the dirt. Once we fix the steps, we’ll finally be able to get back into the treehouse.

“I can’t believe your parents let you do that,” I say, watching Nick hammer a nail into the wood.

“My dad had a treehouse when he was a kid,” he replies. “And he built the whole thing himself.”

“Does he still go in it?” I ask.

“Adults don’t like treehouses.”

“I will,” I insist. “I’m going to keep coming up here, no matter how old I am.”

He thinks for a moment and then shrugs, as if he’s announcing a decision he was already pretty certain of. “I think I’ll marry you when I grow up,” he says.

I bite my lip to hide the sudden burst of delight in my chest. “Okay,” I tell him. “Sure.”

I go home to my mother and report what Nick has said as I’m falling asleep. “Maybe I’ll go to the future and see if it happens,” she says. She’s teasing me. The room is so dark I can’t see her face, but I hear the smile in her voice.

“You’re not supposed to go to the future,” I remind her. The stories she tells me each night about time-traveling are always about the past, because she says jumping to the future is dangerous, and you may learn things you wish you didn’t know. She promises when I’m old enough she’ll take me with her, but until then, I can only live through her adventures. “Tell me about visiting the soldier. That’s my favorite.”

“That’s my favorite too,” she says, her voice a little sad. “But you’ll have stories of your own someday. Better ones.”

My fears creep in. She’s so certain I can do what she does, but if she won’t jump to the future, how does she know for sure? “What if I can’t jump like you?”

Her laughter fills the quiet room. “Oh, sweet girl. Your abilities will make mine look childlike by contrast.”

“But when?” I plead.

She pulls the covers up to my chin and plants a kiss on my forehead. “You’ll jump,” she whispers, “on the day when you need it most.”

Intersect, the stunning conclusion to Nick and Quinn’s story, is now available. Turn the page to learn more!