Chapter 12

So.

Jasper lives with his mom.

Or, I guess, he lives above his mother's garage, while she lives in the main house.

With his sisters.

It's past the time of evening when most people are in bed, but Jasper's family must all be night owls, because as he and I stand frozen like deer in the driveway, three other young women appear on the porch behind their mother. They're all in their pajamas too, but they look very awake and—unfortunately— very curious at what we're doing here.

Jasper seems to be as confused as they are.

"How come you're all still up?" he says.

"We're having a girls' night!" the youngest one says. Even without being introduced, the shared traits are plain to see. They all have the same soft brown hair, same hazel green eyes, same smattering of freckles on their nose. Even their mother is cut from the same cloth. Whoever Jasper's father is—was, I remind myself he said his father died—he didn't win the genetic lottery when it came to family resemblance.

"Movie night," one of the other sisters says.

"Do you want brownies? Sierra and I made brownies," another says.

The sisters all start chattering at the same time, and Jasper throws me a nervous glance. His mom is watching me with the same expression, and finally she holds her hands up, shushing her daughters.

"I think Jasper and his . . . friend . . . might have other plans."

Oh, great. Pretending to be Jasper's boy toy at the office was one thing. Meeting his family is a whole other one.

But maybe it's the anticipation on the sisters' faces as they eye me and shoot giggling glances in their brother's direction. Or maybe it's the complete lack of judgement in Jasper's mother's eyes. Or maybe it's only because, not that long ago, I was about to walk into my home, knowing it meant death, and now I have a completely different home offering me entry and?—

"Are there nuts in the brownies?" I ask. "I'm allergic."

The youngest sister smiles. "No."

"Is there mustard?" Jasper asks, which sets off a wave of howling laughter and disgust from his family as we follow them through the front door.

The house is... well, it's a house, exactly the way you'd expect. Worn furniture, too many shoes by the front door. The TV is on, frozen as a man and woman go in for a kiss in the rain. The den smells distinctly of popcorn, but the kitchen, as we make our way through the house, is all chocolate.

"You're late," one of the sisters says.

"We waited for you," another one follows.

"You promised you wouldn't miss movie night," the third says.

Jasper throws me a quick look. "I, uh... something came up."

"At the hospital?" his mother asks.

"Yes. At the hospital. We got held late after... uh..." Another glance from Jasper. This one is a clear call for help.

"Someone died."

The kitchen goes quiet as five pairs of Jackson family eyes turn to me. I shrink back into the collar of my shirt—Jasper's shirt, which is too big for me, but gives me a better place to hide—on instinct, wishing suddenly I'd pushed harder to go face down Indigo than land here.

Jasper's mother's face is stricken and she's got one hand over her heart. "That's so sad."

"She was very old," I stumble onward. "An old lady. Very sick. She was—" I finally find the off switch to my mouth when Jasper puts a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"I thought you were working in pediatrics," the oldest sister says.

"I am." Jasper smiles. "But Morgan here is, um... general surgery. He was on call tonight when the old lady... when she came in."

Great. Not awkward at all. Do they notice I'm wearing their brother's shirt? What do they think that means? I bet they can't even begin to guess.

"Who wants brownies?" Jasper's mom says, and suddenly we are all very interested in the half-empty pan sitting on the counter.

The brownies are, in fact, delicious. Dark and chocolaty and not a nut to be seen. I have two while Jasper and his family talk around me. His sisters, once they stand down from interrogation mode, are great. The oldest, Sierra, is studying to be a physiotherapist. The middle, Amelia, wants to be a teacher. And the youngest, Lexi, who looks like she's about fourteen, says she's going to be a lawyer, and the general pause that follows the statement is so short I almost don't catch it, but I do see the silent exchange between Jasper and his mom. Just a faint pursing of lips and the raising of an eyebrow, and then the room fills with laughter again. I can only assume whatever just happened has something to do with the fact Lexi is wearing a nasal canula and wheeling a small oxygen tank behind her, but I don't ask about it.

"So, Morgan," Jasper's mother says. "Are you a surgeon at the hospital with Jasper?"

Oh. I didn't realize we'd have to talk about me next. But I straighten my shoulders and put on my best face.

"Sure am." I force a smile. "Doing my residency, actually, so... not fully a surgeon yet. Still getting there."

Jasper's hand is on my shoulder again, and I lean into it without meaning to because it offers some small comfort in this room full of strangers. I blush as his mother looks between that hand and me and up to her son. Her scrutiny leaves me feeling vulnerable, like she'll be disappointed when it turns out her son and I aren't really together, but I won't embarrass him by shrugging away.

When Lexi starts to yawn, the whole household announces unanimously that it's very late and past everyone's bedtime. Jasper kisses his mother, teases his sisters a moment longer, then stands expectantly by the front door while I give polite goodbyes and thanks for the brownies.

"Come back anytime," Jasper's mom says. "We never meet any of Jasper's friends. If you're like him, you work too hard. Friday is pizza night, we always order too much. There would be plenty for you if you stopped by."

My throat thickens at her invitation, and I ignore the twinge of envy. I guess this is the difference between a mom and Mother. One who made brownies and has movie nights. Mine told me about the bad people in the world and how I was inadequate to fight them. In contrast, Jasper's mom calls out after us as we cross the driveway, telling Jasper not to stay up too late and me not to be shy about sneaking back into the kitchen for more brownies.

It's all so shockingly normal, and underneath my envy and relief is a current of annoyance that Jasper has chosen the life he has while his family waits at home and believes a lie. It's a privilege to have this. If he ever gets caught or hurt, they're going to be so hurt too. When they finally learn he's not a doctor, that betrayal will cut deeply. Not to mention, if Wolfe knows where Jasper lives, he has easy access to Jasper's innocent family members to use as leverage, and they won't even see it coming. Risking them like this is beyond thoughtless and selfish.

But when I open my mouth as we enter his apartment, he holds up a hand. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"What?"

"You don't get to ask about my family."

"But—"

He goes to yank his hat off his head, then must remember I'm still wearing it, so he stuffs his fingers in his hair instead, pulling on the strands in frustration.

"I'm so tired of fighting with you, Morgan. Can we stop with the judgement for a little while, at least?"

My mouth falls open. "I wasn't?—"

"You were." He flops down at the edge of his bed. The apartment is a basic studio with an efficiency kitchen, a bed against one wall, a desk with an elaborate computer setup, and a door I assume leads to a bathroom. Jasper scratches at his scalp in frustration. "You were going to ask me if my mother knows about what I do when it's obvious she doesn't. I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

I have to clench my teeth not to dive right into the argument. But whether we talk about it or not, I can't reconcile the man who teased his sister in the kitchen with the man chumming it up with Bobby and Leo and builds secure servers to keep secrets for people like Walter Wolfe. And I want to, because on top of everything, I can't reconcile how much I want to kiss him again with how completely inappropriate it would be to do anything of the kind with someone like him.

I sit down next to him, even though it feels like the space between us has never been bigger and somehow, it's always my doing. I slide off my shoes, mostly for something to do in the uncomfortable silence. Jasper stands, and my heart squeezes with worry that I really have upset him. He goes to the desk, sitting at the computer with his back to me. He types wordlessly, keys clicking, as the system boots up. I wait, quietly examining the back of his neck where his hair thins away at the nape, and the way the curve of his shoulders stretches the jersey of his T-shirt.

"So," I say, trying to sound casual. "Lexi is..."

He sighs. His head drops, and the clack of the keyboard falls away. But finally, he turns. He says, "It's called Emmanuel Stanley syndrome. It causes a progressive thickening in the lining of the lungs and makes it hard to get enough oxygen."

Considering how much I've thought about death—my mother's and, more recently, my own—suffocation has always terrified me. Probably because of my allergies. To slowly realize your body is going to lose the fight for more air, I can't imagine anything scarier. At least in my case, all I have to do is avoid things like murder pickles and onions. It's controllable, and as long as I'm careful, it doesn't get worse.

"Has she been sick long?" I ask.

"Pretty much her whole life." He glances over his shoulder at me, and his eyes are tired. "It's genetic. My dad had it, though he didn't get really sick until his late twenties. But Lexi had whooping cough a few times in grade school and it set her back."

I have a feeling I know where this is going. "And your dad?"

"Died when Lexi was a baby." He forces a brighter smile. "But Lexi's doing better lately. She's in a clinical trial that seems to be making a difference."

"That's good."

The conversation dies. Jasper turns back to the screen, and I'm left to pick at lint on his comforter and wonder if I've finally screwed up this thing between Jasper and me beyond the point of saving it.

After a few more minutes of silence, Jasper laughs softly to himself.

"What?" I ask.

"I took these plans, but do either of us know what the plans for a time machine would look like, even if they were sitting right in front of us?" He motions me over. On the screen is a set of diagrams. Components and directions. Notes about energy transfer and?—

"I don't think that's a time machine." As I lean in toward the screen, Jasper vacates the desk chair and I slide into it. I zoom out so the whole document is visible.

"Would you know it if it was?" he asks.

"I'd have to see one to say for sure." I follow the path of couplings, but where the familiar reducer should be, something else—something labeled a mass converter—has been drawn in. "But it looks like the Ziro Machine. Jasper, Walter Wolfe stole our plans."

"He has your climate change machine?" Jasper bends in, shoulder brushing mine.

"Yes. But no." I point at the converter... "I don't know what this is, but it's not in our design. Or not all of it. Someone's made changes. "Here... this open chamber here? That's where the charging station is. You can't leave it open. That much power with nothing to absorb it would be highly unstable."

"So it could be a time machine?" he says.

"It could be an intergalactic popcorn maker for all I know." I squeeze my eyes shut as the glare from the screen makes my head ache. I have to call Ezekiel. Ask him more questions about that conversation he had with Wolfe. Tell him someone's broken into the system to steal the plans, or else someone who works with us has betrayed our trust. Jasper opens up other files, showing me more and more diagrams. They're all of a modified version of the Ziro Machine, but there's no clear confirmation that the changes mean it's a time machine. If it is, it leaves me with this dreadful feeling that somehow, I'm responsible for what's happening to me and Jasper. Even if time travel isn't what the Ziro Machine was built for, so much of what's in the documents is familiar.

"Did you find anything else? Any indication of where they might be building this?" My head is swimming.

"No." Jasper leans forward and closes the image. This near, I can smell him. Sawdust and earth. I go to inhale further, but he clicks off the monitor and slumps back to the bed again, yawning widely.

"I'm beat," he says.

I stare at the black screen, waiting for the strain to fade. "Uh-huh."

"Oh, wow. Hey!" Jasper's hand on my shoulder makes me jump, and he smiles as I spin. "Sorry."

"Something wrong?" On reflex, I yawn too, hiding the inhale behind my palm.

He shakes his head. "It's after midnight. That's the longest you've made it in a while."

It's faint praise and I laugh. "‘Congratulations on not dying horribly' doesn't really feel like something to celebrate."

His smile fades. "We celebrate it every six months with Lexi."

Jesus. Shit. I rest my forehead on the heel of my hand. "I'm sorry."

"No. No, that one was on me. Sorry. I'm tired. Verbal filter shuts down around eleven forty-five."

"Right." I stand, stretching my arms overhead. "We should get going." But I stop halfway to the door, because where are we going to go? I feel like a video game character who's walked himself into a corner and can't figure out how to turn around. We have nothing. Plans for a machine we don't understand. No indication of if it's been built or where it might be. Jasper's family is sleeping next door, and by now Wolfe's people must know what we did in his office. We can't stay here, and yet where are we going to go? There's a supervillain at my house, and anywhere else I'm liable to get crushed by a falling anvil or drop into a pit of rattlesnakes, probably taking Jasper with me.

"Come lie down," Jasper says, patting the bed beside him.

My ears burn. "What?"

His eyes are closed, and he smiles sleepily. He looks totally relaxed. "Just for a few hours. We need some rest. I've hardly slept in the last sixtyish days."

I want to say no. Not only because arguing is what Jasper and I do best, but because sleep is scary. Vulnerable. The last time I slept, I woke up with Indigo in my house.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I say.

Of course, Jasper misunderstands. "Are you worried about your reputation? You can sleep in the apartment. I can go crash in the house."

I may not be completely comfortable with the idea of sleeping here, but I definitely don't want to sleep here alone. And I really am very tired. My many deaths must be catching up to me. All of me hurts and my eyelids feel like they'll never open again when I finally let them close.

"I can sleep on the floor," I say. "You don't have to go."

And I think he's going to tease me, but instead he says, "Take the bed. I'll sleep on the floor."

"Jasper."

He grabs a pillow from the bed. "Fine. You're right. We'll both sleep on the floor."

"Wait." I laugh as I grab for his wrist, but the pillow goes flying to the floor with a muffled thump.

"No, you're right. For the sake of your dignity and my virtue—" A second pillow arcs through the air.

"Your virtue?" My laughter gets louder. He's being funny, but there's no denying part of my giggling is from fatigue and stress. I'm so tired I'm getting punchy.

He's laughing too, and puts on a fake expression of thoughtfulness. "I've never brought a guy home before. Mom will expect us to get married in the morning, though, since you've ruined me so completely."

I leap up in front of him as he tugs on the cover, trying to pull it from the bed too. It's been a long time since I laughed like this. Played with someone. The feeling is heady. Safe.

"But she's the one who sent us up here. She's been planning for this all along." I gasp in exaggerated shock.

"She always wanted me to be a doctor, and since that's not happening, I can marry one instead." He reaches for me, and I get twisted in the comforter. I stumble forward, colliding with his chest. The cotton T-shirt is amazingly soft, but the man underneath it is not. His arms wrap around me and I tell myself he's only being polite, keeping me upright, but when I glance upward, his face has gone still.

"Morgan." His lips stay parted on the last syllable.

I want him. A lot, in fact. But we have to stay on task, so as he dips his head down, I slide away. He doesn't resist. In fact, he steps a few paces back so he can lean against the kitchenette counter. He's got his back to me, and I think we both appreciate the space, taking simultaneous deep breaths. I hold mine, watching his shoulders until he lets his out, then I exhale slowly too.

Time to be an adult.

"Look." I bend to collect the pillows from the floor and return them to the bed. "We're both exhausted. I'll be asleep in two seconds. You can sleep on the bed too. I won't even notice you're there."

He mutters something that might be "ouch," but facing away like he is, I can't say for sure. That's fine. I'm too tired to fight anymore.

I point toward the door in the back of the apartment. "Bathroom?"

"Yeah." Jasper straightens. "I think there might even be an extra toothbrush in the medicine cabinet." He rushes toward a chest of drawers. "I probably have a shirt or something in here that you could wear too if you?—"

"Oh, that's—" I'm about to say I'll sleep in my boxers, but Jasper pulls the T-shirt over his head, exposing a flat stomach and broad shoulders and yeah... I'm going to need backup, even if it's in the form of a borrowed shirt. "Yeah, that would be great. Might take a shower too." Even though technically I showered this morning—whenever the hell that was—I feel like I've been wearing these pants forever. And the longer I'm in the flannel, the more I worry I'll smell like Jasper, and then I'll never get away from him when this is over.

We don't make eye contact as he hands me a clean towel, rumpled T-shirt, and a pair of sweatpants. I take them into the bathroom with me, and the toothbrush is exactly where Jasper said it would be, still in the packaging.

I feel strangely exposed coming out into the main apartment again. Jasper's changed while I was washing up, and he's in a different T-shirt and worn sweats with a hole above one knee. I don't like that we match, but he won't understand if I tell him.

The bed is smaller than it looked once we're both in it. Jasper's still trying to be a gentleman, so he's lying on top of the covers while I'm underneath, and his weight on the blankets leaves me feeling trapped as I try to squeeze as close to the edge of the mattress as possible to give him some room.

"Goodnight," he says, like it's no big thing.

"Goodnight," I say. "Set an alarm. We can't sleep too long."

Then I lie there as my brain goes back to spinning in dust devil circles. Because someone stole the plans for the Ziro Machine. Except that wasn't our machine. They'd modified it. And would a few modifications be enough to take it from something that stores energy to something that moves energy and life through time?

Also, the mattress has a saggy spot in the middle, and even though I try to stay away, Jasper and I are slow drifting toward each other. The weight and the heat of him are like a magnet, and they pull me away from the questions about the machine and onto questions about him, because something doesn't make sense.

"Jasper?" I say it so softly he won't hear it if he's asleep, but his "Yeah?" is nearly immediate, so he must have been awake too.

I go to roll over, but I'm trapped in the too-tight blankets, so I'm forced to stare at the wall as I say, "Who are you, really?"