“That’s not funny, Smith.”

“No, it’s not,” he replies. “But what you described sounds like another Oracle steering someone from their second sight.”

“I’m not saying there can’t be another Oracle involved. I’m just saying it’s not my aunt. Maybe there’s someone off Delphi’s radar. Or they’re not from here. Did you ever think of that?”

“Where is your aunt?” Smith says softly.

I refuse to admit to him that she’s not here. After all, if she were doing something with her own second sight—which is completely and utterly ludicrous—she could do it from her bedroom.

“I have more to tell you. Clara walked to the tunnel at the train yard and I got her to call her dad and he answered right before the killer attacked. It was perfect!”

“Excellent,” Smith says. “Then what?”

“He hit her with a bat and I kept shoving her around, trying to avoid, like, death hits, I guess you could call them. But he was too strong and he got her feet out from under her and he lifted his bat to finish her off and I stopped him!”

“What do you mean, you ‘stopped him’?”

“I put out my hand and the bat hit me instead. I affected him physically, Smith!”

“Did you save her?”

“Are you listening?” I press. “I did what you said I couldn’t do. This changes everything!”

“Did you save her?”

“I . . . I don’t know for sure. I think so,” I say softly. “I took a lot of hits for her and then I heard sirens.”

“You heard them?”

“Just before I blacked out. I’m pretty sure that’s what pushed me out of the vision. I was lying on top of her and I’m hoping I helped block maybe another hit or two after I lost consciousness, but I—” Guilt floods through me. “I don’t actually know.”

“Did you see anything else?” Smith presses. “Anything else that could be helpful?”

I think about seeing him running into the scene. Should I tell him? Maybe I shouldn’t. I don’t want to make him change the future by deciding not to go and then ruining everything I worked for. “No, nothing else.” I can practically hear his thoughts right now. She’s not sure she saved her—I’d better go watch just to be safe. Truth is, there’s a chance that Smith running in at the last moment will save her.

So I don’t tell him. This one thing I will simply let play out.

“I know her,” I say when the silence gets heavy. “She was in four of my classes last semester.”

“Are you guys friends?” Smith asks, sounding confused as to why I’m telling him this.

“No, not really. But if I . . . if I weren’t, you know, me, I think we would be. It’s something I’ve thought a lot the last year or so, actually, since we keep having classes together. We like the same things, we’re both advanced juniors, I think we’d get along really well.”

“Was there a point to this?”

I hesitate, not sure I’m ready to voice something that’s been bothering me since I first saw Clara’s face in the vision. “I know all of these victims. Well, Bethany I barely knew, but other than that, all of them—even the ones we saved—have played a part in my life. And that’s saying something since I don’t have much of a life.”

“Charlotte,” Smith says, and his patronizing tone makes me clench my fists. “You attend a tiny high school. Of course you know everyone.”

“It’s not that small,” I say defensively.

“I don’t have time for crazy theories,” Smith says, and I can hear the nerves in his voice. My role is finished; he’s still deciding if he should play his. “We just have to wait and see,” he finally says.

“Yep.” I glance back up at my clock and see that it’s only been three minutes. “It’s going to be a long night of clock-watching,” I say as much to myself as him.

“I guess we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I say, pushing to my feet in the jumble of bedding I totally messed up while revisiting my vision. “And Smith,” I add just before hanging up. “It’s cold out there tonight.”

I pass the next few hours fighting the urge to go to the train station and watch, but even if I could get out of the house without anyone noticing, I’m terrified that any little change could erase what I did.

I briefly consider trying to break into Sierra’s room, but she’s already been gone for over an hour—I can’t risk it. It’s killing me to have the book ten feet away and completely inaccessible. But it can’t help Clara now.

Besides, there’s a decent chance they’ll catch the murderer tonight and then I won’t be so rushed for time. I’ll be able to wait until she leaves her door unlocked again.

Finally I go sit in my mom’s office. She’s behind on work because of all of the drama, so she just gives me a smile and keeps on working.

I have a half-hour-long text-versation with Linden, but it feels shallow compared to spending time with him in person, and when I finally say good night to him, I’m no calmer than I was before.

I think about Clara. And Eddie and Jesse and Matthew and Nicole. I don’t care what Smith says; I think it’s weird that they’re all people from my life. Bethany breaks the pattern . . . but ever since? It’s weird. Who would know me well enough to know the people that mean something to me—or used to mean something to me? I had practically forgotten about half of them. But someone remembered. How crazy of a theory is it really?