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up and al owed her to live beyond her usual time—”
    “But it’s so dangerous.” Dani l spoke quickly, frantical y, spewing out the same discourse that had been running through Daniel’s mind ever since the last night at Sword & Cross, when he’d realized that this time was di erent: “She could die and not come back. That could be the end. Every single thing is on the line now.”
    “I know.”
    Dani l stopped, composed himself. “I’m sorry. Of course you know. But … the question is, does she understand why this life is dif erent?” Daniel looked at his empty hands. “One of the Elders of Zhsmaelim got to her, interrogated her before Luce knew anything about her past.
    Lucinda recognizes that everyone is focused on the fact that she has not been baptized … but there is so much she doesn’t know.” Dani l stepped to the edge of the roof and gazed at her dark window. “Then what’s the bad news?”
    “I fear there is also much that I don’t know. I cannot predict the consequences of her eeing backward into time if I don’t nd her, and stop her, before it’s too late.”
    Down on the street, a siren blared. The air raid was over. Soon the Russians would be out combing the city, looking for survivors.
    Daniel sifted through the shreds of his memory. She was going further back—but to which lifetime? He turned to look hard at his earlier self. “You recal it, too, don’t you?”
    “That … she is going back?”
    “Yes. But how far back?” They spoke simultaneously, staring at the dark street.
    “And where wil she stop?” Daniel said abruptly, backing away from the edge. He closed his eyes, took a breath. “Luce is di erent now.
    She’s—” He could almost smel her. Clean, pure light, like sunshine. “Something fundamental has shifted. We nal y have a real chance. And I—I have never been more elated … nor more sick with terror.” He opened his eyes and was surprised to see Dani l nod.
    “Daniel?”
    “Yes?”
    “What are you waiting for?” Dani l asked with a smile. “Go get her.”
    And with that, Daniel teased open a shadow along the roof ledge—an Announcer—and stepped inside.
    THREE

    THREE
    FOOLS RUSH IN
    MILAN, ITALY • MAY 25, 1918
    Łuce staggered out of the Announcer to the sound of explosions. She ducked and covered her ears.
    Violent bursts rocked the ground. One heavy boom after another, each more spectacular and paralyzing than the one before, until the sound and the tremors reverberated so that there seemed to be no break in the assault. No way to escape the din, and no end.
    Luce stumbled in the earsplit ing darkness, curling into herself, trying to shield her body. The blasts thrummed in her chest, spat dirt into her eyes and mouth.
    Al this before she’d even had a chance to see where she’d ended up. With each bright explosion, she caught glimpses of rol ing elds, crisscrossed with culverts and tumbledown fences. But then the flash would vanish and she’d be blind again.
    Bombs. They were stil going of .
    Something was wrong. Luce had meant to step through time, to get away from Moscow and the war. But she must have ended up right back where she’d started. Roland had warned her about this—about the dangers of Announcer travel. But she’d been too stubborn to listen.
    In the pitch-dark, Luce tripped over something and landed hard, facedown in the dirt.
    Someone grunted. Someone Luce had landed on top of.
    She gasped and squirmed away, feeling a sharp stab in her hip from where she’d fal en. But when she saw the man lying on the ground, she forgot her own pain.
    He was young, about her age. Smal , with delicate features and timid brown eyes. His face was pale. His breath came in shal ow gasps. The hand cupped over his stomach was caked with black grime. And beneath that hand, his fatigues were soaked with dark red blood.
    Luce couldn’t look away from the wound. “I’m not supposed to be here,” she whispered to herself.
    The boy’s lips trembled.