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“What?”
    “When you found out about Owen, you walked away. I know you don’t remember it, and I’m not blaming you
—
I know it was my fault for lying
—
but watching you go
…
I’ve been alone in this for so long, and I’ve always managed because I’ve never had anyone. But having you and losing you
…
For the first time, I felt alone, Wes. Having something and losing it, it’s so much crueler than never having had it.”
    Wesley looks down at his hands. “Does it make you wish we’d never met?”
    “No. God, no. But what we have now is still new to me. The sharing, the trust. I’m not ready for more.” I’ll just ruin it , I think.
    “I understand.” His voice is soft, soothing. He plants a light kiss on my shoulder, like a parting gift, and pulls away.
    “It’s all new to me, too, remember?” he says a few minutes later. “I’d never met another Keeper before you. And having you in my life is terrifying and addictive, and I’m not going to lie and tell you it doesn’t make my heart race. It does.” I wonder if he can feel my own pounding pulse through my noise as he tangles his fingers through mine. “But I’m here. No matter what happens with us, I’m here.”
    He lets go and slumps back into the corner of the bench. He doesn’t pick up the book, just tilts his head back and stares up at the clouds. Silence settles over us, heavier than usual.
    “Are we good, Wes?” I ask.
    “Yeah,” he says, flashing a smile that’s almost strong enough to hide the lie. “We’re good.”
    By the time I finish showering, the locker room is mercifully empty, no prying eyes to watch as I loop the key back over my head, tucking it under my collar. My chest loosens as soon as the weight settles there. It feels wrong to be without it, even though this key isn’t really mine.
    I’m tugging on my polo when I feel the scratch of letters like a pin through my shirt pocket. I dig my list out to find a name:
Harker Blane. 13.
    But I’m nowhere near my territory—I don’t even know whose territory Hyde School falls in, or where the nearest Narrows door is hidden, and even if I could find it, my key wouldn’t work, since I’m not authorized to use it here—and I’ve got half a day of school to go, so Harker will have to sit tight. I don’t like to make Histories wait; the longer they do, the more they suffer, and the more dangerous they get. I will Harker to hold on and hope he doesn’t start to slip.
    My stomach growls as I hoist my bag onto my shoulder and set out to find lunch.
    Instead I find Wesley. At least, the newest version of him.
    He’s sitting cross-legged on a stone bench halfway to the dining hall with a book in his lap. He looks like a stranger. He’s missing the black polish that usually graces his nails, his hair is swept neatly back, and he looks… elegant in his uniform, all black but for the gold thread tracing the edges.
    I see him, but he doesn’t see me—not at first—and I can’t help but stare. Only his silver ring and the faint outline of his key beneath his polo mark him as the same guy I met this summer. It’s like he’s wearing a disguise, only it fits so well that I wonder if my Wesley—the one with spiked hair and lined eyes and that constant, mischievous smile—was the act. My stomach twists at the thought.
    And then his eyes drift up from the book and settle on me, and something in him shifts again, and suddenly I see both of them at once: the affluent student and the edgy boy who likes to fight and fits his rock band noise so well. He’s still under there somewhere, my Wes, but I can’t help but wonder as he hops down from the sculpture and straightens, waiting for me to reach him: how many faces does Wesley Ayers have?
    “I was hoping you’d come this way,” he says, putting the book away and slinging his bag onto his shoulder.
    “I don’t know any of the other ways.”
    “Come on,” he says, tipping his head down the path. “I’ll show