My satchel is packed full, with room left in the front pouch for only my map. The main compartment is loaded with necessities I've collected over the past week –pamphlets and instruments, Charlotte's calendar, the RRR schedule, a regional land map of foot trails and territories, and a supply of parchment.

The calendar is open, sprawled across my bed and marked with red dots to count the days that pass without progress. In the top right corner of today's square, there is no red dot.

March 1.

Tonight's the night.

My eyes flicker to the antique clock resting on my bedside table. 1:43 am.

Almost time.

My eyes fall on the unfolded 2 x 2 map spread open on my bed, held down on the end by my golden compass.

The perimeter of the land closely resembles the continent of North America as I remember it, circa 2015 –minus the southern tip of Florida, without a Gulf of Mexico and missing part of Northern Canada. Some distinguishable landmarks do remain: The Grand Canyon (simply marked Canyon), the Rockies, and the sprawling great lakes (though now it's a small, land-locked body of water labeled Greatest Lake).

The Regal Refinery is in almost the exact center of the land in a neutral territory called Ashland. Just north occupying most of Cedar Ridge region, black mountaintops are etched into the map, captioned Mystic Mountain Range. They span across the entire northern territory from east to west coast. My fingers trace along the longest foot route in all the Five Lands, Old York Trail.

I decoded some markings –thick forests, treacherous terrain, and a particularly perturbing warning for 'Wild Beast Dwellings'. I drew a red line through the riverroad that leads to the base of the mountains, remembering William's caveat to avoid the area.

In addition to the crossed out travel route, I penciled in possible alternative paths all leading to one place: Montgomery. I don't have much of a plan yet, and I'm not sure where I'll end up, but I know where I'm starting.

A light switches on in the hallway and a stream of yellow pours into my room through the crack in my door.

"Evelyn?" Charlotte's soft voice travels down the hallway. "Are you awake?"

Damn.

I swipe everything from my bed and in one swift motion am at my closet, stowing my knapsack.

"Yes?" My voice sounds annoyed –something I hope she does not pick up.

"What are you doing up at this hour?" Charlotte whispers outside my bedroom door, which I now regret leaving ajar.

"I'm getting to bed now. I couldn't sleep so I left the light on." I lie.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine." A lump swells in my throat.

How am I going to do this?

A shadow flickers across the floor and for a second I think she is leaving. No such luck.

"You know, Evelyn, it would be an injustice not to express my admiration," Charlotte mutters. "You've come so far and grown so much. I only wish I had more to give you."

Where is this coming from? It sounds almost as if she is saying goodbye. It sounds almost as if she knows what I'm about to do. I should say something, but I don't have any words left for her.

Silence.

Another minute later she retreats down the hallway and the light goes out. I'm left in solitude once again, accompanied by nothing other than my rampant thoughts. I check the clock again.

1:57 am.

This is it. I close my eyes. A heavy weight settles on my chest as I realize all the things I didn't get to do, people I didn't have the chance to say goodbye to, and the places I'll never again revisit. I suppress the lump in my throat and force it down.

I retreat to my bed and slump against the headboard. There's no going back now. I stare at my room and try to take a photograph in my mind so that I'll remember how everything looked.

The windows aren't frosted over anymore and this somehow takes away from the view. The moonlight casts dark shapes against my ceiling. I concentrate on the swaying branches and rustling leaves. Slowly my eyes become heavy. A familiar feeling washes over me, a falling sensation.

"Evelyn," a distant voice whispers.

Oh no, not another nightmare. Not now! I don't remember falling asleep. The voice sounds familiar. I hear a bird, maybe a hawk or an eagle. Something is grabbing me; the ground is shaking. I'm falling again.

"Evelyn."

I jump upright in my bed and seize my sheets. William's concerned face is only inches from mine as he leans over my bed.

"Shh, Ev." His lips brush against my ear. "You fell asleep?"

I can't tell if it's a question, though I surmise the answer is fairly obvious.

"I guess I did, yea."

"It's time to get up. You will have plenty of time later to sleep. I'll make sure of it."

He analyzes me closely, swiping my hair away out of my eyes.

He's got a knack for doing that.

My head spins faster. I leap from my bed and grab my ready-to-go backpack.

"Here." William is already holding my jacket open.

"Evelyn." He looks down at me. "Are you sure you're ready to do this? Once we leave this house there is no changing your mind. There is no going back."

"What is a hard choice if I don't have the courage to act upon it?"

He squeezes my hand.

The entire house is pitch black, apart from the embers in the grate and the moonlight dancing on the walls. William maneuvers out the back door, and I step light-footedly behind him.

"Down here." He directs me to the deck stairs.

I turn around and for the last time glance up at the quaint cabin nestled between the pines.

"Don't look at it that way," he says, appearing at my side.

"Like what?"

"Like you'll never see it again. You'll be back one day and all will be as you remember it." William smiles.

He reads my mind, answering my unspoken question.

I swallow hard and blink before the tears have time to come. Deep breaths. I think of coming back here. I nod. "One day."

My eyes rise to the sky. It's dark with the night, but dawn lingers on the horizon. Never was the clash of color so eerie as now.

"It looks like a storm's coming," Will says.

"I thought we were meant to have clear skies for travel," I say, keeping my eyes on the sky.

"I don't mean a weather storm, Ev." William looks down. "There's an old myth that when the skies are alive with dark and light, it is an omen of imbalance. When the two collide above, the forces of nature are sending a forewarning."

Like every other time so far, I know his words are true. Deep down, something is coming. The heavens above are signaling a warning. I think of Sage and her story on Hallows Eve. There must always be a balance in the era.

"But it's just a myth, right?" William says. "Come on. We need to keep moving."

The last thing I ever thought in my entire life, or afterlife, would be that I'd call this place home. But now, as we turn our backs to the cabin, I cannot help but feel desperate to stay.

I took the lead. William followed me to the docks, but kept his distance. We snuck around the town, sticking closely to the terrain behind our house where it's more secluded. The two of us reached the Wharf just before daybreak.

It was desolate, filled with an unmistakable eeriness –the eeriness saved for supernatural ghost towns. I maneuvered my way through the hutches and operating stations and past the fenced-in shipyard filled with trolley carts.

So far so good.

"The sky is getting light; we're losing the protection of darkness," William whispers. "We better be quick. Let's go this way."

I follow him down an alleyway between two boathouses. He stops abruptly and I smack into his back.

"Stop. Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"There." William points to the end of the alley.

At the end of the lane, two civils are stacking miniature boxes. The short one I recognize.

"They aren't supposed to be here this early." He runs his hand through his messy hair, cursing.

"Maybe they've been added for safety purposes. My guess is their security system has been upgraded. Can't have any intruders, you know." I joke, knowing full well I'm the exact person they're trying to keep out.

"This could be a problem," William says.

"Can't we get around them?"

"We could but it wouldn't matter. We have to get inside there." He points to the side of the boathouse, to the outline of a small door.

The two men linger for a minute then turn down another side alley that leads away from the docks, past an empty shipping yard.

We slink along the building's perimeter, watching and waiting as the civils disappear from sight. The boathouse is like everything else in town –made of old wood and with no electricity. All I hear is a low hum I know to belong to the waterwheel.

"After you," William says, opening the door.

I slip through the hole and enter a loading area with a wide platform that overlooks the water. The boathouse has three walls and high-vaulted ceilings. Instead of a fourth wall there is an open space big enough to accommodate the Iron Rail.

We weave through a maze of tin containers and wooden crates.

"Don't touch anything. It could trigger the alarm," William warns.

I read the inscriptions on each crate. They're the names of towns and regions –Riverdale, Warrington, Adelphia, and a dozen more –some I know and some I've never heard of before.

A hand-drawn schedule of some sort hangs on the wall. It looks identical to the RRR schedule stowed away in my backpack, but with brightly color-coded lines and intricately woven arrows.

A label across the top reads the Reel: No. 3 of 5 and is accompanied by a squiggly drawing of what I assume is a river. A faded red Classified stamp is peeling in the upper-left corner.

"It's Kemper's shipping schedule," William mumbles close to my ear.

"It's so detailed." I never knew how well planned the shipping practices were.

"Yes, fascinating–"

"But, it looks different than before," I cut in.

"That's only for this quarter. It changes every three months," he says, agitated by the delay.

"Hold on," I protest, my eyes fixated on the stamp and on No. 3. "It doesn't look much like a shipping schedule."

I remember Charlotte's story, the conspiracy theory and supplementary sites –one for each of the five regions. Could they actually exist? Could I really be staring at the map to one of them?

I spent the past few weeks doubting it myself, yet here I am staring at the proof. The Reel is number three.

"It's just an ordinary schedule," William argues.

"But I... It's number three," I say under my breath.

"Number what –what's three? Evelyn–"

A loud crack echoes in the room and I topple backwards. More voices creep closer to our hiding spot.

"Where did they come from? The dock was vacant! What do we do?" I ask William, my voice panicky.

"Just wait." He's on edge. His hand grips mine with an unwanted pressure.

"They're coming closer," I snap. "This way." I take charge and yank his hand, aiming for the end of the aisle.

"No, our best chance is to follow them." He resists, his eyes livid.

"What! William, are you crazy? We have to run away from them, not chase after them."

"No."

"But–" He shakes my arm off his shoulder.

Fury builds inside my chest.

"If we get close enough and they open the doors, we can follow them into the next room," William says.

"What's in the next room?"

William hesitates. "The armory."

"Armory?" I raise my brow. "I thought there were no weapons in Kemper. Just the one gun."

"Turns out that's not entirely true after all," he says matter-of-factly. "Only a select few know about it."

"The Garners falling into that select few?" I roll my eyes.

He nods.

"Fine." I acquiesce.

"Let's go." He inches toward the door.

I turn back and snatch the old crinkled shipping schedule and stuff it into my backpack. William doesn't notice.

We follow the subdued voices to the front of the room. I catch a glimpse of the man. It's Sam I think, but I cannot see his companion. They stalk slowly to a second steel door outlined with thick ropes and red bulbs.

"If anyone crosses that threshold who wasn't invited, those red lights there," he points, "they buzz. It triggers an alarm that sounds throughout the entire Wharf."

"That's fancy," I say. "Maybe the municipal building should consider investing. It may do them some good, you know with the breachers–"

"Keep your voice down!"

The second man unlocks the door.

"I told you, I don't know what happened. Wires were crossed. He was supposed to go after the boy. Yes, I'm sure. She was not to be touched." The man says in a harried manner.

"Wires crossed, eh? So when will it happen?" Sam asks his familiar companion.

"Not today, Sam." The man's muted voice travels toward us. There's a familiar quality to it.

"But how can you be you sure? I've heard rumors," Sam replies.

"Don't you think I would know? It's not today. But it will be soon."

The man takes a key from his pocket, places it in Sam's palm, and lifts his face.

"Brynne." William glares.

"...Is this it?" Sam asks.

"Yes. That's the one. That will get you in where you need to be." Brynne's clear voice is now unmistakable. "Remember, wait until you cannot wait any longer. It is a measure of last resort."

I nearly choke back my surprise and William curses. Sam takes the string and loops it around his neck.

"What the hell? Brynne?" I mutter, turning to face William.

"So it would appear to be."

"What's he doing here?" I ask.

"I haven't any clue as to why he's here. It's too early for him to be at the docks. The Garners meet in under an hour," he says.

"Have you ever known him to come down to the Wharf? Before you, you know... scout for dead people."

"No. Never." William shakes his head.

"What's the key for?" I wonder aloud.

"No idea."

A vehement glaze settles over his eyes. I recognize the unsettling presence of betrayal. For a second, I fear maybe he's given up. He starts forward, but I hold him back.

"No. Don't. There's no way to know why he's come. We cannot be seen." I insist.

Something about the inconspicuous key exchange makes me feel otherwise.

What on earth was going on here? Why was Brynne at the Wharf and what was he giving to Sam. What was rumored to be happening today?

"Now's our chance. Are you coming?" William saunters forward, not waiting for my reply.

The heavy door closes slowly. We sneak in the room undetected. This room is more massive than the storage warehouse.

"Come on." William slinks along the edge, heading for our final destination.

Panic invades. How am I going to ditch him? I hadn't gotten this far in my head. I'd always envisioned us getting caught and leaving him behind, tied up somewhere.

I shake off my indecision. For now, I need to focus on getting to the boat.

Against the wall opposite us, 10 feet from the opening to the harbor, the cors are aligned in slips numbered 1-20.

"It's almost time. This one, let's go."

I freeze. This is it. I can't turn back but my legs won't move forward.

"Climb in." His words are a command not a request.

Muffled voices flow through the open window in the side of the boathouse. Someone drops a jumble of metal just outside the door.

"NOW!" He shouts.

I oblige and hastily jump the two-foot drop, smacking my knees into the bow of cor No. 9.

I stand up. My legs wobble beneath me and I can't tell if it's my nerves or the boat. I trip sitting down. William's rucksack is at my feet.

"It's lucky these cors are motor-less," he utters. "Just walking on the dock makes an echo in this place. Sit tight."

He climbs out onto the dock and starts fiddling with the ropes.

What am I going to do?

With unadulterated ease he collects two 10-foot oars from the dock and sets them inside the boat.

"Set these in the cavity, just there," he instructs.

"But–"

"Hurry, Evelyn. We have but minutes now."

Ten alarms sound at once –each one blaring louder over the first. Four mismatched figures come racing toward us.

"NO! How did they know?" William yells over the sirens, infuriated.

I cover my ears and frantically start searching the cor –making sure everything I need is in sight. I fasten the oars into place and look up. Our eyes lock.

"Evelyn." He grabs the side of the cor. "Evelyn, what are you doing?"

His voice is shaky, but not suspicious for he already knows what I'm doing. He knows me too well, better than I know myself.

"William, I–"

"Stop." It sounds like a command. "Don't say it. Don't you say it."

He slips from the dock and his feet slam against the bottom of the cor. He closes the space between us until his face is inches from mine, his breath warm in the crisp morning air. I've never been this close to anyone, not even myself.

"William." My throat clenches. I'm about to say the words that we've both known all along. "You're a Garner, William. You didn't honestly think I would let you leave with me, leave for me."

"Yes! As has been the plan for weeks, ever since your re-Evaluation," he says determinedly, but I can hear the defeat in his voice all the same.

Sadness settles in his eyes as realization sets in. His emotions betray him all over his face. "It has been the plan for weeks."

"No, William. It has been your plan for weeks," I admit, fighting the lump swelling in my throat. "You cannot sacrifice everything you have here. I won't let you do it."

"And if I let you go? If I let you leave right now knowing I may never see you again? Is that not a sacrifice?"

"This isn't your problem to fix! Now I need to do this alone. I need to go alone," I say. "I never wanted any of it!"

"No one believes you wanted any of it to happen. Just let's talk this through," he implores.

"I don't just mean the breach or the escape plan or–" I swallow the urge to say Bridge. My voice is quiet, weak, and for a moment the air around us is silent. I don't hear the alarms or sirens. I don't hear anything.

"I never wanted any of this." I look around, shrugging my shoulders in a would-be defeated manner. "I didn't ask for this, William."

"Evelyn." He whispers only my name, his voice a plea. "Neither did I."

"I need to go alone," I repeat. "And you need to let me. Get out of the boat, William." I demand, staring at him. "NOW!"

"Evelyn." He cups my face in his palms. "You once asked me if I knew why I was here. If I knew the reason I resurfaced. And I know now why I was brought here. I was brought here to wait for you."

Tears prickle my eyelids, burning.

"I could find you in a hundred lifetimes and still it would not be enough." William's hand drops from my face. I feel incomplete without it there.

There's nothing for me to say.

"Maybe in another life, or another time, things could have been different and we could have found a way to be together." His smile shifts into a sad line.

"Maybe," I agree with a whisper. "In another life."

"We will be together in another time. I know it. I feel it. The universe has made you, Evelyn. And it's made you to be mine."

He rests his forehead against mine and silence lingers between us, as fleeting as the dawn.

I recognize Sam and Teho and a few other faces. Brynne lunges forward, followed by Ethan Edems and Reed Reese. The entire Garner pack shouts indecipherable words in our direction.

"WHO'S THERE?"

"Who are they?"

We are surrounded. The hatch flies open and I see the ex-marine persona radiating from Tin Smyth. He looks violent. Behind him, Easton charges through the door.

A group of six men are already halfway down the pier with only a short stretch of planks separating them from us.

"Stay in and stay low," William commands, suddenly fierce.

He jumps from cor No. 9. His fingertips catch the dock and he hoists himself up. He looks down at me.

"Wherever you're going, Evelyn, I'll be with you."

He faces the approaching mob.

"William, you can't." He is going to sacrifice himself. I know it. I panic but I don't stop it. I don't stop him. I don't even try.

"STOP!"

"SEIZE THEM."

"Don't move another inch." Easton appears.

"WILLIAM," I yell, unable to hear my own voice.

The sirens pierce my eardrums penetrating deeper and deeper by the minute. I watch him untie the boat.

"Just one more left." He throws the last coil of rope into the cor.

Now is my chance to leave. My heart jumps.

I catch the rope.

"Hit me," William holds out the oar.

"What? No."

"They have to think I tried to stop you, Evelyn." His voice cracks lightly on my name. "Or all this will have been for nothing. Either hit me, or move over and make room."

I understand why it needs to be done. It's the only way to protect William when I leave. Kemper cannot know what he did for me. I raise the oar and smack it across his head, striking his cheekbone. He stumbles to his knees but remains upright, looking directly at me.

"Go. Now," he urges. William's voice is low like he's sharing a secret with a friend. "Go, now, Ev. Don't look back."

I push off the dock and dip the bloodied paddle into the water. I look up at the Wharf one last time and think of all the moments I watched the docks from the cabin terrace.

I imagined my escape many times, though never quite like this.

People close in.

"Garner James? Garner James is that you?"

William ignores Teho, who has suddenly appeared at the edge of the dock.

"EVELYN! EV-E-LYN!" William yells.

Hot tears burn the corners of my eyes.

Two more men restrain William as he thrashes violently against them. Trying to make it seem unintentional clearly lasted long.

His voice is fading, the alarm dying with it as I put more distance between the dock and me.

They are all present now. The civils, the Tinmen and the Garners all crowd the Wharf. Ethan's grip is the only thing holding William back.

They can't possibly suspect William of being an accomplice, not after I tried to knock him out. They will figure he followed me down here to persuade me to come back, to reason with me.

My heart races.

He let me go. He is safe.

I stare across the glistening water into his eyes, wondering if I'll ever see them again, replaying his last words in my mind. A hundred different lifetimes. I wonder, what number is this one?

"CLOSE THE GATE!" A civil on the dock shouts.

"Coming down!" Another civil slides open the steel door to the operating room. A white light flashes.

Two churlish civils hurdle into cor No. 10 and start racing after me.

I've come too far to surrender my progress now.

Tyse Easton, omnipotent Kemper enforcer bashes William with the butt of his pistol. It may just be the first and last pistol-whip of Kemper.

Tin Todd wrestles William into chains. It's for his own good, I tell myself.

"Evelyn! EVELYN!" William cries, thrashing against the manacles.

Light pours into the boathouse through the open wall. The outline of his flailing body is sharp against the rising sun.

I'm farther away now, maybe 20 or 30 feet from the dock. My arms are already tired from lifting the oars.

I glance ahead at the vast openness before me.

It is the first warm and beautiful day since October. Opalescence dances on the water, a collage of sunlight's favorite colors. Wenonah Way stretches endlessly in front of me, waiting to introduce me to the rest of this Arcadian Camelot.

Don't look back. William's last warning plays on a loop in my mind.

Don't look back.

One thing I know for sure is I'm brining my questions with me. Why did I come here? What's going on at the Bridge? Who is running the Archives? And why is everyone so interested in a timid girl from 2015?

It's a long path to the Archives ahead, but I'm ready. I am ready for anything.

Don't look back.

Then, for the second time since my resurfacing in Kemper and for the second time in less than a month, a loud, ear-piercing gunshot shatters the silence.

I turn and watch, apathetic, as William's limp body rolls over the edge of the dock and disappears beneath the water.

A stream of vibrant red disseminates across the water's surface. It stretches toward me, after me, chasing my cor from the harbor.