That would have been worse than not meeting him at all.
He nodded, a wrinkle appearing between his dark eyebrows. Perhaps he wanted to say something more but lost the words as I had, in the space between his heart and his mouth.
The bio-tat forced my knees into a slight bow as I turned and stepped quickly back the way I had come. The common gardens were massive; a hundred nooks and crannies lay waiting for me to duck inside and return home. I found one, a quiet grove shaded by olive and pomegranate trees. A still pool sat against one of the outer walls, soft blue lotus flowers drifting lazily across the green surface. As beautiful as these gardens were, as breathless and perfectly complete as the boy a few yards away made me, I didn’t belong here.
The self-destruct sequence built into my bio-tat meant I couldn’t stay, even if I wanted to, and Caesarion couldn’t leave. Jonah had brought the oranges—and small, inanimate trinkets could be snagged, like the locket around my neck—anything we could enclose completely in our hands. But not people. We hadn’t discovered a way to bring them forward, and we didn’t travel forward in time ourselves, either.
I felt sure that had we the chance, the two of us would fall in the kind of love that inspired people to write stories. Although Caesarion felt the pull between us, he couldn’t suspect the reason. He only knew that he’d met an intriguing girl in the gardens, but on the morning his entire world began to fall apart, he would soon be plagued with more pressing worries.
Caesarion had lost his mother, his father, and soon his own life would be sacrificed on the altar of Rome’s expanding power. Octavian’s march toward becoming Augustus, one of Western history’s single biggest influences, had begun. He would impart a lasting imprint on government, military tactics, and cultural expansion that would change the Western world forever. Nothing would change Caesarion’s and my circumstances, and nothing remained but for me to go back to Sanchi.
My fingers found the pendant hanging against my breastbone, toying with the pretty metal as I swallowed, struggling not to cry. How many times had Berenice said good-bye to Titus, assuming it would be the last time?
I drew strength from the past, leaned down and whispered “return” into Jonah’s cuff. The lights changed from red to green, and my adventure came to an end.
Chapter Eight
The pressing ache at leaving Caesarion took a backseat when I checked the time again, aware that Reflection started three minutes ago. Four wrist comms from Analeigh had beeped while the air lock held me hostage, each relaying her increasing concern. It didn’t help that the scrapes on my knees had embedded ancient Egyptian sand and gravel inside them, which meant the stupid scanner forced me into a decontamination shower before letting me loose on the Academy.
At least no alarms had sounded as the scanner swept my hands or face. It didn’t know I’d interacted with anyone, or that I felt as though he’d touched more than my skin. I hurried toward Reflection, trying to shake loose the lingering feeling of his mouth on mine. My knees were still weak, and it wasn’t just because I was panicking over being late.
“Kaia.” Oz paused reluctantly when we passed in the otherwise empty hallway, adjusting his glasses. “I thought you’d be in the Caesar review.”
“I, um, was double-checking that our wardrobe is set for the Triangle visit and lost track of time.” His eyes narrowed. I swallowed hard, then forced a giggle past my lips. “The hats, you know? I love trying on those hats.”
His gaze shifted from curious to irritated. “Analeigh and Sarah were worried.”
“I know, and as you said, I’m late for Reflection. So, if you’ll excuse me.”
Oz didn’t move out of the way, his broad shoulders and solid stature so unlike the reedy boy I’d spent the morning with in an Egyptian garden. The way he studied my face made my palms break out in a cold sweat, and for a moment I felt trapped.
“Something’s different about you. Where were you, really? I doubt even you could get quite so flushed over hats.”
“Why did you lie about going to Pearl Harbor?” It slipped out like some kind of an innate defense mechanism, handy for deflecting attention from my own transgressions.
Oz went very still. I could almost see every tensed muscle relaxing in order, as though he’d started at his head and concentrated on loosening one limb at a time down to his toes. His eyes, typically sharp and focused, turned bored. The entire process took only seconds, but was deliberate enough to wig me out. He was too calm, too apathetic. It reminded me of a lion lulling its prey into a false sense of ease.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I was in the Archives, and I saw you at the Mongolian invasions.”
“Why did you pull up my info in the Archives?”
“Why were you in Asia?”
“Why were you checking up on me?”
We faced each other, at an impasse, the unspoken challenge in the air dampening my skin with chilly sweat. He wasn’t going to admit he’d been in the wrong place, and I wasn’t about to tell him where I’d been, either.
“I’m late for Reflection.” I shouldered past him, moving fast. My heart pounding for a totally different reason than it had in Alexandria. Oz’s eyes followed me all the way down the hall until I turned a corner and escaped his view.
*