"Where am I?" I forced the words out and the room answered with the steady hum of a refrigerator two floors down.
My hands clawed at the blanket until the fabric snarled between my fingers. I couldn't tell if the tremor came from cold or from the image that hit me like an accident I had just seen: water, dark hands pulling away, Grey's face gone pale in the wrong way. I shut my eyes to stop the flashes. They didn't stop.
"Miss Juniper," a woman said outside the door. Her voice was careful. Private. It pulled me upright faster than the memory ever could.
"Who are you?" I asked before I knew it. My voice sounded small in a room that belonged to someone else.
"Maria. Maid, Miss. Sorry—you're awake." The door opened a crack and a framed woman peered in with a tray. Her mouth was tight. Her eyes darted to the closet where a suit hung on a valet stand. I smelled lemon cleaner and someone else's cologne.
"What year is it?" I asked because the only numbers that mattered were time and what I had been handed.
Maria blinked. "Two thousand twenty-four, Miss Juniper."
I let out a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "No. What month?"
"April, Miss." She hesitated. "Tenth."
My chest locked. Three words landed like a slap. Five years. My throat tightened. I tasted metal.
"Grey—" I started, which made the word real and
