Departure(40)

Before anyone can get a word out, she continues, “I’m the curator of Titan Hall and official biographer for the Titan Foundation. I want to welcome you to the first part of this tour, which will take you on a journey through the history of the Titan Foundation, from its creation to the release of the four Titan Marvels, and how they changed civilization forever. After this brief introduction, you’ll have a chance to explore Titan history in depth, selecting the topics that interest you the most. So prepare yourself to go into the origins of the Titan Foundation, the organization that has given us all so much.”

I step forward, extend my hand, and run it through Future Harper: she’s a projection. This revelation seems to do nothing for Harper, who’s frozen in shock. It’s not just the projection. The journals from her flat disturbed her deeply. Seeing her city like this, learning what became of her life, and now, seeing her future self, standing here in faux living color, talking—it would be a lot for anyone to process. But it’s not just that. I think it’s the contrast between her and her future self that’s rattled her. The first thing I noticed about the Harper Lane I met was the playful vibrancy in her eyes. It’s captivating—but in the future Harper Lane, it’s gone. The eyes of this formally dressed tour guide are devoid of life and passion, and I don’t think it’s just because this is the umpteenth take. She’s changed, fundamentally. I don’t blame Harper for being shaken. I’d love to let her take ten, process this, but we don’t have the luxury. We need answers. If we don’t start unraveling what’s going on here and where we can get help, we won’t last much longer.

Around us, the empty stone room morphs into a wood-paneled study, its tall windows looking out on New York’s Central Park. Harper seems to recognize it, and so does Grayson, who steps forward, his eyes wide.

An older man sits at a table by the window, speaking to a woman in her thirties who looks like a bad knock-off of Harper—not as pretty, and without the aforementioned sparkle in her eyes.

Future Harper drifts closer to the man and woman sitting by the window.

“In 2014 I had a fateful meeting with a billionaire named Oliver Norton Shaw, who asked me to write his biography. Shaw wanted to tell his story to the world, but that wasn’t his true motive. He wanted to issue a call to arms to the world’s elite, a challenge to the bright, the powerful, and the wealthy—the individuals who, he believed, could change the course of history if they worked together.

“In our first meeting Shaw outlined his vision for a new force for good, a group he called the Titans that would work to effect change on a global scale, change that would eventually end hunger and poverty, achieve world peace, and bring education and opportunity to every corner of the globe. There was one problem, though: Shaw wasn’t exactly sure how to accomplish these ambitious goals. That was about to change. Only days after I first met Shaw, he sat down with Nicholas Stone, the man who would become Shaw’s co-founder of the Titan Foundation. Here’s Titan Stone in his own words.”

Future Harper walks away from the table, and the couple slips out of view. Seated in a high-backed leather chair on the other side of the study is . . . me. I’m in my sixties, I would guess. My short black hair is about the same length, though it has mostly turned gray.

Okay, Harper, I get it now. This is bizarre. Surreal with a side of nausea. I dread what this guy will say, what he might reveal. But . . . I wonder if it might also reveal the key to our survival here.

“When Oliver Norton Shaw approached me about the Titan Foundation, I was at a crossroads, personally and professionally. I was lost and . . . very, very unhappy with my life, and I couldn’t figure out why. I made a lot of money in my late twenties, very quickly. Looking back on it now, I always felt back then that it was a stroke of luck, that I’d just been in the right place at the right time. I had this insatiable hunger to prove to myself that I was worthy of the success I had experienced, that I’d accomplished it, not just fate, or the fickle hand of the universe, intervening on my behalf. I was pressing myself harder and harder, taking more risks, setting bigger goals, and accomplishing more and more. I was also growing unhappier with each passing year. It was like I was sinking into a well, drowning and dying of thirst at the same time. I was miserable, lost.”

Humiliating. Worse than peeing yourself on the first day of school. I have to stand here while this jerk pours out the feelings I haven’t told a soul, not my mother, sister, or closest friends, rattling my secrets off with a smug smile on his face, like he’s proud of it.

I glance over at Harper. She’s staring directly at me, not the Future Me droning on. Against my will, I shrug slightly and let a sad smirk cross my face. She walks closer, and I think she’s going to reach for my hand, but she simply stands there, shoulder to shoulder with me, almost touching.

Now Future Me’s voice shifts, from reflective, sentimental sap to inspiring visionary. This should be good.

“The Titan Foundation gave me what I sorely needed: a cause greater than myself. It saved me. It was a true opportunity to build something that will do good long after I’m gone. That’s what the Titan Foundation is to me: a beacon that will guide humanity into eternity. We knew we were building something special when it began, but at the time Oliver and I thought we were just putting together a small group of really important people who could target big, global objectives, tasks larger than national governments or major nonprofits could tackle. Luckily we were wrong about the scale of our impact.”