The Flight of the Silvers (Silvers #1)(94)

Mia woke up four hours later, groggy and alone. Purple clouds peeked in through the curtain gaps. She could hear the shower running.

As she sat up, her hand brushed a small object on the blanket, an eight-inch cigar tube. Future Mia must have sent another delivery in her sleep.

She unscrewed the lid and shook out a roll of blue currency. Her jaw went slack as she counted fifteen hundred-dollar bills.

Mia used her finger to fish out the other two pieces of the parcel: a small white scrap containing a Brooklyn address and an eight-by-ten sheet of notebook paper densely crammed with text. The lettering was blocky and angular. A man’s handwriting.

Hello, Mia,

You don’t know me yet, but I’m a friend of your future. In fact, you’re sitting next to me as I write this. The Mia I know is fourteen, just like you. But this one traveled across the country to get to me. She made it here with flying colors, along with all her friends.

Mia spotted her own scribble in the margin. Hey girl! See you on the other side!

The author continued:



It’s of great importance that I earn your trust, which makes this next part all the more difficult. I’m sorry to say that the people who attacked you in Terra Vista are my people. My clan. There’s a group of us who live in the outskirts of New York: forty-four families, all natives of this world, all gifted like you and your friends. We even have a few folks who can fly on wings of aeris, though they can’t do it as often as they’d like. Through discipline and the occasional use of misdirection, we’ve managed to keep our talents hidden from the public at large. We don’t want to be lab rats any more than you do. For us, the price of living free is living quietly.

Recent developments, however, have put us all in a bad state. In the weeks since your arrival, several of our own have gone missing. Worse, the augurs of our clan—the ones who can see the future, live the future, and hear from their future selves—have all gotten wind of a terrible event coming. A second Cataclysm, of sorts.

Shortly after our troubles began, a man named Richard Rosen (you know him as Rebel) determined that the disaster ahead can be averted by destroying all the new people who arrived in this world. He believes you’re all living ruptures in the fabric of time, breaches that need to be plugged. Though his theory isn’t entirely based in fiction, it’s deeply flawed. Unfortunately, fear won out over reason and Rebel got the clan to see things his way. For your sakes, I wish I’d fought better. All I managed to do was get myself banished from the councils.

But I’m not out of the game yet. I’ve got my own plan to stop what’s coming, one that doesn’t involve murder. Unlike Rebel, I don’t think you and your friends are part of the problem. In fact, I believe you’re part of the solution. One of you in particular.

So I’m writing you now, Mia. I’m asking you to come find me at the enclosed address. I can provide you all with shelter, safety, and crucial information. For those of you looking for a purpose on this world, I can sure as hell give you that too.

Come to Brooklyn. You won’t have to worry about Rebel for a while, but there are other people on your trail. I’ll let your older half tell you about those folks, on the other side of this note.

I’d say I look forward to meeting you, but I already have and I’m already glad. I’ll just say I look forward to you meeting me.

All the best,

Peter Pendergen

Beleaguered by all the new information, Mia turned the letter over. The other side was written in Mia’s hand, an assortment of quick thoughts scrawled at various angles. A passage at the top caught her attention. It was circled twice and garnished with a smiley face.

Apology from Hannah in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .

Mia jumped when the door opened. Hannah stepped out of the steamy bathroom. She adjusted her towel wrap and aimed a soft expression at Mia.

“Hi.”

“Hey. Where’s, uh . . . ?”

“She’s checking on Theo. How are you doing?”

Still reeling from the letter, Mia could only shrug. Hannah fixed a somber gaze at her feet.

“Listen, I talked to Amanda. She told me you spent all night in the security room with Erin, looking out for intruders. She also said you’re the one who pulled the fire alarm and warned Zack about Rebel. I’m . . . I don’t know what came over me. When I learned about your note, I just flipped out and assumed you didn’t do anything with the information. But it turns out you did a lot. So, I’m sorry. And I’m so sorry for saying you were responsible for Erin and Dr. Czerny. Can you forgive me?”

Mia bit her lip, nodding in warm accord. Hannah leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms.

“Okay. Now that I got that out, I have a favor to ask. In the future, should you get another—”

“Evan Rander.”

Hannah blinked at her. “What?”

“A note I got. A warning. If you see a small and creepy guy with a ‘55’ on his hand, run. That’s Evan Rander. He’s bad news.”

Though Hannah had failed to notice any numbers on anyone’s hands, she could think of two different men who’d set off her creep alarms today.

“Okay. Wow. I don’t know what to make of that yet. But I’m glad you told me. Thank you.”

Hannah glanced at Mia’s journal on the end table, then nervously scratched her neck.