The next evening, she opened the book again. Her breath caught.
Done. Look under the desk by the window in Literature class. You'll find it scratched into the wood: "E + E = Always."
Her pulse thundered.
The memory surged back—the grainy desk, Ethan's grin as he showed her the crude etching he had made when the teacher wasn't looking. She had laughed then, embarrassed and touched.
Emma shut her eyes. The past was real. And it hadn't changed. Not yet.
But what if it could?
She realized that the workbook was not only a bridge across time—it was a tool, a dangerous one, and she held it in her trembling hands.