Mara spent twenty-three minutes standing in front of her sister’s door before pressing the buzzer. For the first five, she tried to decide what to say. For the next ten, she tried to convince herself that showing up without warning wasn’t exactly the kind of behavior that had destroyed their relationship in this reality. For the last eight, she simply stared at the door, hating the fact that, for the first time in many years, she didn’t know how to start a conversation. She pressed the buzzer. No answer. She waited. She pressed it again. She heard footsteps. The door opened just far enough to reveal her sister’s face. Shock came first. Then irritation. —What are you doing here? Mara had rehearsed three answers on the way over. None of them survived. —I came to apologize. The door remained partially closed. —You? —Yes. —Apologize? Mara took a deep breath. —If you’re going to make this harder than it already is, at least let me in. The hallway has terrible acoustics for family humiliation. Her sister almost smiled. Almost. —No. —Fair. Mara waited. The door didn’t close. It was something. —I read our messages, she continued. Her sister’s expression hardened. —Good. Saves time. —I was wrong. This time, there was a reaction. Small, but impossible to hide. —What? Mara had already realized that saying those three words was considerably worse than any hostile hearing. —About the way I acted. I don’t know if I was wrong about the company. —Impressive. —I’m trying. —You can’t apologize without adding a defense clause? Mara closed her eyes for a moment. —Probably not. But I can try again. Her sister crossed her arms. Mara breathed in. —I shouldn’t have called anyone. I shouldn’t have investigated your company behind your back, much less treated what I found as if it gave me the right to make the decision for you. Silence. —And? Mara frowned. —There’s an “and”? —There always is with you. She deserved that. —and I’m sorry. Her sister stared at her for a few seconds. —Eight months. —I know. —No, you don’t. Because for eight months, you could have said that. Mara had no answer. The woman who had lived that life might have had one. She didn’t. —Why did you come here? her sister asked. —Really. The question Mara had feared. She could invent a reason. A spontaneous reconciliation. Guilt. Their mother. Any version plausible enough to reach the real goal: stopping her sister from boarding the Meridian. But after everything she had read about that Mara, a lie would seem like just another form of control. —Because I’m scared. Her sister uncrossed her arms. Mara continued before she lost her nerve. —I know this is going to sound absurd. Maybe worse than absurd. But I need to tell you, and after that, you decide what to do. —Mara... —I had a vision. Her sister’s expression went blank. —A vision. —Yes. —The... spiritual kind? —God, no. —Then what kind? —I don’t know. The answer irritated her precisely because it was true. —I see things before they happen. —Mara. —I knew you wouldn’t believe me. —You showed up after eight months saying you can see the future. —Technically, I didn’t say I can see the future. I said I see things before they happen. Her sister simply stared at her. Mara sighed. —Okay. That wasn’t a useful distinction. —Are you hearing yourself? —Unfortunately. Her sister started closing the door. Mara put her hand against it. —I saw the Meridian. The door stopped. Her sister looked at her. —What? —The boat. Mara let go of the door and took a step back, deliberately showing that she had no intention of forcing her way in. —I saw the reception. I saw Tower Bridge. I saw you wearing a dark blue dress, and I saw the boat have some kind of accident. Her sister said nothing. —You fell into the river, Mara continued. —I went after you. —How do you know about the dress? Mara felt the first thread of real attention. —Because I saw it. —Mom told you. —No. —You asked someone at the company. —No. —You did exactly that before. —I know. The sentence silenced the other woman. Mara could have defended herself. She didn’t. —That’s why I’m telling you everything and letting you decide. —Decide what? —Whether you’re going to the event. Her sister let out an incredulous laugh. —So you came here to stop me. —I came to ask you not to go. —Same thing. —No. Before, I would have done something to make sure of it. Her sister knew her well enough to know that was true. —And now? Mara shoved her hands into her coat pockets. —Now I’m trying to accept that you might look at me, decide I’ve lost my mind, and go anyway. —And what are you going to do? Mara already knew the answer. —Go with you. Her sister laughed. —Absolutely not. —I have access to the event. —Of course you do. —My office represents one of the sponsoring companies. —Naturally. —London’s smaller than it looks. —Your ego certainly takes up a considerable portion of it. Mara smiled. This time, her sister did too. It didn’t last long. —Do you really believe this? she asked. Mara thought of a wrecked train. The burning office. The floor of a bar giving way beneath her feet. She thought of the man who had appeared three times and the way he had looked at her when he asked whether she already knew him. —Yes. Her sister noticed. Maybe she didn’t believe in the vision, but she believed that Mara was telling the truth about her fear. —You need a doctor. —That option is still on the list. —A list? —I have several. —Of course you do. Her sister opened the door a little wider. —Come in. Mara tried to hide her relief. —Thank you. —That doesn’t mean I believe you. —I wasn’t expecting a miracle. —You literally showed up talking about visions. —Point taken. ________________________________________ On Friday, Mara spent the day waiting for something to stop her from boarding. Nothing did. She checked the Meridian’s maintenance history. Inspections up to date. Experienced crew. No significant weather warnings. No known failures. The boat had hosted hundreds of events without any serious incidents. She researched collisions on the Thames, engine failures, accidents involving tourist vessels, currents, commercial routes, and emergency protocols. By four in the afternoon, she had enough information to lead a small maritime investigation and no concrete idea what would trigger the tragedy. Experience should have taught her better. On the Tube, she had tried to alter the event. At the office, she had evacuated the building. At the bar, she had managed to get almost everyone out before the fire. The circumstances changed. Death found another way. This time, perhaps it wouldn’t be possible to prevent the catastrophe. So Mara decided to prepare to survive it. Around six, she put a small flashlight, a seat-belt cutter, a portable charger, and a compact emergency kit she had bought that morning into her bag. She stared at the contents. Cloe would have made a terrible joke. The memory came with less pain than before, but it was still there. In that reality, Mara hadn’t even looked for Cloe. Not yet. She had begun to understand that finding people she loved didn’t necessarily mean they would want to find her. Her phone vibrated. A message from her sister. If you show up wearing a life jacket under your dress, I’m leaving. Mara replied: That would be efficient. The response came immediately: MARA. She smiled. I’m not wearing one. That was true. It was in her bag. ________________________________________ The Meridian looked much more beautiful outside the vision. That made everything worse. Golden lights reflected across the Thames’s dark surface as guests boarded, dressed for an evening they believed they understood. London rose around them in glass, stone, and centuries of human decisions, indifferent to the fact that Mara Vale had already died three times within its borders. Her sister was waiting near the entrance. Dark blue dress. The same one from the vision. Mara stopped. Her sister noticed. —No. —What? —Don’t start. —I didn’t say anything. —Your face did. Mara looked away. —You could have picked another color. —I almost picked red. —You should have. —This is ridiculous. —We agree on something. Her sister moved closer. —Last chance. We can leave now and pretend you never told me this story. Mara stared at the boat. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to grab her sister by the arm, put her in a cab, and take her to the other side of the city. But her sister deserved this night. In this reality, the job she had chosen against Mara’s wishes had worked out. The company had grown. She was going to be honored for a project she had helped build. Mara had no right to take that away from her based on a vision she still didn’t understand. —Let’s go in. Her sister raised an eyebrow. —Are you sure? —No. —That was surprisingly human. —Don’t spread it around. They boarded together. ________________________________________ For the first hour, nothing happened. Mara hated every minute of it. The main hall was crowded. Conversations, music, servers crossing the room with trays, and people networking with the predatory ease typical of corporate events. Mara knew half of them. Or, more precisely, that version of Mara knew them. Some approached with enough familiarity to force her to improvise. —Mara! Vienna next month? —I haven’t decided yet. —You never miss Vienna. —Maybe I’m maturing. The man laughed. Mara had no idea who he was. Her sister appeared beside her after he walked away. —You had no idea who that man was. —I did. —You called him “my dear.” —An extremely effective social technique. —Who was he? Mara picked up a glass of water. —No idea. Her sister laughed. The sound brought a strange sense of victory. —How long have you been having these... visions? Mara grew serious. —Not long. —How many? She could say four. One before each death. She couldn’t explain the rest. —Several. —Conveniently vague. —You’re my sister. You had to inherit something. —I hope it wasn’t your taste in men. Mara nearly choked on her water. —That was unnecessary. —Your last boyfriend was arrested. —For a financial crime. Not murder. —What a relief. —He inaccurately reported assets. —He hid four million pounds. —Still not murder. Her sister laughed again. Mara felt something tighten in her chest. It had been eight months since that version of her had heard that sound because of Mara. Maybe this was a life worth preserving. The thought came with a question Mara had avoided since it all began. If she died that night, what world would she wake up in? Would her sister still know her? Their mother? Their father? How much of it would survive the next death? For the first time, Mara wasn’t afraid only of dying. She was afraid of coming back. ________________________________________ A little after nine, the Meridian began its return route. Mara noticed the first details from the vision. The music. The tables. Tower Bridge ahead. She began watching the deck. There was nothing objectively wrong. The captain didn’t seem concerned. The crew continued working normally. Even so, her body already knew. The same unease. The same feeling of walking down a hallway whose end she knew without understanding how she would reach it. Her sister approached with two glasses. —No. —It’s champagne. —Exactly. —You’re on a boat at a reception. —That’s how accidents start. —I think accidents start with collisions. Mara turned to her. Her sister noticed. —It was a joke. —A terrible one. —You’ve gone white. Mara took one of the glasses and set it on a table without drinking. —I want you to pay attention to me. —Mara... —Just this once. Her sister sighed. —I’m listening. —If anything happens, don’t try to look for me. Don’t go back for your bag, phone, or anything else. Go to the open deck, put on a life jacket, and follow the crew. —Did you rehearse that? —Quite a bit. —And you? —I’ll do the same. —Lie. Mara frowned. —Why? —Because you never do what you tell other people to do. That was irritatingly difficult to dispute. Her sister gripped her arm. —Mara, if you really believe something’s going to happen, why are we here? It was the right question. Maybe the first one Mara should have asked herself. —Because I didn’t know how to stop you without doing exactly what I came here to apologize for. Her sister fell silent. —So you came here to die with me? —Preferably not. —That wasn’t funny. —It wasn’t supposed to be. Her expression softened. —I’m still angry with you. —I know. —Very angry. —I know that too. —But I don’t want you to die with me. Mara swallowed something that threatened to rise in her throat. —Then we have a deal. A vibration ran through the floor. Almost imperceptible. Mara looked down. Her sister did too. —Is that normal? —You’re the one who spent the week researching boats. Another tremor. This time, glasses chimed. The music continued. Conversations quieted. A crew member hurried across the hall toward the bow. Mara felt her stomach drop. —It’s started. —Are you sure? A third vibration struck the hull. The lights flickered. Mara grabbed her sister’s hand. —Now I am. ________________________________________ There was no explosion. No immediate collision. What came first was a deep noise from beneath the vessel, as if something enormous were scraping against the hull. People began to stand. A voice announced over the speakers that everyone should remain calm. Mara hated announcements that started like that. —Deck, she said. Her sister didn’t argue. That scared Mara more than any resistance could have. They moved against the flow of people trying to figure out what was happening. A waitress dropped a tray. The sound of metal hitting the floor created a strange silence. Then the boat tilted. Not much. Enough. Glasses slid. A table shifted. Someone fell. Panic began immediately. —Keep moving! Mara shouted. They reached the doors. Outside, the river wind struck her face. Tower Bridge gleamed in the distance exactly as it had in the vision. Mara looked across the deck. Life jackets. Exits. Crew. Everything where it should be. —Put on your life jackets! someone shouted. Mara opened a compartment. She handed one to her sister. —Put it on. —What about you? —Later. —Mara. —Put it on! Her sister obeyed. A boom came from the stern. The Meridian tilted several more degrees. Screams. The current seemed to push the vessel sideways. Mara saw lights approaching from the opposite side. Another vessel. Smaller. Moving far too fast. —Oh my God. This wasn’t what she had seen. The Meridian was outside its normal course. The smaller vessel tried to correct. Too late. The collision struck the rear side. The sound seemed to pass through Mara’s bones. The deck shifted beneath her feet. People were thrown against tables and railings. Mara dropped to her knees. When she lifted her face, her sister was no longer beside her. —No. She searched. She saw the blue dress a few yards away. Her sister was clinging to the railing. Exactly as in the vision. Mara ran. —Don’t move! —I wasn’t planning to! Another jolt from the water made the Meridian tilt. The railing’s metal frame groaned. Mara reached her. —Give me your hand. Her sister reached out. Mara grabbed it. Someone slammed into her back. The railing broke. Her sister disappeared. For a moment, Mara held all her weight by her hands alone. Below, the Thames. Dark. Cold. Identical. —Mara! —I’ve got you! Her fingers began to slip. The vision. The same position. The same voice. Mara felt terror. She wasn’t seeing the future. She was inside it. —Don’t let go! —I won’t! It was too much of a promise. Mara pulled. The muscles in her arms burned. She managed to lift her sister a few inches. Someone appeared behind her. A crew member. He grabbed her arm. Together, they pulled. Her sister fell back onto the deck. Mara froze. That hadn’t happened in the vision. She had done it. —Mara! Her sister hugged her. For two seconds, Mara let her. —Go! —Together. —Go with him. —No. —Please. The word came out differently. Without an order. Without a threat. Her sister noticed. —Are you coming? —I promise. The crew began guiding her toward a safe area. Mara waited until she saw her move away. Then she felt the relief. Maybe this was it. Maybe the vision showed a possibility, not a destiny. Maybe she had finally broken— A scream came from the water. Mara turned. A woman had fallen. Then someone else. Part of the side of the deck was giving way. Mara ran to help. Someone threw a life ring. The first woman managed to grab it. The second didn’t. Mara looked toward the exit. Her sister was safe. She could go. She should go. Then she saw a hand disappear beneath the water. Mara took off her shoes. —No! a crew member shouted. She jumped. ________________________________________ The cold was a violence. The water closed over Mara, and for a moment there was no river, boat, or London. Only darkness, pressure, and the brutal instinct to rise. She surfaced. She inhaled. —Here! The woman was a few yards away. Mara swam toward her. She managed to reach her. —Look at me! The woman was panicking. She tried to grab Mara by the neck. —Stop! No response. Mara took an elbow to the face. —If you keep doing that, we’re both going to die! Maybe the tone worked. The woman stopped long enough for Mara to turn her onto her back. A life ring fell near them. —Hold on! The woman grabbed it. People began pulling her in. Mara tried to follow. That was when something caught her ankle. The sensation came with a terrible certainty. The vision. Mara dove. A rope. It was wrapped around her leg. She tried to pull it loose. It wouldn’t budge. Above her, the woman continued being pulled out. Mara reached for the tool in her bag. The bag wasn’t with her. Of course. The equipment she had bought to survive was safely stored inside the boat that was sinking. Cloe would have found that hilarious. Mara tried to free the rope with her hands. Nothing. She had to surface. She was already out of air. She broke the surface for a second. —MARA! Her sister’s voice. Mara saw her face on the deck. Safe. Alive. That was enough. The current pulled. Mara disappeared beneath the water. ________________________________________ She didn’t know how long she fought. Maybe twenty seconds. Maybe two minutes. Her body began deciding for her. Her movements slowed. The pain in her lungs grew until it stopped feeling like pain and became an absolute need. Air. She tried the rope again. Her fingers weren’t responding properly. The light at the surface seemed farther away. That was when Mara realized the sound had disappeared. It hadn’t faded. It had disappeared. The current stopped. The bubbles hung motionless in front of her face. Mara blinked. This wasn’t water. Or not only water. She was standing. She didn’t know when her feet had found something solid. In one instant, she was drowning in the Thames. In the next, she was in a place with no floor, ceiling, or horizon. Dark, but not empty. All around her were things like reflections on glass, thousands of them appearing and disappearing in the distance. Streets. Rooms. Faces. Fragments of London. Worlds. Mara tried to breathe. She could. She looked at her clothes. Still wet. —Am I dead? A voice answered behind her. —Not yet. Mara froze. The voice was low, calm, and perfectly clear. But there was something almost indecently familiar about it. She turned. He was there. The man from the Tube. The office. The bar. For the first time, there was no smoke, fire, or distance enough to hide him. He wore the same dark overcoat. His hands were in his pockets. And, to Mara’s instant irritation, he looked just as comfortable in that impossible place as someone waiting for a table at a good restaurant. He watched her for a few seconds. Then he inclined his head slightly. —Miss Vale. Mara felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the river. Six chapters’ worth of questions collided inside her. She chose the simplest one. —Who are you? The man seemed to consider it. —Theodore Marlowe. No dramatic effect. No hesitation. Just the name. Mara repeated it silently. Theodore Marlowe. —You know me. It wasn’t a question. —I do. Her heart sped up. —From where? Marlowe looked around at the thousands of reflections appearing and disappearing in the darkness. —That answer requires an amount of time you unfortunately don’t have. Mara took a step forward. —You were on the Tube. —Yes. —At the office. —Yes. —At the bar. —I remember. His calm infuriated her. —I’ve died three times. —I know. —And you just stood there watching. Something passed across his face. —That’s a particularly cruel interpretation. —It’s the correct interpretation. —I didn’t say it was wrong. Mara stopped. The answer was irritating in an almost sophisticated way. —Are you causing this? —No. Quick. Direct. Mara studied his face. —The visions? —No. —The catastrophes? —No. —My deaths? Marlowe took a little longer. —No. —Then why are you always there? He watched her. —Because you are. —That doesn’t mean anything. —It means quite a lot. Just not to you yet. Mara clenched her teeth. —Stop answering like you’re trying to win an award for being unbearable. For the first time, Theodore Marlowe smiled. Not much. But he smiled. —Ah. Mara felt like hitting him. —What? —I missed that. Her smile vanished before it even existed. —Missed what? Marlowe noticed the mistake. He didn’t seem sorry. Only more attentive. —You knew me. Silence. —Answer me. —Yes. The word struck Mara harder than she expected. —How well? He looked away. The first time. —Quite well. —That’s not an answer. —It’s exactly an answer. It’s just not the one you wanted. —I hate you. Marlowe looked back at her. —It’s not the first time. Mara felt the world tilt without moving. —What does that mean? —Exactly what I said. —What were we? He remained silent. —Friends? Nothing. —Enemies? A trace of amusement. —That depends on who was telling the story. —Theodore. His expression changed when he heard his name in her voice. So slightly that Mara almost missed it. Almost. —Why don’t I remember you? The humor disappeared. That was the question. Mara knew it immediately. Marlowe took his hands out of his pockets. —Miss Vale... —Don’t do that. —Do what? —Use my last name when you don’t want to answer. He seemed genuinely impressed. —You really are still very good at that. —At what? —Finding exactly the door someone would like to keep closed. —Then open it. Marlowe moved closer. Only a few steps separated them now. Mara noticed details the other deaths hadn’t allowed her to see. A small scar near his jaw. Faint dark circles under his eyes. The posture of someone who seemed relaxed because he had chosen to seem relaxed. And those eyes. That was where the familiarity came from. Not his face. His eyes. Her body recognized something her mind couldn’t reach. —If I answer certain questions now, he said, you’ll do exactly what you always do. —What? —You’ll believe information and understanding are the same thing. Mara felt the words hit home. —You don’t know me as well as you think you do. Marlowe gave a small laugh. Not mocking. Sad. —Miss Vale, there are very few things I can still afford to be certain of. The space around them began to vibrate. The distant reflections dissolved like images on the surface of water. Mara looked around. —What’s happening? —You’re dying. She turned her eyes back to him. —I thought you said I wasn’t yet. —Time has very little courtesy in this place. —Then help me. The sentence came out before pride could stop it. Marlowe went completely still. Mara realized something terrible. —You can’t. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. —That’s why you just watch. Pain returned to his face. The same pain from the Tube. The office. The bar. Mara understood. At least part of it. He wasn’t watching because he wanted to. —How many times? she asked. Marlowe stiffened. —Mara... The first time. Not Miss Vale. Mara. Her own name in his voice passed through something inside her. A memory almost happened. The warmth of a fireplace. A hand holding hers. Laughter. A voice saying something close to her ear. It vanished before she could reach it. Mara staggered. —What was that? Marlowe moved toward her. —No. —I remembered something. —Don’t try. —Why? —Because you don’t know what you’re looking for. —Then tell me! The darkness around them split apart. Water began to rise across the nonexistent floor. Marlowe was close enough to touch now. He didn’t. Mara noticed. He wanted to. Maybe desperately. Even so, he kept his hands at his sides. —How many times have I died? she asked. —More than you remember. Fear came slowly. —How many? Marlowe closed his eyes. When he answered, his voice was different. —That’s one of the questions I wish you had never learned to ask. Mara felt water enveloping her ankles. —Theodore. He opened his eyes. —What happens when I die now? —You continue. —Where? —Somewhere else. —Another world? Silence. That was enough. Mara felt her blood turn cold. —My God. Finally. The missing word. She didn’t go back in time. She didn’t wake up after nightmares. Worlds. —Cloe didn’t forget me. Marlowe remained silent. —She never knew me in that world. He didn’t deny it. —And my sister? —Mara. —Will she know me when I come back? Marlowe looked at her. No humor. No evasion. Only terrible honesty. —I don’t know. That answer frightened her more than all the others. Because, for the first time, Theodore Marlowe seemed to be hiding nothing. Mara felt the water reach her waist. The place was dissolving. —How do I stop this? He finally moved closer. —Find out why it started. —Was it you? Marlowe went still. Mara noticed the silence. —Theodore. —I’ve done many things I’m not proud of. —That doesn’t answer me. —I know. —Was it you? The space around them cracked. His face was close now. Mara could touch him. Some irrational part of her wanted to. —Ask me again when you’re sure you want the answer, Marlowe said. —I want it now. —No. Mara almost laughed. —You just said you don’t lie. —I never said that. She stopped. True. He had never said it. It was only something Mara was beginning to understand about the strangely careful way he answered. —So you lie to me? Theodore held her gaze. —No. A simple answer. Mara believed him. She didn’t know why. The water reached her chest. —Will I find you again? —Yes. —When? The smile returned, minimal and unbearable. —Given your recent history, probably under terrible circumstances. Mara let out an involuntary laugh. The absurdity of it almost hurt. —You really think that’s funny? —No. I think you’re funny. —That’s not better. —It never was. The world began pulling her backward. Mara felt water entering her lungs again. Panic. She reached out. This time, Marlowe took her hand. The contact was instant. And devastating. An image passed through Mara. Theodore laughing. Younger. Blood on his shirt. Her voice saying his name. Not Theodore. Something else. A hand against her face. A kiss. A funeral. Mara screamed. Marlowe let go of her immediately. —What was that?! The fear on his face was absolute. —Mara, don’t— —I knew you. —Yes. —I— The water swallowed her voice. The last sound she heard was Theodore Marlowe shouting her name. Not Miss Vale. Not politely. Not from a distance. Mara. Then the Thames returned. Cold. Pressure. Darkness. And as her lungs finally gave out, Mara Vale died for the fourth time knowing two things she hadn’t known before: Theodore Marlowe knew her from a life she couldn’t remember. And he was terrified of the possibility that she might start remembering.