Remember Yesterday

33

My mind whirls, so fast and hard that my jaw aches. I grip my head, but it’s not computing. My sister, alive. How? How? How?

I try to wet my mouth, but there’s no saliva. “I don’t understand,” I croak. “How come she’s not dead? I felt our bond sever. I felt it.”

Preston lowers my sister’s wrist. The impossible has happened, and yet he looks neither relieved nor joyful. Instead, his brows are creased, and his lips are tense. If I’m reading his eyes correctly, I’d say he’s…scared. But that can’t be right. Why would he be afraid?

“I told you Callie could only latch onto someone whose genetic thread was a psychic match.” His voice is soft, and I shouldn’t be able to hear him, not as well as I do. But the room is a cavern, and every word, every syllable pierces into my mind. “Your thread was the best match, since the two of you are twins. But there are other genetic threads. Other possible matches. Maybe they aren’t ideal, but in a pinch, they’ll work.”

I blink. “You mean my mom was here?”

“No, she wasn’t.”

My lungs contract. My mom is our only living relative. Our only genetic match. Unless…unless…

“There’s a third child,” I say breathlessly. “Another embryo we didn’t know about. I have another brother or sister?”

I rise onto my toes, about to take flight, but he shakes his head. “No, Jessa. You have no other siblings. Your mother only ever had two embryos in her womb, and you and Callie were it.”

I crash back down. “Who is it, then?”

“I…” He looks up, as if the answer’s etched into the ceiling.

I freeze. He’s always seemed familiar to me, although I’ve never been able to place him. This must be the reason.

Quickly, I cross to the computer terminal, understanding but not. I’ve watched Tanner enough times that I know exactly how to curve my fingers around the keyball. Exactly what sequence of keys to press.

A holo-monitor appears in the air, one that measures the patient’s psychic powers. Green dots throb in the shape of a horizontal figure—Callie. Next to her, much weaker orange dots pulse in a vertical shape. Preston. A string of lights connects the two figures. It’s not as thick or layered as my thread was—but it’s there.

“You,” I say breathlessly. “It was you. You saw her body failing, so you offered her your psychic thread. She latched onto you.”

He hesitates and then nods. “It wasn’t my first choice for any of us. You have to understand that. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. But when it became clear that you wouldn’t get to her in time, it was either this or let her die.” He looks up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I could never let Callie die. So long as there is breath in my body. No matter what I have to sacrifice.”

He loves her so much. More than as a subject or a patient. As much as my mom or Logan or me. Still, I don’t understand. I don’t know who he is. “But why? Why does she mean so much to you? Who are you?”

He comes around the stretcher and tentatively picks up my hand. His fingers are warm and firm. They wrap around my knuckles the way a nest cradles a bird’s eggs. I’m reminded of the secret communication between Callie and me, how she would squeeze my hand three times to let me know that we were safe.

And then, he looks straight into my eyes. “Jessa, I’m your father.”