“I really hate it when you do that.”

Wilkins' voice cut through my thoughts and my head snapped up in surprise. Until that moment, I thought I was alone. The bastard had a way of creeping up without making a sound. It was one of the reasons why I was happy he was on my side. That, and the fact that I knew he'd always have my back.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, moving to one side of the broken down wall I was sitting on so that he could sit next to me.

We were in a small town just outside Baghdad, one that had definitely seen better days. The war had taken down most of the buildings, the streets so filled with rubble that barely any space was left for our SUVs to move about freely. If a quick escape was ever needed here, we'd be in trouble.

There were only two dozen people or so in the streets, and we knew most of them. We actually knew most of the people in the town, and many of them were friendly toward us. It was an oasis of sorts for us. A place where we didn't have to be quite on edge.

Wilkins sat down beside me, looking out at where Rogers was playing a friendly game of soccer with a few of the younger local boys. The big man's burly figure seemed to dwarf them all, but size clearly didn't intimidate them. They hollered and yelled at him as they played, all of them grinning like fools.

“You have this look you get when you're thinking about home,” Wilkins said as he pulled out an energy bar and took a bite. He offered it to me, but I quickly shook my head. I was rarely hungry when in the field.

“Is that so?”

He chuckled as he chewed. “I've known you for far too long, Daviot,” he said with a full mouth, and I instinctively smacked his shoulder.

It was my way of reminding him to keep his trap shut when eating, but it rarely ever did anything more than encourage him to do it more often.

“Is it Bruce?” Wilkins asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

I shook my head no. “Parents,” I said. “I miss them. I haven't called my father in a while, and the last time we spoke, he sounded terrible.”

Wilkins took another bite from his energy bar, a thoughtful expression on his face. Rogers waved at us to join him, but Wilkins simply gave him the finger, forcing the big man to laugh out loud. Wilkins rarely moved around unless absolutely necessary, something Rogers and I never failed to tease him about.

“You worry too much,” Wilkins said. “It's like you're deliberately carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders when no one's asking you to.”

“I can't help it,” I replied with a scowl.

“Sure you can. You're not responsible for everything.”

“That shouldn't stop me from calling home regularly.”

“Your dad's an army man, Daviot,” Wilkins said, crumpling up the wrapper and throwing it into the rubble. “He'll understand.”

“Do you have to do that?” I asked with a sigh.

“Do what?” He gave a wide-eyed look of innocence that I knew to be a lie.

“Throw your garbage in the street.”

Wilkins gestured outwards. “What street?”

“You're unbelievable,” I sighed, jumping down and making my way toward Rogers.

“I know you love me, Daviot!” Wilkins called after me.

I replied with a single-fingered salute of my own. I loved him like a brother, but he didn't understand the pressure I was under. Okay, the pressure I put myself under. It didn't really matter where it came from though. It was there, and I had to rise to meet it head-on just like I always did. I took my responsibilities seriously. I always did.

Shit, shit, shit!

My heart was racing, the pounding actually painful against my ribs. My chest tightened, and I was finding it impossible to breathe. I gasped, choked, as I struggled to get air into my burning lungs. I knew I was having a panic attack. I'd had them once or twice before when I'd been on leave. It was like my body stored up all of the stress of being deployed and then released it on me all at once when I was home safe.

That clearly wasn't the case now, because I wasn't home, and I sure as hell wasn't safe, especially after the foolish statement I'd just made.

Whatever else Gracen felt toward me didn't prevent him from trying to come to my rescue. I heard him saying my name, but couldn't answer. He came to me, put his hand on my shoulders. I could see the helplessness in his eyes, and it only increased my guilt.

How could I have been so stupid, blurting it out like that? Had I changed history? Had my careless words altered whatever destiny Gracen had already lived out? What if, instead of saving him, I'd just set him on a course that would result in his death?

When I was a senior in high school, I'd read the short story that had coined the phrase “the butterfly effect.” In it, a group traveled back in time, and they're all warned the dangers of straying from the assigned path. One man's failure to do just that results in the death of a butterfly. Something small, insignificant. Except when they returned to their own time, everything had changed.

The concept had been a staple of science fiction even before Bradbury had used a butterfly. If one created a time machine to prevent a death, would saving that person prevent the invention of the very machine that had been used to save them? Can a single moment of bravery in high school completely change the destiny of a family? Will history work to correct itself? Or has our effect already been incorporated into the timeline and we're not actually failing to change history, but rather filling our pre-ordained role?

These thoughts swirled relentlessly through my brain as spots danced in front of my eyes. This wasn't a fictional debate or some theoretical conversation about something that could never happen, because it was happening. To me. To someone I cared about.

“Honor–”

“Stay away from me,” I warned as I pulled away from Gracen. My voice was thin, little more than a whisper, but it was there.

What had I done?

“Honor, please, calm down.” He held up his hands in a gesture I recognized. He was trying to calm me.

A flash of anger went through me at the thought of him being condescending to me. To my surprise, the anger drove away the panic, and I found myself able to breathe. I gulped in air and closed my eyes, trying to focus on not passing out.

“Talk to me, Honor.”

I opened my eyes and saw that he'd come a few steps closer. I shook my head. “You have no idea what I've just done.”

He frowned at me, his expression showing his confusion. “You haven't done anything wrong, Honor. You can't be held accountable for your opinions.”

I started to say that he was wrong since the British would consider my statement to be tantamount to treason, but then his last word registered.

Opinions.

Part of me was relieved that I hadn't caused as much damage as I'd thought, but another part was angry that he could dismiss what I said so easily. I told myself not to be stupid, that he couldn’t know that I wasn't simply stating my mind, but rather historical fact. But that wasn't the real reason I was upset, I forced myself to admit. I might not have been able to expect him to believe me, but I wanted him to take me seriously, to take my opinion seriously.

He reached for me, and I realized that I didn't want him to touch me. Not like this. Not when he was treating me like some fragile, hysterical woman.

“Don't touch me,” I snapped as I took a step back.

“It's okay, Honor. You can relax.”

“I need to go,” I said as I took a quick step around him. “I can't stay here anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I've done enough.” I was talking more to myself than him now. “I have to get out of here. I should've left the first time around.”

He grabbed my arm, turning me to face him. I pulled back, tried to step away, to get away. I needed to go. I needed to get home, to my own time, to the time where this part of history had already been written. I struggled against his grip, and he grabbed my other arm. I was strong, but he was stronger.

“Let go.” I stopped fighting and appealed to him directly. “Please, just let me go.”

“I won't enlist, okay?” His voice sounded desperate. “I won't go anywhere, okay? I'll stay here.”

I was nearly in tears, and I cursed myself for it. He wasn't my responsibility. None of this was. I didn't know the choice Gracen had made originally, and if I changed his mind, for all I knew, I could be changing my entire future. While history hadn't recorded his name, I knew that it wasn't only the people in the textbooks who were responsible for the outcomes of wars. For all I knew, in the history of where I came from, Gracen had enlisted in the British Army, and he'd influenced someone or made some decision that led to a British loss. If he wasn't there, it was possible the Redcoats could win a battle that they'd lost before.

It was too much to think about. Too much responsibility that I didn't want. That I couldn't take. It didn't matter how I felt about him, or that the thought of him dying tore me apart. I couldn't change things.

“I can't…Gracen, I–”

Before I knew what was happening, Gracen's lips were pressed against mine, his hands still gripping me tightly as he drew me toward him. My mind went blank as everything else took a backseat to the feel of his mouth on mine. My pulse picked up again, but it wasn't panic fueling it this time.

For the few seconds we stood there, I felt that time itself had stopped, just for us. That this was the reason I'd been brought here. I remembered the dream I had, the one where I'd had the epiphany that he was the reason I'd gone through time, that this connection between us had been enough to break the rules so the two of us could be together. For a moment, I believed that none of this mattered, that everything would be okay.

Then he was pulling back, his hands still on my arms. I didn't want to open my eyes, didn't want to see the regret on his face. Because he had to regret it. No matter what my dream had made me think or what my heart wanted, I knew that this wasn't a good idea.

When I opened my eyes, I found him looking at me. Staring with the sort of intensity that made me shiver. I'd seen admiration and lust on Bruce's face. I believed that I'd seen love as well. But I'd never had a man look at me the way Gracen was right now.

“Gracen,” I started, but he quickly put a finger on my lips

“Please don't try to leave again, Honor,” he whispered. “I don't want you to go.”

“It's too complicated,” I forced myself to reply. I wanted this so badly, but I knew it couldn't be. “Things are too complicated. Everything is just too complicated.”

He shook his head and ran a hand up my arm. His fingers curled around the back of my neck, his thumb stroking across my throat. I knew he could feel my pulse fluttering wildly under his touch. I might be able to lie to him, but I couldn't deny what my body wanted.

My heart wanted it too.

“I don't understand what this is between us,” he said softly. “But I can't deny it any longer. I can't lose you. Please, don't leave. It will kill me.”

I swallowed hard, my entire body trembling as I tried to fight the emotions coursing through me. I'd tried writing this off as a mere physical reaction. Then as something one-sided. It made it easier to tell myself that it couldn't happen when I believed he didn't return my feelings. I wasn't sure I was strong enough to resist now.

“Tell me you'll stay,” he whispered.

“You're engaged.” I tried another approach. “No good could ever come from this.”

“I don't love Clara,” he said. “I never did. This whole engagement was my father's doing. A mutually beneficial relationship between families. Nothing more.”

“We barely know each other.” I tried another excuse but knew that I was losing the fight.

“Don't ask me to explain what I don't understand. All I know is that I want to be with you. I need to be with you.”

The hand still on my arm moved to my waist, slid around to the small of my back.

I felt exposed, as if he could read everything I felt for him. Everything I shouldn't feel. My hands came to rest on his chest, and through his clothes, I could feel the pounding in his chest, a quick gallop that beat parallel to mine. I wanted nothing more than to reach up and pull his face down to mine, kiss him until neither one of us could breathe.

Fear of the unknown stopped me. Not only the unknown that came naturally with this sort of thing, but of what consequences might come from my actions. How could I possibly be sure that any relationship with Gracen Lightwood wouldn't change the course of history more than I already had?

“Say something,” he murmured.

I took in a deep breath, and then let it out slowly, looking away from him as I tried to think of what to say. His fingers moved to cup my chin and turned my head back to him. Without hesitation, without concern for consequences, he leaned in for another kiss.

I knew if I told him to stop, he would, but I wasn't strong enough to do it. I gave in, melted against him, and let his touch wash away the doubts and the what-ifs. I stopped worrying and let myself simply be, feel. The hand on my back pulled me tight against him, and I shivered as my body made contact with his. Even through our layers of clothing, I could feel the electricity that flowed between us and knew that this connection between us went deeper than anything I'd imagined possible.

I didn't know who or what had brought me here, or why, but, at least for now, I would stop questioning it. If destiny or the universe or whatever didn't want me with Gracen, then it would just have to send me back to my own time.