IT WASN’T EXACTLY a surprise to anyone (least of all Jo, given the prior night’s encounter) that they were ushered into the briefing room the next morning. That didn’t mean Jo wasn’t instantly filled with dread over the fact. Breakfast was bypassed, the television blank and silent, and like a funeral march, everyone filed in to take their seats.

Snow’s words had circulated in her brain clean through to the morning and played underneath his appearance in the common room, announcing their presences were required in the briefing room.

Though when Jo looked around the table at the rest of the group, she would have sworn by the atmosphere that everyone else already knew. Everyone seemed to share the same exhaustion, the same forlorn expression. Everyone except Pan, that is; she just looked mildly amused.

Jo frowned at the now hazy memory of their last encounter that was stinging at the edges of her mind. Pan’s eyes landed on hers and Jo promptly looked away. Nico had been right, Pan was likely just making trouble for trouble’s sake. Well, Jo wouldn’t give her the upper hand. She forcefully shifted her attention back to the matter at hand.

We are to prevent the loss of all life.

How were they supposed to deal with such an impossible wish?

To prevent something on such a drastic scale, especially when so much damage had already been done. . . there was no way. But Snow had acted as though they had no choice but to try. Despite herself, Jo couldn’t help the nervous intrigue worming its way into her stomach. Did he truly have the kind of power that could prevent a volcano from erupting? Could they even hope to close the Severity of Exchange on something like that? How exactly would they handle the fact that the life had, already, been lost?

As if on cue, Snow weaved his way in one fluid and authoritative motion from the doorway to the head of the table. It had already been quiet in the briefing room before, but with Snow’s arrival, the quiet seemed to shift into an almost tangible thing, heavy and expectant. Like some grotesque, pregnant monster ready to pop.

“You all know why you’re here,” Snow started, looking to each of them in turn. When his eyes locked briefly with Jo’s, she swore she felt her heart stutter. Now was not the time to recall the deeply vulnerable man who had come to her the night before. If she reached for anything of that memory, she’d reach for her frustration at his vagueness first. After a second to steel himself, that same detached expression settled like a second skin over his features. Snow lifted a hand. “Let us begin.”

Much like every wish since Jo’s arrival at the Society, she watched with undeniable fascination as the table came to life, changing and sifting through forms and images until settling on one everyone recognized instantly. They’d been watching the same pictures flash across various news broadcasts for days. Except, where Jo had begun to expect destruction and heartache, all she saw was life, normality, and a country untouched by catastrophe.

“What is this?” she heard herself say, though she didn’t recall giving her lips the express command to move. Her body continued on its own accord, and Jo felt herself inch forward in her seat, as if getting a closer look at the images might help her understand them better. “A recording? Or—”

“As of roughly nine hours ago, our current timestamp has been updated,” Snow offered, as if that explained anything at all. It was a simple statement with an impossible implication that her mind rebelled against. Surely Snow didn’t mean—

“Snow.” Eslar’s voice was low, almost scolding, despite its usual tenor. “What does this mean for the Severity of Exchange?”

Before Snow could answer, as though Eslar’s interjection had awoken them from a stupor, everyone at the table seemed to come back to life. Jo blinked blearily, trying to join the rest of them.

“How far back did we go then?” Wayne asked at about the same time Nico said, “What were the protocols of the wish?”

The questions seemed almost frantic. The only people not chiming in were the usually silent Samson and a rather shaken-looking Takako.

All at once, it came rushing back.

Prevent all loss of life.

Without realizing it, Jo had gotten to her feet, the movement bringing the sudden buzz of the room back into a tense hush. She understood in one sudden moment of clarity what he had meant when he had said he’d “done all he could.”

“You rewound time,” Jo demanded, looking past the footage of a destruction-free Japan to stare down their powerful leader. “You reset to before the disaster.”

“I did.” There was no hesitation in his voice, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t without its unspoken consequences. Snow gave a wave of his hand and the image of a young boy appeared on the table. As was the case with their wishers, there was some basic information laid out (it always reminded Jo of a character bio from one of Yuusuke’s video games). “Our wisher is Shiro Yamada from the Hakone region. His circle was made of many once-living things, ashes—” Snow didn’t clarify further. He didn’t have to. “Thus, the scale of his wish is. . . quite large. His wish is for us to ensure survival of any and all Japanese citizens in Mt. Fuji’s path.”

“So we’re not meant to stop the volcano,” Jo elaborated for him, mostly just to get the words out into the open, prove to herself and everyone else that the pieces had fallen into place: a jigsaw puzzle glued to the board. “We just need to save the people?”

“An evacuation? That could work, perhaps. . .” Nico frowned, looking from the table to Snow and back. “But what’s the current timestamp?”

“A month before the eruption.”

“A month. We have a month to get hundreds of thousands of people out of the line of fire.” Jo balked, running a shaking hand through her hair. With a desperate flick of her wrist, she wrestled her watch free of her hoodie’s sleeve. There, in soft, illuminating proof, was the number 766:00. Seven-hundred and thirty hours added to the time she’d collected from their past few wishes. One month’s worth of hours. He wasn’t joking about any of it.

“I’ve used nearly all of my magic usually reserved for the final wish-granting on this reset,” Snow went on, seemingly unaware of the panic slowly filtering into the room. “Which puts the Severity of Exchange at a much higher percentage than normal. It will require far more field work than our usual wish—”

“No shit,” Wayne all but spat, leaning heavily back into his seat.

“—but should not be impossible,” Snow finished as if he hadn’t even heard Wayne speak. Jo felt practically sick with the onslaught of fresh nerves, too many questions piling on top of each other. What would happen if they failed? How were they supposed to evacuate such a large area so quickly? What were they even going to do?

“It’s not enough time to move everyone and prevent the loss of all life,” Takako whispered, more to herself than to anyone. It was almost a shock to hear her voice after so long, even more so to see the look of frustration marring her usually stoic face. “What happens if. . . We won’t have enough—”

A soft twinkle of laughter cut Takako off instantly; all eyes turned to Pan with a start. She was leaning back in her chair like she hadn’t a care in the world, even going so far as to raise her bare feet to the table, crossed at the ankles. When she wiggled her toes to get comfortable, her nail polish seemed to change color.

At the look of amusement on her face, Jo felt a stab of shock and annoyance deep into the center of her chest. An annoyance that morphed quickly into a defensive anger as the girl clicked her tongue and spoke.

“This is absolutely priceless.” She giggled, stretching lithely before working her fingers through the fine strands of blue hair curling in long waves around her head. Just yesterday it had been short and spiked, layered in tones of purple, hadn’t it? When Pan looked at her, Jo felt herself bristle. “What’s got everyone so worked up? I mean, it’s not like anyone is dead.” Then, gaze still locked lazily on Jo, she winked one cat-like eye. “Yet.”

If Jo thought the previous silence had been suffocating, this one was borderline lethal. The weight of her own surprise nearly consumed her. She might as well have choked on the bitter taste of her instant fury. Everyone seemed to suffer a similar loss beneath the blatant display of indifference. Everyone except Jo.

She swallowed back that fury and let it burn all the way down like a $2 gas station energy drink.

“Excuse me?” The words were more felt than heard, a seething hiss of a whisper past clenched teeth. Pan just continued to watch her, the obvious tilt of a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips.

“If everyone is so afraid of the consequences, then simply make sure to lessen the Severity of Exchange. You don’t want to put so much strain on poor little Snow. He’s already done so much for you and used up all his normal magic allocated for a wish. No help there to save you all.” Pan shrugged, twirling a curl around her finger over and over again. Jo didn’t know if the woman-child was actually oblivious or simply apathetic, but either way, she seemed to easily ignore the waves of Snow’s anger that roared overtop them all. Why did he stay silent? “I’m sure it’s hardly so difficult as you seem to be making it. Just get it done and make sure it’s perfect.”

For a long moment, Jo didn’t quite know what to say to that. Was she joking? Even if she was, did she not realize that humor was definitely uncalled for in this situation? Either way, Jo felt a pang of pure hatred rush down her spine. If not just for herself, or for the team, then for Takako.

“Just get it done?” Jo repeated, pushing away from her seat completely and walking along the curved length of the table in Pan’s direction. She thought she might have felt Wayne reach out to hold her back, but her focus was zeroed in on her target, her retort already spilling past her lips. “Who the hell do you think you are, acting like this is so simple? We got to witness exactly what would happen if we fail. We got to watch the death toll rise and the carnage spread, and you don’t get why we’re afraid? You don’t understand why we might be a little less than nonchalant about all this?”

Jo found herself suddenly standing right in front of Pan’s chair, leaning into the woman-child’s personal space in a way that should have been disturbing if not, at the very least, intimidating. Jo felt something visceral and sinister spike deep within her, fueling her outrage. Looking at Pan was like looking in a mirror but only seeing the worst reflected back. “No. You wouldn’t understand, would you? Because you spend all of your time in your room taking month-long naps you don’t need, and god knows what else, instead of actually doing your damn job like the rest of us.”

Pan looked completely nonplussed. “Then don’t fail,” she said, grinning with an ease that made Jo want to slap her across the face. “I’m sure, of all of you, Takako understands that best. Don’t you, pet?”

Jo hadn’t wanted to say anything, hadn’t wanted to bring too much painful attention to Takako’s family, to the raised stakes, to everything she had to lose if they failed. But hearing Pan comment so frivolously set Jo’s blood to outright boiling.

“How dare you!” she yelled, slamming a fist down on the table between them before pointing squarely into Pan’s chest. “She’s suffered more the last couple of days than any of us. And you just expect her to write that off, pretend she hasn’t had to grieve and move on enough to deal with all of this? What right do you have to be so. . . so patronizing, you fuc—”

Suddenly, Jo felt her center of gravity being forced backwards, an arm flailing out to grasp at the hand currently gripping tight at her shoulder. “Jo, enough.” Eslar’s voice was in her ear, not quite scolding, but not soothing either. She hadn’t even realized she’d been nearly nose to nose with Pan until Eslar was practically dragging her back to her seat.

The look of smug amusement on Pan’s face, the embarrassed resignation on Takako’s, and the mix of disappointment and caution on Eslar’s, all fought for Jo’s first reaction. Not that any of those could possibly be right. Surely Jo wasn’t in the wrong here. . . was she?

“You’re just going to let her talk to us this way? Like the lives of these people don’t matter?” Jo shook her head, finally pulling away from Eslar’s grip. “Whose side are you on?” And then, as a more important question tickled the back of her mind, Jo became all too aware of the gazes currently pointed everywhere but at her or Pan. Jo tightened her hands into fists at her side, looking not at Eslar or Pan or at anyone else. No, with these words, she pointed her accusing stare right at Snow.

“What is wrong with you people?” Why are you all so afraid of her? Why are you letting her treat you this way? Jo wanted to say, pointing over her shoulder accusingly, ready to demand answers if not from Snow than from Pan herself. But Snow just shook his head and Jo felt herself pause.

Maybe it was the brief flash of something in his eyes, something a bit broken and definitely pleading that she could have simply imagined, or maybe she had just grown tired of fighting a clearly losing battle. Either way, Jo found herself rolling her eyes and plopping down with a huff into her seat. Snow nodded, taking the opportunity to jump back into the logistics of the wish, the time limit, and the necessity of their involvement.

But Jo was only half listening, instead looking almost continuously over at Pan.

This wasn’t over, not by a long shot, but by the stretch of Pan’s grin, it was obvious the woman was already stewing in her own victory. Jo would dig answers out of the very walls of the Society if she had to; somehow, she would figure out what made this woman so special, so frightening.

Pan was a puzzle that simply couldn’t go on unsolved.