“It’s not your fault, Jon,” Martin said for probably the twelfth time in as many hours.
“I know.” Jon sighed as he abandoned his scan of the shelves and crossed back over to where his fiancé sat, patiently waiting for him. “That doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilty.”
Martin raised an eyebrow. “About Helen or about Past You?”
“You know me so well.” Jon settled himself on the ground and folded his arms on Martin’s knee, resting his head on them. Martin’s hand immediately came up to stroke his hair. “I honestly never expected us to be able to save Helen, in the end, but I-I had hoped the Distortion would leave the others alone.”
Sasha had been the one to come down into the tunnels and alert the two of them that Helen Richardson had made her appearance and disappearance. Jon and Martin had risked coming above ground with her to make sure the other three were all right. Past Jon had been twitchy and nervous, which made Jon nervous, and both Tim and Past Martin had been hovering in a way that made his heart ache as much as it made him smile to see. He was also strangely comforted by the sight of Past Jon draped in a sweater that was obviously Past Martin’s. But ever since then, Jon had been wondering if there was more he could have done to prevent it from happening, or at least divert it.
Martin shook his head slowly. “That was never really an option. He’s still…we didn’t go back far enough to save Michael Shelley, so he’s going to be angry. He’s still going to want revenge against the Archivist, and unfortunately that was always going to be Past You.”
“You know, it seems a bit silly to keep calling them Past Us,” Jon mused idly. It wasn’t exactly hard for him to think clearly with Martin’s fingers gently combing his scalp, but it certainly sapped any desire he might have had to think about anything else. “Technically, we’re in their time. They are the present and we are the future.”
“I mean…technically we’re all in the present now. The future we came from doesn’t exist anymore, right?”
“I refuse to have that discussion again,” Jon said, with a bit of humor. They’d had a lighthearted debate about time travel one night in Scotland, which had reached no conclusion other than Martin’s heartfelt declaration that the only way to create a timeline where he didn’t love Jon was to remove him from it entirely, and even then he didn’t like the universe’s chances. It seemed a lot more weighty now. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t think—I think the only way forward is the old-fashioned way. One day at a time.”
Martin smiled down at him. “I’m okay with that, actually.”
“Mm, yes, I didn’t imagine you’d be in that much of a hurry to go back to the Apocalypse.”
“Not what I mean, Jon. I mean…you know, as horrible as these years were? All things considered, I’m looking forward to living them again. With you this time, instead of just…alongside you. Hand in hand, walking into a future so bright even I can almost see it.”
Jon couldn’t help the smile that curled almost to his ears as he leaned back into Martin’s hand. “You should write a poem around that.”
“I’m saving it for our wedding vows.”
“Now how am I supposed to follow that up?”
Martin laughed. For a moment, Jon could almost imagine things were, well, normal, that they were just an ordinary couple discussing their wedding plans and that they could look forward to a future where the biggest thing they would have to worry about was their teenager being out past curfew. He wasn’t stupid. Stopping Jonah, stopping the Apocalypse, wouldn’t remove the entities from existence. They would always be out there. And while the rituals would collapse on their own…mostly…Jon knew they would likely spend the rest of their lives working to ensure that nobody else ever figured out a ritual that would work. The fears would be a part of their lives for as long as they lived them, which meant there would always be something worse than normal human cares to worry them. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t have those cares, too.
He was about to say something to that effect when Martin’s hand stilled, a few strands of hair tangled around his fingers. Jon was about to ask what was wrong when he, too, heard it—a small sound, caught in a perfect moment of silence. The faintest scuff of shoe against stone. Someone was coming down the stairs.
“Jon?” Martin kept his voice to a whisper. He didn’t sound afraid, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t reason to be.
Jon hesitated. He could reach out with the Eye’s powers, and he was fairly certain he wouldn’t get caught, but…no. He got to his feet and tugged at Martin’s hand. Martin, thank God, complied without question, standing up and staying close to Jon as he led him, quickly and quietly, through the Archives. He lifted the trapdoor and nudged Martin down the steps, then followed and closed it as silently as he could.
Martin was waiting for him at the foot of the steps and hugged Jon close when Jon slid an arm around his waist. “Who was it?”
“No clue. I didn’t want to risk it, just in case…” Jon stiffened and glanced up the stairs as awareness slid over him—a drop of water forcing its way past the door he’d once spoken of to Melanie, what seemed like a lifetime ago. “Come on.”
Jon all but dragged Martin away from the foot of the stairs, to the first room along the hall where they had set up camp. Thankfully, they hadn’t broken their habit of packing everything away any time they were going to be out for more than a few minutes, ready for a quick getaway if needed, so it was the work of a second to grab the bags and stow them against the wall in a place so that, should someone push the door open, they would remain hidden in the gap left between the door and the corner. Martin stood where Jon had left him. “What’s going on?”
“Whoever it is, they’ll be down here in a second,” Jon whispered. He took Martin’s hand. “I don’t know who it is, but I don’t trust them. I doubt it’s someone who would wish us well.”
Martin hummed in understanding. “So what are we going to do?”
“There’s only one thing I can think of.” Jon clicked off his torch and poked his head out into the corridor. “We’re going to have to stay a step ahead of them. Somehow.”
It was the somehow that bothered him. Sound traveled oddly in the tunnels; sometimes things echoed, other times they didn’t. If whoever was coming down was making an effort to move silently, they may not be able to track their movements. And Jon couldn’t risk a light, couldn’t risk being spotted. It could have been a police officer—Basira or Daisy—even though the tunnels had long ago been cleared as a crime scene; on the other hand, if they’d cleaned up the CCTV footage, they might be down looking for additional clues. It could be the Not-Them, if it had taken over someone’s body and was down looking for Leitner, and really, it was too much to hope that the Not-Them would stay confined in the table forever; even if it wasn’t being studied, it would take someone, and Jon couldn’t imagine who. It could, possibly, be someone like Rosie—someone simply burning with curiosity who wanted to see what the tunnels were like. It could even potentially be a workman who discovered the trapdoor by accident and was making sure there was no work to be done underneath the floor.
Speculation wasn’t going to be helpful. Jon shook his head minutely and tugged Martin’s hand, leading him out into the tunnels proper.
Jon could see the faintest hint of light from the steps, meaning whoever it was had a torch; it was getting closer, but they had time. He turned away from the stairs and started down the hallway. They hadn’t gone far before the darkness swallowed them entirely. Jon cursed under his breath, wondering if he could use his abilities from the Eye and Know the right way to go.
“Four more steps and then a right turn,” Martin breathed in his ear, and Jon remembered that Martin had been counting steps as he went. He probably had a mental map of these tunnels that put Jon’s to shame.
“You’d best lead,” he muttered back.
Martin tightened his grip on Jon’s hand, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply moved forward to take point.
Jon kept glancing over his shoulder, trusting Martin to lead him safely. He wasn’t sure how much of a lead they had, nor was he sure where the person following them would head. Obviously whoever it was wasn’t looking for them specifically, unless the Eye was out to get them—which was possible—but still, Jon didn’t feel hunted. Which meant it likely wasn’t Daisy. He bit back the urge to groan.
“Shh,” Martin suddenly hissed urgently, stopping. Jon stopped, too, and listened. This time he heard it—solid, purposeful steps. Whoever was following them wasn’t particularly worrying about staying hidden, and they weren’t moving slowly, either. Which…was probably not a good thing.
“Shit,” Jon hissed. He looked over his shoulder and could just see the edges of a pool of light. “They’re coming.”
“In here.” Martin’s hand tugged Jon forward, then half-shoved him through what Jon felt was a narrow space. A moment later Martin’s arms were tight around Jon, pulling him close to his wide, soft chest.
“Where are we?” Jon whispered.
“One of the rooms without a door.” There was a faint rustling noise, and Jon guessed Martin was pressing his back against the wall. “It sounds like…they’re not looking in the rooms. We should be safe here for a moment.”
“And then we can get behind them,” Jon completed.
Martin hushed Jon again; before Jon could think about why, he noticed the faintest hint of light sparkling off the tunnel floor. Whoever was out there, they were close.
Jon pressed closer to Martin, burying his face in Martin’s shoulder. One of Martin’s hands came up to cup the back of his head as his other arm curled tighter around Jon’s waist, and Jon felt Martin’s cheek press against the top of his head. He clung tightly to his fiancé and held his breath. If someone was down there with a purpose, it wasn’t likely they would be coming into this specific room, but there was always the chance. Hopefully, if someone did catch them, he’d be able to pretend to be his younger self, and whoever it was wouldn’t notice that his hair was too long, that Martin’s had too much grey in it, that the wrong one of them was scarred…
The footsteps got louder, then—thankfully—started to fade again. Jon eased up his grip on Martin’s sweater and cautiously let out his breath in a silent rush of air. He looked up in Martin’s direction and reached up to touch his cheek lightly. In the darkness, he felt Martin nod and understood what it meant. He stepped carefully out of the circle of Martin’s arms and peered out through the doorway.
The circle of light was moving away from them in a steady, purposeful manner. To Jon’s surprise, he could see from there that it wasn’t a torch, but rather, an old-fashioned lantern, its flickering flame making the shadows dance on the wall. Suspicious. Disturbing. Odd.
Jon tugged on Martin’s hand, and together they tiptoed into the hallway. Martin let Jon lead without comment; likely he’d realized Jon could see the light. Unlike the other person, they were trying to be quiet, but Jon could still move fairly quickly and silently. It helped that they were both wearing tennis shoes, whereas the person ahead of them was wearing dress shoes. Expensive ones, too, Jon guessed. They tapped against the stone of the tunnels, not loudly but enough to be noticeable if they strained.
There was a junction up ahead, one Jon vaguely remembered his past self exploring, meaning it was likely marked. Sure enough, whoever was ahead of them stopped at a corner and raised the lantern to study the arrow on the wall. Its light caught the person full in the face, and Jon flattened against the wall, pressing the hand not holding Martin’s tightly against his mouth to stifle his gasp of shock.
It was the face of Elias Bouchard.
Jon’s mind raced. This made no sense. Jonah couldn’t see into the tunnels; they were a huge blind spot to him. He had to be even more tightly bound to the Eye than Jon was, which meant that coming down here put him at a disadvantage, too. As far as Jon knew, Jonah had only been down into the tunnels a couple of times during his tenure as the Archivist—to stage Gertrude’s body, and later to be present when Martin made his choice not to throw his lot in with Peter Lukas. To come down here, to go anywhere near the Panopticon…
That was it, Jon suddenly realized. He was looking to see how close Past Jon’s explorations had taken him. How close he’d come to the center of everything, to finding Jonah Magnus’ original body. Because if Past Jon stumbled upon it too soon, it would ruin everything. If the Not-Sasha had found it, it would have been bad as well…and what if Leitner had found it? Not that Jonah knew he was down here, but still.
Jonah was setting off again. Jon shook his head and tugged Martin closer. “It’s Jonah,” he whispered, as softly as he could. “Come on.”
Martin followed without a sound. If he hadn’t been holding Jon’s hand tightly, Jon might not have known he was there. They crept after Jonah as he strode purposefully through the tunnels, as though he knew where he was going. Of course he knew where he was going. It was his body, after all. Like Jon using his rib as an anchor, although he doubted now that had actually been as powerful a lure as he thought; it was the tapes, the tapes and Martin, that drew him out in the end. But Jonah…that was different. He was probably bound to his body, or drawn to it. Or he’d just memorized the route over the last two centuries.
Briefly, Jon considered the possibility that Jurgen Leitner’s manipulations had thrown Jonah’s path off, but he set that aside and kept following.
Jon lost track of the turns they took and hoped Martin was paying attention, or that they were following the arrows Past Jon made that first time he came down, when he went looking for them. He hadn’t explored further, although Jon was pretty sure that was going to change sooner rather than later, but for now he seemed content to trust them when they said that what was in the tunnels posed no threat to him. It wasn’t technically a lie.
Jonah came to a halt, raising the lantern again, and Jon pressed Martin flat against the wall as he watched. It was the ring of worms first Tim and later Jon had seen in their timeline, just as Jon remembered it—huge, eating its way into the stone, the space between it soft to the touch. Tentatively, lips pressed in a thin line, Jonah reached out and pressed his fingertips to the stone. He did so several times, his brows knitting together, and then he lifted the lantern and looked around, scanning the other walls.
It hit Jon all of a sudden that he was looking for more of Past Jon’s arrows. He was looking to see if Past Jon had made it this far, to see if he had found this place, maybe gotten suspicious enough to prod. If he would be back. This place was important to Jonah and it had to be because it was the way to the Panopticon. Was that what was inside the ring of dessicated worms? The doorway Jonah thought he had sealed up centuries before? Or…did it stay sealed? Was that where Jonah’s little ritual, whatever it actually entailed, to switch eyes with his chosen victims took place? (For the first time since he’d learned about that particular fact, a small part of Jon’s brain wondered what happened to the old bodies when Jonah moved on, if it took place prior to the host’s death or after, but he pushed that aside.)
After a few moments, Jonah’s shoulders slumped in evident relief, and he nodded, lowering the lantern. He was satisfied. His body was safe. His plan was still intact.
For a moment, Jon realized that he was staring down a golden opportunity. Jonah was in the tunnels. He was cut off from some—not all, but some—of his power. And he’d never had the same powers Jon had anyway. He was also distracted by his worries about discovery. He was here, right in front of Jon, with no witnesses other than Martin, who certainly wouldn’t object. It would be the work of a moment to enact their plan now, to step forward and unleash the power of the Ceaseless Watcher on this man who had brought agony on so many, who had really, in the end, done so little to actually serve the Eye. He could turn Jonah’s words back on himself, take him out now, save the world—save their friends.
He stared at Jonah, feeling himself tremble. The memory of the last time he had seen Jonah Magnus came to him—those carefully curated words designed to cut him down to nothing in a way that Peter Lukas would have envied, the cold fury that flashed briefly in those grey eyes before they went back to their usual calm, placid, watchful state when Martin defied him yet again, that smug, condescending lilt to his voice as he delivered his parting words before walking away from Martin’s bleeding body. It filled his entire being. He wanted to step forward then and there and end it all, to get revenge for Martin, for Tim, for Sasha, for Melanie and Basira and Daisy, for the world.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t feel the static building, couldn’t sense the words waiting on his tongue. He knew what he wanted to say, but even the first time, he’d known the Ceaseless Watcher would give him the right way to say it in the moment, and that wasn’t happening here. It wasn’t time. It must not be time. He’d have to be patient. It was the last thing he wanted to be, but he would have to be.
It was only when Jonah started to turn that Jon realized they now had to figure out how to get out of the tunnels ahead of Jonah, or at least avoid being seen by him.
“Martin,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice as soft as he possibly could. “Can you get us out of here?”
“This way,” Martin answered immediately. He pulled Jon’s hand and started down the tunnels.
They had to hurry, but they also had to stay silent. Jon knew that, but he also knew that Martin would have no idea if they were close to being spotted, so he kept glancing over his shoulder as they moved, checking to see how far back that glow of light was. He could still see it, that was the problem, any time they got on a straight enough bit, there it was, that circle of light presaging the approach of a man who still held the power to destroy everything Jon held dear. Jon had rarely felt more helpless, more useless, than he did in that moment, knowing he was letting a chance to try and take down Jonah Magnus two years early slip through his fingers because he was afraid of failing. Again.
His distraction made him careless. He took a turn too tightly and slammed his shoulder into the corner, and he couldn’t stop the soft grunt of pain. He jammed the heel of his free hand into his mouth, but it was too late. Jonah had heard, if the way he raised the lantern abruptly to the level of his eyes, which were narrowed with sudden intent scrutiny, was any indication.
Shit.
“Come on!” Martin hissed at him, tugging his hand. They picked up the pace, still trying to keep quiet, but Jon wondered if it would matter. Jonah Magnus wasn’t the sort of man to jump at shadows—or was he? No, he wouldn’t suspect he heard something and then decide he was wrong. He knew someone else was down here. They just had to make sure he couldn’t find them, that was the trouble. Or else…well, Jon would have to hope he was wrong about it not being time.
There was a loud creaking noise, and Jon almost jumped out of his skin, but then Martin tugged on him harder and pulled him around a corner. There was a dull thumping sound, too, which Jon tentatively identified as Martin’s back hitting the wall, and then he was wrapped tightly in Martin’s arms again, safe and secure against his chest. He fisted his hands in Martin’s sweater and pressed his face into his shoulder. Martin’s heart thudded frantically, directly under his ear, and Jon could feel his own heartbeat just as rapidly pounding in his own chest. They clung to each other and waited.
Jon heard the creaking noise again and held his breath, pressing closer to Martin, expecting any moment to either be struck with the door—depending on where Martin had positioned them—or discovered. But the noise sounded a bit distant, and when Jon risked a glance up, he could see only the slightest hint of light. They were in another room without a door; Jonah was in the tunnel, and evidently walking past. The light drew closer, paused outside the room, and suddenly got brighter. Jon held his breath and tried to somehow get closer to Martin, praying as he did so that he wasn’t hurting him. Evidently, though, they had managed to position themselves in the one place Jonah couldn’t easily see from the doorway, and their shadows didn’t give them away. He made a small noise that somehow managed to indicate suspicion and relief and disappointment all at once, and then the light lessened and the footsteps faded away.
Jon waited until it was utterly silent once more before he exhaled in a single, shaking breath and sagged against Martin. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.
“I’m fine,” Martin assured him, and Jon believed him. “Are you okay?”
“Shoulder’s a bit sore,” Jon began, then stopped. He knew that wasn’t what Martin meant. “No.”
“Do you want to sit down?”
“N-not here. Let’s…let’s see if we can get back to—closer to the steps.”
“Okay, sure.” Martin brushed his lips against Jon’s cheek.
Now that Jonah was past them, they didn’t have to be as furtive as they’d been before, but they were still cautious. Jon didn’t dare turn on the torch until they were back in the room they’d been staying in—mercifully undisturbed—with the door closed behind them. The instant he did, however, he stepped back into Martin’s arms. Martin leaned against the door and slid down it until they were seated on the floor, curled around each other and Jon more than half in Martin’s lap. They sat for a long moment like that, catching their breath.
“Want to talk about it?” Martin finally asked.
Jon didn’t, not really, but if they didn’t talk about it now, he knew they never would. He sighed heavily and slid off Martin’s lap, then tucked himself up next to him and rested his head on Martin’s shoulder. Martin stroked his shoulder gently as he waited for Jon to speak.
“Jonah,” he said. “He was—he was looking through the tunnels. I-I didn’t know he ever came down here in our time, but…I think he was looking to see how far Past Me got in his explorations. There’s a—a ring of worms—you remember, Tim mentioned it, and I did in my tape, too?”
“I remember.” Martin’s voice was neutral and calm.
“I think—I think that’s the way to the Panopticon. I think Jane Prentiss was trying to get down there, to—to see what the Eye had at its center. Obviously we’ll never know for sure. I got there when I was doing my explorations, but I don’t think Past Me has. And Tim and Sasha didn’t mention seeing it…I don’t know.” Jon swallowed. “But I-I could see his face, I could…all I could think about was everything he did to us. Not telling us about Sasha, letting Tim suffer just to make my suffering worse. Torturing Melanie, trapping Basira, blackmailing Daisy. Framing me for murder, trying to isolate me, making everything I went through as painful as he could. Using me to end the world. God, everything he did to you. His face when he—” He broke off and pressed his cheek against Martin’s shoulder, grounding himself, reminding himself that Martin was there and alive. He’d survived. They both had. Jonah Magnus hadn’t succeeded in taking everything Jon loved away from him, despite his best efforts. “I wanted to kill him.”
Martin’s arm tightened around Jon’s shoulders, and Jon felt the gentle pressure of his kiss on the top of his head. “But you didn’t.”
“No.” Jon exhaled heavily. There was no censure in Martin’s voice, no annoyance, but he still felt a small surge of guilt. “I—I couldn’t, Martin. I wasn’t—the words weren’t there.”
Martin was silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “Well, we are in the tunnels—you’re distanced from the Eye. And if Leitner was anywhere nearby, you might’ve been caught in his…weird little bubble or spell or whatever it was, like with that camera.”
“I know, but—”
“And,” Martin continued, as if Jon hadn’t spoken, “you’re hungry. Don’t try to deny it, I know you. You hadn’t had time to find any statements before Jonah came down, and you probably expended more energy than you should have down there, even if you weren’t using the Eye’s powers to do it. We both knew you were probably going to need to be at full capacity to take him out. I’m not surprised you couldn’t do it right now.”
Jon huffed. “And you’re just…okay with that?”
“Honestly? No. If I’d had a more mundane weapon, I can’t promise I wouldn’t have tried to pull a Melanie on him,” Martin replied. Jon laughed, a bit unwillingly, at the turn of phrase. “You’re not the only one who wants to kill him for everything he’s done, you know. I wanted that even before…you know, the end of the world. All the reasons you said and then some. Like you told the others that first night…I’m not fond of anything that tries to take the people I love away from me, and you’re at the top of that list. But as much as I want him dead, I don’t blame you for not trying if you weren’t sure you could do it.”
“Really?” Jon looked up at Martin. “Because I do. Blame myself, I mean. I should have—”
Martin cut him off with a gentle, tender kiss that bled the tension from Jon’s body and relaxed whatever he had left that passed for a soul. When Martin pulled back, he rested his forehead against Jon’s. “Jon. Our whole plan depends on catching him off-guard. If he knows we’re coming, we’re doomed. And if we don’t take him out the first time, we’ll never get another chance. Eventually we’re going to have to say ‘we won’t get any more ready than this’, but right now’s not that time.”
Jon couldn’t help the wry chuckle that slipped out of his throat. “When did you develop patience?”
“I didn’t. Believe me. I want this over with as much as you do. Maybe more.” Martin’s free hand came up to rub absently at his chest. Jon reached out to cover it, trapping it against the spot directly over the bullet scars. Martin’s heart beat so strongly Jon could feel it even through Martin’s hand. “But the thing about being blind…if you rush, you’re going to fall, unless you know the space really, really well. You’ve got to take your time and be sure you know the way.”
“Or have help.”
“Or have help,” Martin agreed. “I have you. You have me. We’ll figure this out together, Jon. I won’t pretend I’m okay with Jonah still being out there, still…able to mess with their lives, but I am okay with waiting until we’re sure it’ll stick, and not kill anyone else in the process.”
Jon wondered, as he often did, how he’d been so lucky as to have this man in his life, let alone love him this much. “We can do it. I know we can do it. I-it just…wasn’t the right time. I just didn’t want you to think…”
Martin frowned. “Think what? That you’d changed your mind? That you didn’t think he—God, Jon, I know you better than that.”
“I worry,” Jon confessed softly, dropping his head heavily back onto Martin’s shoulder. “Not about what you think of me, I know you better than that, but…I worry that I’ll lose myself so much to the Eye, to the fears, that I’ll…think he’s right. Let him live. Try to come up with another way o-or something like that. My God, he almost killed you right in front of me and—” He broke off and curled tightly into Martin; Martin pulled him into a tight embrace. “I-if I ever got to the point where I could ignore that…”
Martin was silent for a long time. At last, he said in a soft, incredibly serious voice, “Jon. If you ever got to the point where you genuinely believed him, where you’d honestly gone over to his side? I would kill you myself.”
Jon let those words flow through him, let himself seriously examine each one. They were spoken seriously and sincerely. Martin wasn’t joking, wasn’t making a darkly humorous quip or a hyperbolic suggestion. A small pool of fear Jon hadn’t even realized was locked away inside him flooded out in a single, drawn-out sigh.
“Promise?”