Twelve
Before my fingers even touch the metal, there is a bright flash and I’m standing in a familiar hallway. I’m on Mount Olympus and it feels different than when I was here a few days ago. It feels . . . old.
I glance up at the big gilded clock that hangs above the mosaic at the far end of the hall. It’s a few minutes after two. Just a short time before the moment that changed everything.
Is it possible? Am I really here, ten years ago? Can I really prevent myself from screwing up so many lives?
Until this instant I never stopped to think about how I would do it, how I would stop things. I just thought I’d . . . you know, stop them. But can I walk up to my seven-year-old self and say, “Hey, this is a bad idea. Quit it”?
Will it break my brain?
A door at the other end of the hall s
