The next morning, I didn't ask Michael about the girl.
Not yet.
I didn't ask about the screen.
I didn't ask about the messages.
And I definitely didn't ask about the words written on the wall.
Because there was only one question I wanted answered.
The first choice.
If Michael knew how everything started, then I needed to know what happened before the thirty-seven resets.
Before Josh.
Before Ezekiel.
Before the Observer.
Before I forgot.
I found Michael sitting alone in the library.
He was staring at an old notebook.
Not mine.
His.
I stopped beside the table.
“You knew I was coming.”
He didn't look up.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“You always come here when you're trying to understand something.”
I pulled out the chair.
“You've been watching me for too long.”
He smiled faintly.
“P
