I slam the notebook shut and shove it back inside Adam’s bag. But as I do, my fingers brush against something made of cool metal, something smooth and hard. A rectangular black, unmarked container.
I flip open the latches, and the box opens with an exhale. Cold air puffs out of it, and I’m frozen—not because of the chill, but because of what I see inside. A small vial of yellow liquid.
Genicote, the cure for cancer.
He must have taken all of this from Jeremy’s backpack before we left. He promised he wouldn’t get the cure from the future, and I guess technically he didn’t, but he also said he wouldn’t try to rush things either.
At first I’m mad, silently fuming at him for lying to me, for going behind my back, for doing the one thing I asked him not to do and then not telling me about i
