Fireworks split the sky in reds and golds, each explosion rattling the dorm windows like gunshots. Independence Day was in full swing, but Amelia lay curled on her futon, earplugs in, textbook open, and noodles cooling beside her.
Across the room, Augus stood at the window, watching the sky ignite.
“You're missing the show," she murmured.
He didn't move.
“Augus?"
He turned, slowly. Eyes distant. Unblinking.
“Hey," she said, rising. “You okay?"
“I… I know this place."
Her heart stopped. “What?"
He clutched the edge of the windowsill, knuckles white. “The fireworks. I've seen them from a rooftop. Manhattan. Seventeenth floor."
He stumbled back, hands to his temples.
“Augus—"
“No," he said. “No, that's not my name."
His voice cracked. “There was a staircase. Marble. Slippery with
