"Ava,” she said again, her voice hoarse with age. Ava forced herself to look. To search her eyes. She refused to cry in front of Cece, but the thought of this being her sister--her twin--the thought of Allie sitting trapped in some repeating hour--

"Ava.” The old woman smiled at her. If this was Allie, she thought, then she made it out. She didn’t die in there. Ava thought of how she’d solved the last two timeholes--the first, by crashing an entire plane of good men. The second, by out-manipulating a serial killer. She shuddered to think what her precious Allie--the good one, the pure one, the one who shined--must have had to do to escape. Had she figured it out? Or had it simply happened by accident after that many years?

That is, if this was really her. Cece cleared her throat. “Are you going to say anything, or…?”

Ava bristled, but just then Madame reached forward expectantly and took Ava’s hands. She held them happily, patted them like a delighted child. That’s when Ava caught sight of a small, almost unnoticeable birthmark on the woman’s inner wrist, and her heart twisted in her chest. She had forgotten about that mark.

“Allie?”