I place the phone on the coffee table and press the record button. My voice is clear and steady as I begin speaking.

"27 June 2022

Brandon, Mississippi

Napoleon Bonaparte once said, "History is a set of lies, agreed upon." And until 200 years ago, that was true...

I pause the recording. Take a deep breath and continue.

I suppose I should say today it is true. 200 years from now in my time, it won't be true. This is all rather confusing. I hardly comprehend it, and it happened- is happening to me.

This is what I do know. My name is Ava Harris, and I am a Witness- the latest in a long line of women dedicated to eradicating lies from history. Born with telepathic and empathic abilities, I work with the Society for Historical Truth, using their technology to send my subconscious back through time. Sometimes, we choose major events. The French Revolution was a particular favorite of my mother's. I prefer the smaller moments. It's the everyday events that tell the true story of humanity, but ultimately, the Society decides where I go.

What I don't know is who betrayed me, but perhaps more important than who is why. If I can figure that out, I might be able to get home. Protocol states my body is to be put on life support for at least one year after a Time Transference failure. There is no record of anyone returning, but I am here. I am alive. And I hope you're still listening because what comes next is hard to believe."

This time I stop recording and save the file. I close my eyes and try to recall the beginning of this mess. I miss the Record brain patch. All I had to do was upload the files to the database, and I could replay my day as it happened instead of relying on memories distorted by emotion. Memories are faulty, but they are all I have right now, which is why I'm recording these events- as close to real time as possible. There have been several weeks between today and the beginning, but it all comes back to me in a rush of sound.

Rhythmic beeping fills my laboratory. Along with the tapping of styluses on tablets as my team members peruse data, their voices blend in a gentle hum as they share observations or suggest corrections.

Today marks the final stage of a project that has spanned years, and I am excited to put this era behind me. Polyurethane leather creaks beneath me as I shift in my wheelchair, and I rub my palms over my thighs. Of course, I can't feel my hands on my legs.

"Are we ready?" I ask, rolling myself across the sleek glass floors. The chattering stops at once as they all turn to face me.

"Just waiting for you, Ava," Clancy, my lead scientist, replies. They press a spot just below their ear and whisper something- likely signaling someone to bring out the Transference Discs.

Boot heels click on the hard floor as two of the crew come to my side and hoist me from the chair. They place me gently on the gurney. I lay back and they strap my legs to the table, the sound of velcro ripping apart and crunching back together the only clue as to what is happening below my waist.

"Who are you?" I ask when an unfamiliar face appears just above mine.

She smiles at me and sticks a Transference Disc on my forehead. Her hands are icy, and her smile is nervous. She does not answer.

I repeat myself.

"I am Amalie Dawson," she says after a long pause. She puts her hand on the blue band around my right arm that marks me as a Sensitive and exhales loudly. "Kiera had a family emergency. She said to tell you how sorry she was that she couldn't be here on this last journey."

Her answer mollifies me- somewhat. I fold my arms over my chest and click my tongue against my teeth. "This is not a final journey. Only the end of this project."

A woman calls out, "Coordinates are set for the year 2023."

"June 1st. Mississippi. Host is named Sailor Foster. Age twenty-four," someone to my left adds.

I twist my head, the paper on the gurney crackling loudly. "When did that change? During yesterday's debriefing, I was told the host was Nate Banks. Age twenty-eight. He's the last person who was present at the accident. The only one who hasn't been a host."

Amalie's long nails click across a keyboard. "New data just came in. Sailor is the better option."

"Sailor wasn't there,"I insist. "I've Witnessed this moment through twenty different eyes. My aunt and mother went through fifty more. There is no Sailor Foster on record- theirs or ours that day."

Everyone continues to bustle around the lab, ignoring my protests. Amalie shrugs and frowns- it is a bitter thing, full of resentment and distaste. I almost consider slipping into her mind to see why, but it is illegal, and nearly everyone at this level of society is in possession of a Shield- a brain patch that blocks Sensitives. Well, most Sensitives. It would not take much effort for me to slip through the defenses, but this chair is enough prison for me. I do not wish to trade it for a real one.

"The Society sent the changes last minute, Ava," Amalie whispers in my ear.

She is bent low over me, and something is in her hand. I feel a pinch in my arm just before Clancy keys in the coordinates for my journey.

"Wait, no." But my voice is weak and there is so much noise- whirring and beeping of machines and shouting at each other across the lab.

Time Transference is normally a pleasant experience. Like a curtain closing over a scene of a play, and then lifting on a new one. Between one blink and the next, your surroundings change from the lab to whatever the host is seeing. We are silent tagalongs in the mind, not controlling or changing what is happening, only reserving and reporting back.

But today is different. Amalie's face swims in and out of focus, her mouth forming words that look suspiciously like 'I'm sorry,' and I am jerked out of myself and dumped into the host. But instead of the bright noon sun of a southern summer day, she is looking into a black, starless sky.

Or... panic siezes me as the darkness gives way to the hazy glow of a streetlight. Then fades again as Sailor's eyes close. She releases a rattling exhale. Insects buzz loudly all around her- crickets and cicadas- and somewhere a frog chirps.

It is not a starless sky. It is the beginning of her end as death shuts down her brain. I recognize the signs. They prepared every Witness for this moment, and it is the number one rule- your subconscious must return to your body before the host expires.

I reach for the Tether- the connection between my body and my subconscious and attempt to activate the Comms patch.

"Hello," I call out. Sailor lifts a hand above her face. Blood drips from her fingers, and then I hear flesh hit pavement as she drops her arm. The world goes dark again. "Clancy? Amalie? Pull me back."

The silence from the other end is deafening, and the Tether shrinks. Footsteps approach- slowly at first and then faster, as if the person only just now realizes what they are seeing on the ground. I hear gasping breaths. An anguished curse- the newcomer is male.

A phone clicks on. Three beeping tones. A faint, "911, what's your emergency?"

"Hi. Hello," he stutters. Shock is taking hold of him. "A woman has been shot. Abdomen. She's lost a lot of blood. Twenty-four. Yes, she's breathing but barely." His words fade in and out as Sailor's body enters the last stages of shutdown. "7th St behind the Magnolia Bar. Please hurry."

I hear scraping on the sidewalk as he shifts behind Sailor. He lifts her head and places it on something soft- his lap?

"Open your eyes. Please."

Some small piece that is left of her activates. She stirs next to me, completely unaware of my existence but determined to answer his call.

"There you are," he cries as light floods through her mind. I want to hold on to it and refuse to let it go. If it does, I am as lost as Sailor. "Hold on."

Nate. Sailor's thought is louder than a gunshot. I am so absorbed by my panic that I forget what it's like being in a normal host. The constant hum of thoughts and emotions whirling around me.

She knows the man crying over her. There is a hint of affection and sorrow. She knows she is dying.

"Clancy!" I scream, jerking on the Tether as Sailor's eyes close once more, but the Tether has vanished. "No, no, no!"

And the last thing I hear is Nate's wail as my host breathes her last.