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I do as he says, and soon, a hazy image begins to form, sharpening into focus as I direct my attention toward Arthur. In an instant, my father’s secret room dissolves, replaced by a part of Gray Wolf I’ve never seen before—a vast, empty, all-white space, like a blank canvas ready to be painted.

But it’s not a painter who stands before me. It’s Arthur, his back to me in a confident stance. Like a conductor commanding an orchestra, he raises his hand and suddenly the room erupts with color, so bright and vibrant it takes a moment for my vision to adjust. When it does, I’m both mesmerized and repulsed by the twisted sight unfolding before me.

This isn’t just a vision, it’s a holographic manifestation of Arthur’s insatiable desire for dominance and control. In this distorted future he imagines, he alone wields absolute power to rewrite history and reign over us all.

I watch in horror as entire populations of people who don’t meet his standards—those he deems dull, boring, mundane, aesthetically challenged—are erased from existence.

With a mere flick of his wrist, timelines are manipulated, boundaries are redrawn, and the past is reshaped to create a present where conformity to Arthur’s preferences is mandatory.

It’s a world remade in his image—a world devoid of diversity, individuality, and freedom.

A world where we are nothing but mindless puppets, conforming to his narrow ideals, and forced to worship him as a god.

“Natasha,” my dad calls, “can you describe what you’re seeing?”

“It’s Arthur,” I whisper. “He—” I struggle to hold the connection, feeling the strain in every fiber of my being as the vision wavers, then sharpens again. My strength is waning, but I push myself to hold on to the nightmarish future Arthur seeks to impose on us all.

This new world he dreams of reminds me of Gray Wolf—beautiful, elegant, populated by people completely under his rule.

In other words, an aesthetically pleasing, totalitarian nightmare.

“My God,” I say, “it’s—”

A loud knock suddenly booms through the space, and with a quick swipe of Arthur’s hand, the vision instantly fades, returning the room to white once again. When he turns, his dark eyes seem to pierce right into mine, as if he somehow knows I’m watching. Then he heads for the door and opens it to find Roxane waiting in the hall.

“Braxton’s been injured,” she tells him. “You should probably look in on him.”

“Oh my God,” I whisper, struggling to stay with the vision. But the connection is soon severed, and I’m pulled back to the room, only to find my father’s concerned face just inches from mine.

“What did you see?” he asks urgently.

It’s a moment before I can reply. When I do, I say, “I saw the end of freedom—autonomy. I saw the end of the world as we know it.” My eyes meet my dad’s and I watch his brow crease with worry as I add, “And I need to find Elodie and get back to Gray Wolf, because Arthur is back.”

11

“I—I have to go,” I stammer, my voice quivering with dread and determination, my eyes wide with fear and regret. “Now that Arthur’s back, there’s no time to finish my training. If he discovers we’re gone…” I leave the thought unfinished, but the potential consequences swirl through my mind like a gathering storm.

My dad frowns, clearly torn. “There might be another way,” he suggests, his tone resolute but his eyes uncertain. “It’s not ideal. Hands-on experience is always best, but it might work.”

“What is it?” I ask, scrutinizing his face. “I’ll do anything. As long as it’s quick.”

“When my father trained me, what I didn’t learn through him, I learned from the Mystery School elders.”

I stare at him blankly, not comprehending.

“You won’t actually go there. Rather, it’s a form of mental time travel, like the Unraveling you just experienced with Arthur. Your physical body stays here, but your consciousness travels back in time to connect with and learn from the elders.”

“Okay…” I say, seeing his hesitation. “What’s the catch?”

He rakes a hand through his hair, his green eyes locking onto mine. “It took me years to master. I think it might help if we do it together, but are you sure you can’t stay a bit longer?”

The thought of leaving my dad, knowing I’ll never see him again, presses heavily on my heart. If circumstances were different, I’d stay without a second thought. Hell, I’d even risk crossing my own timeline to maximize whatever time we have left. But, as he said, a normal life is off the menu for people like us.

With great sadness, I say, “I can’t. Braxton will cover for us, but Arthur’s no fool. He’ll realize we’re missing soon enough.” My voice carries the weight of regret.

“Then let us begin,” my dad says, his tone firm, despite the sorrow in his eyes.

Extending his hands toward mine, our fingers touch, and our palms press together. “Close your eyes,” he says. “Focus on your breathing and clear your thoughts. Let your mind be a blank canvas, receptive to whatever impressions may come.”