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Using the utmost care, I pinch the object between my forefinger and thumb, gently extracting the Star from its centuries-old hiding spot.

Even under the cover of night, the stone glimmers, radiant in its power. Despite its seemingly insignificant size, this gem holds the potential to alter destinies—to drastically change the course of the world as we know it.

For all the pride I feel in having found it, the gravity of this achievement weighs heavily. This is more than a mere triumph—it’s a beacon of hope. The Star, in its luminescence, seems to whisper promises of a future yet to be told—as long as it’s never, ever, able to perform the job it was made for.

Securing the stone in my pocket, I begin my descent back to the ground. My moment of victory shatters when my feet touch the earth, and the world around me fades, replaced by a swirling vortex of time and space.

I’m pulled into a vision, seeing the flickering image of a grand hall filled with ancient scholars—the air vibrating with energy as they debate the best place to hide the Star.

I watch as centuries pass in a blur. Wars rage, empires rise and fall, and the Star is moved from one hiding place to another, veiled from those who would use it for evil.

The scene suddenly shifts to a small garden at the center of a labyrinth, dominated by a large marble statue of a dignified lion with two urns on its head. A girl wearing a red cape stands there and—

What?

My heart lurches into my throat. My breath stalls in my chest, as my eyes strain to see more. But I’m yanked from the vision, only to find myself in the midst of a horrible tableau I never saw coming.

Standing before me, a dark silhouette against the moonlit garden, is Killian.

His posture is tense, and he’s seized Braxton’s father, holding him captive with a blade pressed sharply against his throat.

“Killian—no!” My voice quivers, failing to mask the turmoil swirling within. The Star’s significance suddenly fades in the face of this more immediate danger.

Killian’s gaze meets mine, desperation driving his actions. “It’s over, Shiv,” he growls. “At last, it’s finally over. This is where the circle ends. So please, kindly give me the Star.”

The circle?

My gaze darts to Braxton’s father, noting his disheveled hair, torn clothing, and his knuckles now bloodied and raw. Judging by the bruises already blossoming on Killian’s face, he put up a good fight before it got to this point.

But now, with Killian’s blade held fast to his neck, his expression is that of a man who’s resigned to his fate, ready to sacrifice himself for a much bigger cause.

When his eyes meet mine, it’s with a silent plea for understanding—to do what needs to be done, to honor my role as a Timekeeper.

To spare one life for the fate of all.

With one hand clutching the blade to Braxton’s father’s throat, Killian extends the other toward me, demanding, “Hand it over, Shiv.”

I lock eyes with him, knowing I need to tread carefully. A single misstep, a misconstrued word, could tip the scales toward an outcome from which none of us can ever return.

“You don’t have to do this.” I keep my voice low and steady as though trying to calm a rabid dog. “There’s always another way, a better path you can choose.”

“This is my path, Shiv.” He shrugs. “Always has been. I thought you knew that better than anyone.”

“I know a lot of things about you,” I say, watching as he presses the blade deeper, causing a trickle of blood to run down Braxton’s father’s neck.

I inhale a sharp breath, refusing to bear witness to any more of this cruelty. The Star, now tucked within the folds of my dress, for all its symbolic hope, also serves as a stark reminder of the fine line we all walk between destiny and destruction.

“I thought you were seeking redemption,” I say.

“Natasha,” Braxton’s father manages to say through the pain, “it was always going to end this way. And now, it’s time for you to meet your destiny, too.”

My eyes dart to Killian, hardly able to believe that the fate of the world teeters on the edge of this misguided boy’s blade.

Beneath his unwavering gaze, I lean down and reach for the dagger strapped to my thigh.

“Nice,” Killian says, his gaze lingering on my bared leg, his voice brimming with that cocky bravado I know all too well. “Though I’ll admit to enjoying the show, I think we all know you won’t go through with it. There’s too much at stake. You won’t risk it.”

“Is that the story you tell yourself?” I raise a brow in challenge, as slowly, deliberately, I advance toward him. “Can you really be so certain of what I will or won’t do?” I take another step. “You really think you know me that well?”