Page 11 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)

Natasha

New York City

1998

When the vision ends, I find my father waiting for me, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “How was it?” he asks.

I’m too shaken to speak, lost in the tumultuous sea of emotions churning inside me. The relief of seeing Braxton is completely overshadowed by the dark presence I saw in his room.

“It—it felt like a dream,” I say, my voice trembling. “Or, actually, more like a nightmare.” I glance at my dad, seeking guidance and reassurance, like a little girl looking to him to help sort out my problems.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice steady, though his hand betrays his concern as he unconsciously rubs his chin.

I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to steady myself, and quickly relay what I saw. My dad frowns, clearly torn.

“You said he was holding his grandfather’s pocket watch?”

I nod, my mind still caught up in the vision.

“Then perhaps you misunderstood what you saw.”

I take a moment to consider. It’s possible, and yet, the doubt clings to me like a shadow.

“Natasha,” my dad says, grounding me in the present. “There’s so much more I still need to teach you. I think it’s best if you trust that Braxton can handle it. Count this as one of those tough choices you’ll need to make as a Timekeeper. Our individual desires must take a back seat.”

My shoulders slump, a weighted sigh escaping my lips. Despite the turmoil inside, I know he’s right.

“Okay, so what’s next?” I ask, trying to focus despite the whirlwind of thoughts.

My dad studies me for a beat. “So far,” he says, “I’ve been training you much like my own father trained me. Granted, that was over the course of many years, which, unfortunately, we don’t have. Not to mention…”

I stare at him, waiting, my heart pounding in the silence.

“You do know you’re the first female Timekeeper in history?”

Chills prickle my skin as I remember Killian uttering those same words. But what does it mean, if anything?

Reading the question in my eyes, my dad says, “Honestly, I don’t know what it means. Though if I had to guess, I’d say it signals some kind of evolutionary shift, indicating a significant change or rare cosmic event that necessitated your birth.”

“It’s Arthur,” I say, surer than ever. “Arthur Blackstone, his technology, and his determination to restore the Antikythera Mechanism and control time are the event.”

My dad gives me a considering look. “Maybe,” he says. “And yet, with his ability to travel through time, Arthur has been at this for years—centuries really. Still, it strikes me as strange that he pulled Braxton out of his timeline and brought him to Gray Wolf, only to bring you there, too.”

“I don’t get it, either,” I tell him. “Though, according to Killian, it wasn’t until what…” I pause, unsure how to say it. “Well, it wasn’t until what happened to you that Arthur realized he needed a Timekeeper to carry the pieces back to Gray Wolf. And yet, he waited for me to come of age before he resumed his efforts.”

We fall into a tense silence. My dad breaks it when he says, “While we may not know Arthur’s motives, consider it a blessing. Life as a Timekeeper can be lonely. You’re fortunate you have someone to share it with.”

I nod, feeling the full weight of his words.

“At any rate,” he continues, “I’m going to put you through that exercise again. Only this time, we’re going to take it up a notch.”

I nod, starting to reach for the talisman, but my dad shakes his head. “No objects. I told you I’d show you not only how to control an Unraveling, but also how to summon one. This is where we begin. Though I should warn you, only a rare few become any good at it, and even then, it’s after rigorous training and practice.”

After getting me comfortably settled in a chair, he leads me through a series of breathing exercises and meditations. Once I’m in a relaxed state, he tells me to choose a target to focus on—a specific location, object, person, or event.

If my heart was in charge, I’d choose Braxton. But it’s not, so I focus on Arthur Blackstone instead, envisioning him as though he were standing right here before me.

“What do you see?” my dad asks.

“Arthur,” I say. “But so far, it’s only in my head, it’s not—” Just then, the ground begins to shake, and I open my eyes to see the ceiling falling and the walls crumbling away. “The world is fading,” I whisper.

“Good,” my dad says. “Stay with the vision and expand your senses beyond these walls.”

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.”