Page 25 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)

As I head to my room, I send a quick message to Killian.

Me: Wondering if you’re free to meet up sometime today?

I stare at the words on the screen, feeling my stomach churn with disgust. I can hardly believe I’m actually arranging a meeting with the person who murdered my father.

And yet, there’s no denying Braxton is right. For some reason, Killian is reaching out, and I’m in no position to ignore him.

Though I don’t fool myself into thinking I can trust anything he tells me, maybe I can at least gain some useful insights.

His response comes swiftly.

Killian: Hideaway Tavern. One hour. You still know the way?

Me: See you there.

One hour to change out of Braxton’s sweats and mentally prepare myself to face Killian. It should be more than enough.

Let him lead , Braxton advised, echoing his earlier guidance regarding my meeting with Arthur, and I intend to heed that advice. I’ll focus solely on listening and watching, keeping a vigilant lookout for his tell—the habitual swipe through his hair as he rubs his lips together—a sure sign that he’s lying.

I quickly change into a pair of black leggings, white sneakers, and a freshly laundered blue Gray Wolf Academy sweatshirt. As I tug the top over my head, I’m a bit disappointed to see a fourth golden circle has yet to appear.

Once I’m dressed, I scrape my hair back from my face, securing it into a practical ponytail. Then I dab on a touch of clear lip balm, ensuring my appearance makes it clear that no special effort was made for this meeting. I want Killian to know, beyond a doubt, that I have zero interest in gaining his approval.

Flicking the switch on the wall, I stand before the hearth as a blaze awakens with a soft, purring whoosh . As I watch the fire dance, tongues of orange and yellow twisting and turning, it’s as though these flames hold secrets of their own, stories from ancient times that transcend the simple pleasures of warmth.

I flick the switch again and watch them swiftly diminish and fade—a mesmerizing cycle of life, death, and renewal, unfolding right before my eyes.

You have been here before. Done this before. The words come out of nowhere, insistent and unbidden, echoing in my mind.

Well, yeah. I pretty much stand before this hearth on a regular basis.

And yet, I know it’s not quite as simple as that. There’s something more—something buried deep in my subconscious that’s trying to claw its way to the surface.

The window.

Perplexed, I turn toward the picture window across the room. Driven by an inexplicable urge, I find my feet moving, crossing the expanse of the soft, woven rug, and stopping just shy of the glass where I raise my hand to its surface, just like I did on my first morning at Gray Wolf.

And, just like before, I’m immediately met by a sharp, icy chill that bleeds through the pane, though it no longer takes me by surprise. This rock, this isolated stretch of island, surrounded by an endlessly wind-whipped sea, is no stranger to the harsh, biting cold of an infinite winter.

Pushing onto my toes, I lean forward to peer several stories down to gaze upon Arthur’s version of the Tarot Garden—a nearly exact replica of the visionary garden that artist Niki de Saint Phalle created in Italy.

Normally, the first thing I would see is the gleaming silver head of The Magician —a card that represents the great trickster, the creator of the universe. It’s the card I always associate with Arthur, the creator of our own Gray Wolf universe.

Just beneath The Magician is the deep, enigmatic blue of The High Priestess —a force of intuition and feminine power that always reminds me of Elodie.

And, of course, it all culminates in The Wheel of Fortune —the card that represents cycles of change and destiny’s unpredictable nature. It’s the card that most resonates with me. The card that marked the beginning of the journey that landed me here.

Only today, the tarot garden is gone, replaced by a grand maze of towering, intricately carved hedges with a radiant crystal orb at its center that shimmers with an otherworldly light.

A maze that belongs to Gray Wolf’s past, having no place in its present.

The place where the very first time portal was discovered.

According to Elodie, the energy was too unstable, and Arthur, not wanting to risk anyone else getting lost, decided to tear it down and had the garden built in its place, convinced that no one would go crawling around a piece of treasured art. And yet, plenty still did.

The will is a hard thing to contain, even for a man like Arthur Blackstone.

My breath catches, suspended on a thread of realization. The voice in my head had spoken the truth—I have seen this, done this before.

That’s when I notice that the lights are all winking and the ground beneath me is twitching with an unsteady vibration.

As the elegant green paneling and the ornate ceiling begin to disintegrate into nothing, my feet are inexplicably rooted to the spot, rendering me a mere spectator as the world around me dissolves.

Stranded on a dwindling island of wooden floor, accompanied only by the erratic symphony of my heartbeat, I suddenly realize the Unraveling has found me.

Yet this time, the script has been flipped.

Remembering what my dad taught me, I’m no longer its victim, no longer some poor, helpless prey caught in its inexorable web.

A newfound strength surges within, and as I find my balance on this small patch of wood, I speak to whatever unseen force is driving this vision.

“Show me,” I say. “Show me what I most need to see.”

In less than a blink, the Unraveling obeys.

A flash of vivid red streaks across my vision, and I lean closer, palms pressed firmly to the window. I strain to discern all the details I missed the last time I saw this. I watch closely, following the twisting path, as a cloaked figure moves through the labyrinth of hedges toward the glimmering crystal sphere that sits at its heart.

Peering intently, I struggle for a clearer view as the red-cloaked figure reaches the center of the maze, touches the glimmering sphere, and then disappears as if into thin air.

Moments later, the figure reemerges, now holding a small brown object clutched in their hand—an object that wasn’t present before, which I now recognize as the leather-bound book Elodie and I just used for time travel, identifiable by the rose encased in an infinity symbol on its front cover.

The very book that’s now in my possession.

This is where the vision ended last time, when Braxton appeared in my room and grabbed hold of my arm.

But this time, determined to watch through to the end, I silently ask for guidance from whatever unseen force may oversee this thing.

I need the whole story. Don’t hold back. Show me everything!

My wish is granted when the cloaked figure reaches up, fingers grasping the edge of the hood that conceals their identity.

As the fabric cascades down their back, my breath freezes when I take in a tumble of long, dark waves that mirror my own.

In this unfathomable moment, time itself grinds to a stop. My heart stalls, and a numbing chill spreads across my fingers and palms.

Trapped in an inescapable web of shock and disbelief, I watch as the girl lifts her head, then slowly, deliberately, looks directly toward the place where I stand at my window, revealing herself to be none other than me.