Page 30 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)

By the time I return to my room, there’s still no response from Braxton. So I send him another message, thinking he might’ve overlooked the first one.

Me: Back in my room. Meet me here?

Once again, I’m greeted by an extended silence that’s really starting to weigh on me.

A few moments later, there’s a knock at my door. Thinking it’s him, I rush to open it, only to find Roxane standing outside.

“Expecting someone else?” she says, reading the flash of disappointment in my eyes.

“Thought maybe it was Braxton,” I admit.

She gives me a quick, assessing once-over. “Haven’t seen him,” she says, her tone as crisp and formal as ever. After an awkward pause, she adds, “May I come in? Arthur wanted you to have this. He says you’ll know what it’s for.”

I notice the sizable package on the wheeled cart beside her. Given its shape, I guess it’s the engraving of Melencolia I that Arthur promised to send to my room.

After moving the package to lean against the plush velvet settee, Roxane reaches into her Gray Wolf tote bag and retrieves an envelope, handing it to me. It’s probably a few carefully selected tarot cards and a copy of Christopher Columbus’s map—more clues Arthur expects me to decipher so I can bring him the Star he so desperately wants.

Once the handover is complete, I walk Roxane back to the door, eager to be alone so I can try to reach Braxton again. But she stops in the threshold and says, “And now I’ll need you to come with me.”

“Where?” My response is sharper than intended, but I chalk it up to that ridiculous meeting with Killian combined with my concern over Braxton’s whereabouts. Arthur wouldn’t send him out on a Trip, would he? Not when he’s still recovering from a head injury.

“Well,” Roxane says, her chirp of a voice snapping me back to the present. “It’s supposed to be a surprise. But, since you’re clearly experiencing some sort of trust issues, I’ll just go ahead and tell you that Arthur would like to see you in the Vault.”

“Now?” The word escapes me in a rush of alarm. Arthur mentioned a trip to the Vault when he called me to his office, but my last two visits were after dinner. I was expecting the same this time.

Roxane’s features harden. Or maybe they don’t—her default expression is stern, making it hard to get an accurate read on her. But then, just as soon as I’ve thought it, I’m overcome with guilt for making snap judgments. It’s not her fault that her rigid posture, severe blond bob, and thin strip of a mouth give the impression of someone with a penchant for enforcing harsh rules and doling out criticism.

“Yes,” she says, voice clipped. “Right now. Arthur is waiting. So, hurry up, get moving, chop-chop.”

I remain rooted in place, blinking at her incredulously.

Did she actually just say that to me?

There was a time, not so long ago, when I’d have meekly nodded and hurried along. But those days are long gone. I’m no longer some scared little newbie, fearfully bending to her authoritative commands. I know my worth here, and I refuse to be diminished by anyone.

Besides, here in the hierarchy of Arthur’s world, I’m far more important than her.

I’m the one he’s counting on to make his biggest dream come true.

“Please don’t talk to me like that,” I say firmly. “Not only is it unnecessary, but it’s completely disrespectful and very unkind.”

Roxane blinks, but otherwise remains silent, which spurs me to add, “When I first arrived here, I looked up to you. You seemed so strong and capable, like you really had it together. But I guess I was wrong. Because truly confident people don’t treat others like that. I expected better from you.”

Roxane stares at me for a long, tense moment—a silent standoff I’m more than equipped to handle. Just when I’m expecting her to retaliate, she surprises me by saying, “Noted.” Then, “So, ready to go?”

Am I ready? Technically, yes.

Do I actually want to go to the Vault? Not really. I’d much rather stay here and try to figure out what the hell happened to Braxton.

But realizing I’ve pushed my limit, I plaster a smile onto my face, and say, “Sure. Let’s do this.”

With Roxane behind the wheel of an electric cart, we traverse the complex series of hallways in silence until we reach the elevator bank where Arthur is waiting.

“Enjoy!” Roxane says, giving me a quick wave as her cart speeds off.

“Natasha.” Arthur grins. “You’re looking well. I trust you’ve caught up on your rest?”

I nod and follow him into the elevator. We quickly descend into the depths of the academy. When the doors slide open, we head down a short, dimly lit hall. At the end, just like the previous times, he pauses before a brushed metal door and asks, “Ready?”

I nod, trying to muster excitement I don’t currently feel.

“Welcome to the Vault!” he says, ushering me through the thick steel door.

Despite my familiarity with this place, my apathy vanishes as I take in the marvels inside, struck with awe so profound my jaw drops.

“It never gets old, does it?” Arthur laughs, guiding me deeper inside the massive, climate-controlled storeroom filled with the most important works of art known to man.

It’s the ultimate museum—a lavish repository for the world’s most treasured artifacts, collected through the years by Trippers like me, who’ve exchanged these priceless originals for meticulously crafted replicas.

I remember what Arthur said to me during my initial visit: modern society, with its preference for the mundane over true artistry, doesn’t deserve these great works. He argued that when art’s value is reduced to a social media checkmark, society forfeits its right to direct access. The profound act of experiencing Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpieces is cheapened by the eagerness to boast about visiting the Louvre rather than genuinely connect with the artwork.

But what resonated with me the most was when he said: Leonardo created because it allowed him to touch the divine, and when we view his works properly, we get a glimpse of that, too.

Having met Leonardo, I can attest to its truth.

By the time Arthur fell silent, his eyes were misted with tears, and he made no move to hide it. In that moment, I understood that Arthur had a passion for beauty like I’d never seen.

But now, after my conversation with Freya, I have an entirely new understanding. Arthur’s passion extends far beyond mere appreciation—there’s someone out there—someone he’s so desperate to reconnect with, he’s determined to take control over time and curate the world for this person.

But who is this person—and what might’ve happened between them?

“Go on,” Arthur says, jolting me back to the present. “Have a look, wander. You brought me the Moon, and now it’s time for you to choose a reward. Whatever you want, it’s yours for the taking.”

As I walk these aisles, a silent battle rages inside me. I want to be jaded, to not care about any of this, but much like Arthur, I’ve always been a sucker for beautiful objects.

The cut and shine of a jewel makes my heart sing.

The play of light and shadow in a painting or photograph can reduce me to tears.

The intricate design of a perfectly tailored dress and the architectural curve of a pair of high heels have the power to transport me to another world.

I wander past masters like Picasso, Botticelli, Kahlo, Monet, O’Keefe, Rembrandt, Goya, Velázquez, Kandinsky, Klimt, Michelangelo, Caravaggio, Raphael, Vermeer, and more—circling display cases filled with the crown jewels from just about every reign throughout history. My pulse races at the idea that any of these pieces could be mine for the taking.

It’s a heady feeling, making it impossible not to get caught up in the thrill of walking among such a mesmerizing collection. And I remind myself that, as morally gray as this may appear, Arthur isn’t driven by greed.

While he hoards these great works of art, the small trinkets we bring back—the gems stolen from unsuspecting aristocracy—are returned to their timelines to be reallocated among those who need them the most.

I remember my surprise when he revealed how much he enjoys redistributing wealth. In a moment of shock, I called him Robin Hood, which made him toss his head back and howl with laughter.

Arthur is not entirely bad.

He has many admirable qualities.

And, as I told my dad, he truly has been a mentor to me.

Which makes what I’m destined to do even more difficult.

Arthur trails several feet behind me, allowing me space to meander and dream.

“When you manage to unravel the mystery of the Melencolia I ,” he says, “and decipher the clues hidden in the tarot cards and Christopher Columbus’s map, it should lead you directly to the Star.”

I give a vague nod, wondering why he feels the need to tell me what I already know.

“And once you bring it to me, the rest of the pieces will be rendered unnecessary.”

I freeze, unsure if I heard him correctly.

I whirl to face him, my hands beginning to shake so badly I hide them in the folds of my sweatshirt. “Excuse me?” I manage to say, my voice betraying my tension.

Arthur’s gaze, as deep and dark as a moonless night, pins me in place. “With the Sun and the Moon now in my possession, the Star remains the last essential item. The rest is merely decoration—a sort of window dressing, if you will.”

The revelation slams into me like a physical blow, forcing the air from my lungs and rendering my knees barely able to hold me.

No.

No-no-no-no-no!

“I probably should’ve mentioned it before,” he says, a hint of apology in his tone. “But seeing how much you enjoy the challenge, I didn’t want to deprive you of the pleasure of the hunt.”

Pleasure of the hunt?

This game has stakes far beyond what I ever imagined.

“So, it seems the time has come,” he says, hands rubbing together. “Time for you to deliver the Star, which will, in turn, allow me to fulfill my intention.”

“And that intention,” I echo, an icy shiver snaking its way down my spine, “is to remake the world?”

“Precisely,” he confirms.