Page 43 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)
Braxton finds me at the bar, where I’m sipping from a glass of citrus-spiked water.
“You okay?” he asks, his expression etched with concern.
“More of the same,” I say, seeing no reason to rehash what I’m sure he can guess. “And you?”
He lets out a sigh. “Elodie wanted me to know she’s come to terms with us being together. Said she’s happy for me, for us. Even apologized for her attempts to interfere with, her words here: what’s so clearly meant to be .”
“Do you believe her?” I ask. “Because that doesn’t sound like the Elodie I know. Contrition is a foreign concept to her.”
Braxton gives a noncommittal shrug, seemingly indifferent to her motives. Then, slipping an arm around my waist, he says, “Seeing as how this is our last party in this place, what do you say we make one more lap around the room before I go?”
Moving through the crowd, we skirt a holographic spectacle where gladiators battle to the death with a ferocious pride of lions, under the avid gaze of a virtual audience casting their stakes. The realism is so striking, it’s easy to forget they’re not real.
When we arrive at a long banquet table that practically groans under the weight of Arthur’s take on an ancient Roman feast, Braxton snatches a handful of grapes and teasingly feeds them to me while playfully fanning me with his free hand. His antics spark a fit of laughter so intense, he eventually has to relent.
Drawing me closer, he whispers, “I look forward to more moments like this. Your laughter—it’s a melody too seldom heard around here.”
I grin, my mind filling with visions of what a normal life, in a normal place, far from the extraordinary confines of Gray Wolf, might look like.
The two of us playfully arguing over who gets to control the TV remote.
Braxton and I, wandering the aisles of a grocery store, looking for the freshest pieces of produce.
Both of us engaged in a fierce debate over the eternal question of whether toilet paper should hang over or under the roll.
The very idea of Braxton, so larger than life in so many ways, immersed in such ordinary domestic tasks, ignites another round of laugher that I find nearly impossible to control.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, his lips brushing my cheek.
“Nothing,” I manage to say. “Or maybe everything. I guess it depends on how you look at it, doesn’t it?”
Suddenly the music stops, drawing all eyes to the stage, where Arthur stands before the mic. In a rare departure from his typical attire of understated, affluent ease, tonight he wears a costume of ancient regality, the type of which his favorite Roman emperor, Marcus Aurelius, known as the philosopher king, might’ve worn.
His head is encased in a gleaming bronze helmet, crowned with a black plume. His body is ensconced in armor composed of interlaced leather and metal strips. A pair of broad shoulder guards stretch down his upper arms, enhancing his formidable appearance. A purple woolen cloak, clasped at one shoulder, complements the knee-length tunic beneath, its purple hue a symbol of royalty and authority. Completing the ensemble, a pair of heavy leather sandals lends an air of authentic period detail.
Seeing him now, as he gazes among his admiring crowd, it strikes me as ironic how Arthur, who claims to have read Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations countless times, seems to have overlooked its core message entirely.
The storied Roman emperor repeatedly cautioned against the corrupting influence of power—a pitfall Marcus Aurelius diligently worked to avoid.
And yet, Arthur Blackstone, who claims to be his greatest admirer, precisely embodies the very pitfalls the Roman emperor warned against.
Then again, it’s a rare person who has a clear view of themselves.
Arthur takes the microphone in hand, his mere presence alone enough to command all our attention. “Greetings!” he calls, his voice resonating through the suddenly silent room.
Instantly, the atmosphere electrifies, the crowd erupting into enthusiastic cheers as if Arthur, standing before us in historical finery, is a rock star poised to deliver an encore performance of his biggest hit song.
It’s in this moment that the depth of their affection for him becomes unmistakably clear. This room is filled with people whose loyalty to him is unwavering, their lives indelibly marked by his intervention. Rescued from the brink of guillotines, the gallows, and witch trials, they owe their very existence to Arthur’s grace.
And in the midst of this new understanding, I can’t help but wonder if Arthur can really turn his back on them all?
Can he really cast aside those he no longer deems necessary?
And what would they think if they were to discover his plans?
Another glance around the room tells me that their faith in him is so resolute, so unwavering, that even if I did try to convince them of what I now know, the majority wouldn’t believe me.
As Arthur continues speaking, Mason quietly appears by my side. “We’re about to head out,” he says, subtly gesturing toward Oliver and Finn, who linger at the edge of the crowd.
“So soon?” A hint of reluctance sounds in my voice.
“Seems like the best time.” He shrugs. “With everyone so distracted, we’ll be able to slip away without notice.”
I give a silent nod, feeling an uncomfortable knot tighten in my throat at the thought of his leaving, even though I know it’s all just as we planned.
“I’m sorry,” I say, the gravity of our situation adding extra weight to my words. “I never meant to drag you into all this.”
“Don’t.” Mason shakes his head. “Don’t regret a single second of it. Believe it or not, this has turned into one of the most amazing experiences of my life. It’s like playing a real-life version of Anywhere But Here .”
A laugh breaks through my tears as I remember the game we used to play back in high school, dreaming up fantastical adventures to escape the tedium of our surroundings.
“I never imagined we’d actually live out those daydreams,” he says. “It’s because of you that I got to experience that.”
“Yeah, be careful what you wish for, right?” I try to smile, but my eyes, much like his, are brimming with tears, saying more than any words or grin ever could.
“I would hug you,” Mason says, “but we can’t risk drawing any unwanted attention. So, instead of goodbye, which seems way too final, I’ll just say, so long. For now. We’ll catch up in New York or even California, yes?”
“Definitely,” I assure him.
Turning to Braxton, Mason says, “Sorry I clocked you.”
Braxton rubs at the spot on his jaw where Mason’s knuckles pounded his flesh in what now feels like a lifetime ago. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He grins. Then, with a nod of respect, he adds, “Good luck to you, Mason. May your journey be smooth, the seas calm, and the winds at your back.”
“Highly unlikely.” Mason laughs. “But thanks for the sentiment all the same.”
Our farewells to Oliver and Finn are brief, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of regret that I didn’t get to know them as well as I might’ve liked.
But Gray Wolf is like that—competitive, cloaked in secrecy. A place where forming genuine connections is hindered by a constant undercurrent of doubt and suspicion.
Arthur has created this breathtaking environment and filled it with distrust, making us feel like we’re always being listened to, watched, our every move monitored. It’s one of my biggest grievances with him. Here, we had the potential to become a united family, all working together as one. But I guess Arthur feared that sort of unity might one day turn us against him.
My gaze shifts to the stage where Arthur continues to captivate the crowd. Then spotting Keane lingering close by, I turn to Braxton with a heavy heart. “It’s time, isn’t it?”
Braxton pulls me close to his chest, sealing our farewell with a kiss that resonates deep in my soul. As we part, a sea of unspoken words swirls between us. With a trembling hand, I reach up and lovingly trace the slight bend of his nose, smiling through my tears at this dashing, elegant boy who managed to claim my whole heart.
“See you in New York,” I manage to whisper, struggling to hold back a sob.
“You will, indeed.” He nods, his own voice equally strained but determined, his ocean blue eyes alight with an unspoken promise.
With a final, lingering glance, heavy with all the emotions we find impossible to voice, we reluctantly part.
Every step away from each other is weighted not just with the enormity of the challenge before us, but also the fervent, silent hope for the future we dream of building together.