Page 45 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)

I wake before dawn.

Well before my slab sounds its chime for Arthur’s daily dose of inspiration. Since this is the last of his quotes I’m ever likely to read, I give it my full attention.

What we do now, echoes in eternity . - Marcus Aurelius

I interpret it to mean the final phase of this game has now started.

By the time the notification arrives, informing me that I’ve been summoned to Trip, I’ve been prepared for what feels like a lifetime.

When the knock sounds at my door, signaling the arrival of my escort, I call out, “Just a minute!” wanting to savor a few final moments in this small, luxurious space that’s served as my home.

It was here by the hearth where Braxton gave me my talisman.

It was there in that bed where we shared so many intimate moments.

On those walls is the art I was rewarded with for bringing Arthur his Gets—pieces like Vanitas , The Persistence of Memory , and, most recently, Judith Slaying Holofernes.

The knock sounds again, but I choose to ignore it, drawn instead to the window for a final gaze upon the tarot garden below.

I press my hands to the chilled glass, trying to summon the vision of the labyrinth and the girl in the red cape who looked so much like me. But once again, the image eludes me.

Instead, my eyes linger on the deliberate placement of The Magician , The High Priestess , and The Wheel of Fortune statues, the three intertwined by the sinuous form of a serpent, a symbol of their eternal connection.

When another knock sounds, this one sharper, insistent, I turn away from the window and stride toward the door, ready to embrace my destiny with open arms and a determined heart.

Navigating a maze of corridors and passing through multiple security checkpoints, where we present our slabs and prove our identities, we finally reach the top-secret command center. It looks like it’s been yanked from the faraway future and plopped down on this rock of an island.

Standing here now, I have the same feeling I did on my very first Trip—a tangled knot of anticipation roiling in my belly, growing larger by the minute.

Unlike that first time, today the pressure is immense. As my eyes settle on Arthur—the man who’s orchestrated my life for longer than I can probably imagine—my heart stalls in my chest.

No longer wearing the Roman emperor armor of last night, today marks the first time I’ve ever seen him opting for a crisp white shirt and blazer over his usual cashmere sweater.

Arthur is dressed to reunite with his long-lost love.

And I’m here to make sure that he doesn’t.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, giving me a thorough once-over. “You left quite early last night. Everything all right?”

Knowing honesty is always best, I say, “I had a feeling I’d be Tripping today, and I wanted to be well rested and ready. I know how much you have riding on this.”

He surveys me with those scrutinizing obsidian eyes, not missing a thing. Once again, I wonder if he knows that Braxton and I witnessed his ritual of grief. But I quickly dismiss the thought, convinced his sorrow rendered him oblivious to everything else.

“Can you locate it?” he asks, his tone uncharacteristically hopeful.

“I’m confident I can,” I assure him. “No need to worry.”

“In that case,” he says, his voice brisk and authoritative once more, “head over to makeup and wardrobe. Charlotte’s waiting for you.”

As I make my way to see Charlotte, I cross paths with Keane. Knowing it’s not safe to ask, I shoot him an inquiring look. He answers with a reassuring nod that instantly fills me with relief. Then he discreetly hands me the key to my dad’s New York apartment, now programmed to serve as a clicker.

Everything is unfolding according to plan. Mason, Oliver, and Finn have departed, and Braxton’s journey has begun. Now I’m the final piece awaiting my turn.

Charlotte greets me with a wide grin. As I take in the warmth of her gaze and her flushed cheeks, I realize how much I’m going to miss her, and it’s all I can do to fight back the tears.

Noticing the way I dab at my eyes, she says, “You are feeling all right?”

I manage a nod, fighting to regain my composure, and ease into the familiar routine of preparing for a Trip. My face is lightly powdered, my lips and cheeks tinted with rouge, and my hair is arranged in soft, face-framing curls, while the rest is swept up into an intricate bun at the back that’s meticulously adorned with a scattering of pearls.

When Charlotte unexpectedly adds a dusting of gold powder as a finishing touch, I’m surprised to find that, in a certain light, I look almost blond.

“And the dress?” I say, eager to see it. Despite the weight of the challenges ahead, it’s hard not to get at least a little caught up in this elaborate game of dress-up.

Charlotte responds with an enthusiastic grin, retrieving a gown from the rack. She presents it to me, and as my eyes take in the gown’s delicate powder blue silk, designed with an empire waist and short, puffed sleeves, a surge of panic rises within me.

When she brings out the long white gloves and satin slippers in the same shade of blue as the gown, I can’t hold it in any longer.

“This—this isn’t the right timeline!” I say, my eyes wide, my voice too thin and high. “This is for Regency England, not—”

Charlotte’s gaze meets mine, her expression etched with concern. “Not what?” she asks.

“I thought…” My words falter, my mouth gone suddenly dry. I silently scold myself to calm the hell down, I can’t afford to raise any alarms. “I was under the impression,” I say, “that I’d be Tripping to the time of King Henry VIII.”

Charlotte pauses, giving me a long, perplexed look before she finally says, “This is the instruction Arthur provided. Elodie is wearing the same.”

Elodie?

I shut my eyes, suppressing a sigh. So, Arthur has chosen his own daughter as my companion for the Trip.

Though I can’t say I’m surprised, I do question why Arthur decided on her.

Did he think she’d pose a greater challenge than Killian?

Then again, I suppose it hardly matters. The odds of either of them helping me are slim.

As I resign myself to being fitted into a dress from an era I wasn’t expecting, I wonder what additional surprises Arthur might have in store. Just when I thought I’d finally caught up, he manages to leap ahead another ten paces, leaving me scrambling to bridge the gap.

Once I’m dressed, Charlotte guides me to stand before a mirror, and my eyes fill with the sight of a me who’s not really me—a girl cast in a role she never auditioned for.

Concealed beneath the long, straight column of my dress is a slender, sharp dagger I truly hope I won’t need. The array of pockets hidden within the seams of the dress are filled with all the items I plan to take with me.

The thought of arriving in New York, when all is said and done, wearing a getup like this, brings a grin to my lips. If it were any other town, in any other place, it might be cause for alarm. But in a city as eclectic as New York, I doubt I’ll get so much as a second glance.

“What do you think?” Charlotte asks.

After taking another good look at myself, I opt for honesty. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this. It feels like I’m caught in a dream.”

For a fleeting moment, a shadow flits across Charlotte’s gaze, hinting at something deeper I can’t quite grasp. But it’s gone in a blink, and she swiftly returns to her usual cheerful self.

“The gloves are fortunate to conceal your…” She gestures toward the collection of golden rings on my arm.

I give a slight nod, an unspoken understanding passing between us.

“And your talisman?” she asks.

I hesitate. Ever since the time I spent with my dad, I no longer need it to avoid falling into a Fade. Yet, not wanting to raise any suspicions, I quietly retrieve it from my pocket, watching as she takes great care securing it at my neck.

By all appearances, I’m ready. And yet, I’m not quite willing to leave just yet.

“Charlotte,” I begin, my voice cautious, words measured. “If you could Trip to any era or destination, where would you go?”

I inhale a breath, waiting for her to respond.

Charlotte meets my gaze, her eyes momentarily darkening before she replies, “Gray Wolf is my home.”

“But there was another place you called home once, wasn’t there?” I ask, aware I’m treading on delicate ground, yet needing to know.

Charlotte clasps her hands at her waist, regarding me with an inscrutable expression. “You are familiar with the saying: nostalgia is history stripped of its suffering ?” Her unwavering eyes hold fast to mine. “In this place, there is an absence of that pain. So this is where I choose to remain.”

A silent understanding passes between us. Gently taking her hands in mine, I say, “Thank you,” recalling how it was because of her that I even thought to break off a piece of my pannier to defend myself from the duke. Without her guidance, I might’ve never survived that night. “You’ve been a true friend,” I add. “And I’ll always be grateful for that.”

Giving my hands a comforting squeeze, she says, “Good luck, Natasha. And may the fates be with you.”