Page 56 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)

Arthur beams with unbridled joy—a vision of a man on the cusp of realizing a long-held dream.

Grasping the Star in one hand, he waves the Antikythera Mechanism before me with the other.

My heart skips a beat, my breath refuses to come, as I watch him position the Star into its destined slot. The fate of the world rests on this moment.

An uneasy hush falls upon us. Something is off.

I watch as Arthur’s triumphant smile falters as he struggles to fit the Star into the mechanism.

He frowns, forcing it again, but the piece won’t align.

“What is this?” His voice wavers, eyes narrowing as he inspects the mechanism more closely. Panic creeps into his features. He twists and turns it, desperately trying to make the piece fit, but it’s useless.

His eyes dart wildly between the fake mechanism in his hands and me, disbelief swiftly morphing into rage. “What’ve you done?” he demands, his gaze feverish, accusing. “What the hell have you done with it? This…this is a fake!”

“I haven’t touched it,” I respond calmly. “I’ve been right here with you. For this twist, you can thank Braxton.”

Arthur’s gaze snaps to the young boy, quietly attempting to wake his father from an eternal slumber.

“The other Braxton,” I clarify. “The adult one. The one you so readily dismissed. I think irrelevant and superfluous were the terms you used?”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Arthur shouts, his restraint completely shattered. “You’ve made a terrible, grievous error—you’ve—”

“It’s over, Arthur,” I say. “Braxton has destroyed it. That fake in your hands is all that remains. Without the authentic mechanism, the Star is useless. It’s time for you to stop. You will forever remain the Magician, the first card in the deck. The World was never yours to claim.”

With unseeing eyes, he stares at the counterfeit mechanism in his hand, as if hoping to undo our actions through sheer determination alone.

Then suddenly, consumed by an uncontrollable rage, Arthur flings the fake Antikythera aside and charges at me with a surge of unbridled fury, his dagger menacingly poised for attack.

Without any means to defend myself, I try to sidestep, making a frantic effort to evade his strike.

“Arthur, please—” Elodie shouts, her words rushed, edged with panic. “Don’t do this. It won’t change anything. It’s already done.”

Arthur continues to advance.

In a desperate bid to dodge the lethal point of his dagger, I dart to the right. But my bare foot strikes a rock, my ankle painfully twists, and I crash toward the ground, staring in shock as the earth rushes up to greet my fall.

I land with a jolt, knowing it truly is over, done.

I have no allies here, no one willing to help.

This is how I disappear from the world.

In this pivotal moment, time seems malleable, as though it were within my power to mold. My thoughts drift back to the day Braxton and I first met, standing before a tombstone inscribed with my name.

At the time, the significance eluded me, yet the angel that rose from the headstone bore a striking resemblance to the angel depicted on Melencolia I.

There she sat perched at the top, one of her hands holding a pocket watch much like the one belonging to Braxton’s father, while the other hand pointed toward the sky, the place where our deepest dreams reside.

Engraved on the stone beneath was my full name, my birthdate, and the date of my death, which happened to be that exact day.

Looking back, I saw it as the day when the old me died and the new one was born.

But now, what I mostly remember is how I laughed at the sight.

A laughter so unexpected, it prompted Braxton to deviate from the script, drawn to the girl who defied expectations.

It was the moment that, unbeknownst to us, first linked our fates.

And now, as Arthur expects me to shrink away from his advancing blade, I scramble to stand, determined to confront him head-on.

Just as I start to rise, his eyes appear to meet mine, though I know it’s not me he sees. His vision is filled with the debris of dying dreams, the hope of ever reuniting with his wife now gone up in flames.

Arthur is reduced to the very essence of what’s been driving him all along—and all that pain, all that self-blame, is now directed solely at me.

In a bone-chilling howl of despair and a quick flash of silver, my life is soon to be over. But despite being unarmed, I won’t go down without a fight.

I plant my feet firmly, resolve hardening within me as I prepare to face him, determined to end this once and for all.

Then, to my bewilderment, just as I’ve accepted my fate, Arthur stops, the dagger drops from his hand, and the next thing I know, his body collapses onto mine and together we crash to the ground.

It’s only then, when Arthur is sprawled across me, that I notice the hilt of Killian’s dagger protruding from his back.

“How’s that for redemption?” Killian says, glancing between Arthur and me, the light in his eyes beginning to fade. “Looks like I chose you after all, Shiv.”

At the sight of her father’s crumpled body, Elodie’s screams carve up the night. Rushing to Arthur’s side, she drags him off me and quickly assesses his condition. Realizing he’s gravely injured, but possibly not beyond saving if he receives prompt attention, she turns to us and says, “Just go, already! Both of you—now!”

I look between her and Arthur, wondering which bears the heavier burden—Arthur’s palpable sense of defeat or the physical toll of his injury.

“And what about the portal, and Braxton?” I ask, gesturing toward the young boy.

“I’ll handle it,” Elodie says. “All of it. I promise.”

I promise .

The words linger between us, leaving me to question the true value of a promise made by Elodie Blue.

My gaze is drawn to the golden serpent pendant adorning her neck, a potent symbol of fertility, protection, wisdom, healing, temptation, evil, rebirth, and immortality. I can’t help but wonder which of these things might’ve resonated with her enough to choose it as her talisman.

There was a time when I would’ve believed that a promise from Elodie was worth very little, if anything at all. But the Elodie now tending to her father, despite the way he abandoned her, is not the girl I once knew.

This Trip has changed her, changed all of us, in ways we may never fully understand.

“Do you need the clicker?” she asks, blinking through tears.

I hesitate, though I’m not sure why. All our old secrets, it seems, are now out in the open. “No,” I tell her. “I have my own.”

She fixes me with her wide blue gaze. “Of course you do,” she says, shaking her head and rolling her eyes just like the old Elodie that I knew back in school. “And what the hell is that on your arm?”

I follow her gaze to see the completed Flower of Life now marking my flesh—a symbol that my journey as a Timekeeper has come to an end.

Returning my focus to her, I ask, “How will you get back?” worried about the all-too-real possibility of her getting stranded in time.

“Who said I’m going back?” She offers a tearful grin. “Like you said, I never fail to capture the heart of anyone I set my sights on. I’m sure Nash will be more than happy to take me back. And, if not, there’s always someone else, in some other place and time. Do you think you can find it within you to help Killian reach the portal?”

I turn to Killian. Considering how he spared me from the brunt of Arthur’s blade, I guess I owe him that much. “Yeah,” I say. “I can do that.”

“Then you better hurry,” Elodie warns, “because he’s moments away from crossing his own timeline.”

“Don’t fucking tempt her,” Killian mutters.

Removing the red cape Braxton’s father gave me, I retrieve my dagger and use it to slice off a long strip of fabric. I carefully wrap it around the wound at Killian’s chest, hoping it might help stanch the bleeding.

You have been here before. Done this before. Time is a flat circle looping back on itself.

“Lucky for you,” Killian says, jolting me back to the present, “you missed my heart by an inch.”

“Lucky for you,” I say, tying off the makeshift bandage, “I’ve discovered you actually have one. Which is the only reason I’m helping you escape. Now come.”

With Killian leaning on me, we start to make our way out. But not before I take a moment to kneel beside this young version of Braxton.

Offering him a piece of the red cape I cut just for him, I gently clean the blood from his nose. Then, pressing the fabric into his palm, I whisper, “I’m deeply sorry for what you’re going through. Please know that your father loved you. He was immensely proud of you. And as hard as this is, you will persevere and find your way through. This, I assure you. For now, Elodie will look after you, and”—I cast a meaningful look her way—“you can trust her.”

For a fleeting moment, Braxton’s ocean-blue eyes meet mine, and a profound realization resonates deep in my soul. This is the reason I felt that unmistakable jolt of recognition when Elodie first showed me his photo.

As Braxton turns away, immersed in his grief, Killian and I step around Arthur, who, now lying on his side, fixes me with a wary look.

“It’s not over, Natasha,” he says, his voice strained, like it’s taking a great deal of effort to properly enunciate my name. “The circle is mine to control, and there’s no beginning or end. We will do this again, I assure you.”

I pause, the weight of his words nagging at me. Could it possibly be true? Has Arthur somehow trapped me in a loop?

“What’ve you done?” I cry. “Arthur—”

Killian tugs on my arm. “Ignore him,” he says. “He’s lost his mind, and I’m on the cusp of blinking right out of this mortal plane if you and I don’t get a move on.”

Leaving Arthur behind, Killian and I make our way to the portal, where we clasp our hands together and soar into an unknown future.