Page 57 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)

Natasha

New York City

Present Day

Three Months Later

I often think back to the day I first arrived in New York.

How could I not?

It’s the day that marked the end of what little innocence I had left and shattered my belief in my own free will.

When Killian and I arrived in Central Park, Braxton was already there, anxiously waiting for us.

“What the hell?” he said, taking in my torn dress and Killian’s chest wound, slowly bleeding out.

“It’s a long story,” I told him. “But first, he needs help.”

“I spotted a cop over there,” Killian said. “But you have to pretend you don’t know me, so you don’t get dragged into this mess. Just tell him you found me like this.”

“Yeah, except I’m covered in your blood,” I reminded him. “And my clothes aren’t exactly a match for this century. Pretty sure he’ll put the two together.”

Killian groaned in frustration. Turning to Braxton, he said, “Be a gent, and give the lady your jacket. And Shiv,” he adds, “get the hell out of here. Your boy will look out for me.”

I shot Braxton a questioning look, not as convinced of his willingness to cooperate as Killian seemed to be.

“You’re here because of me,” Killian told him. Then, nodding toward me, he said, “A little confirmation might help.”

“I’ll explain later,” I said, responding to Braxton’s bewildered look.

“Good,” Killian said. “Now that everyone’s in sync, you’re free to leave, Shiv.”

“But what will you do?” I asked, reluctant to abandon him in a city he had no connection to. “Where will you go?”

Killian tried to grin, but his pain precluded him from getting much further than a slight tensing of lips. “I’m a survivor,” he said. “Thought you knew that about me. Now, either give me a nice, long kiss goodbye, or be on your way.”

“Goodbye, Killian,” I said, wondering if it might be the last. “And thank you. For what you did back there. Saving me from Arthur, I mean.”

Killian held my gaze, those swimming-pool eyes appearing deeper than I ever imagined they could be. Then, just as he turned away, I heard myself saying, “May the fates be with you.” Then I ran like the wind.

Fleeing Belvedere Castle that day felt like escaping a diminutive version of Gray Wolf. I raced through the park, dodged pedestrians on crowded avenues, darted through traffic as I crossed city blocks, until I finally stood before my dad’s building.

It looked different than it did back in 1998—it had lost some of its shine, but I knew I had the right place. And, as luck would have it, a food delivery person was exiting just as I arrived, since my dad forgot to give me the front entry key.

“Do you mind holding that?” I asked, motioning toward the door.

He gave me a skeptical look and for a handful of seconds it felt like my fate lay in the balance.

Then, with a casual shrug, he said, “Hurry up already, don’t got all day.” And I ran up the front steps and made my way in.

To my relief, the key to my dad’s apartment still worked. As I ventured inside, I was amazed to find it looked mostly the same, with the addition of several years’ worth of cobwebs and dust, of course.

I paused in the entry and bid my dad a silent thanks. “And don’t worry,” I added, speaking out loud, “I still intend to save you one day.”

Then I froze, my own words echoing back at me and giving me pause. I recalled what Braxton’s father had said about the dangers of trying to alter one’s fate.

But surely my case is different , I thought. Macbeth acted from hubris, and Arthur acted from his inability to reconcile the part he played in the loss of his family.

Whereas I’d be acting from…

From love. Pain. Grief.

Just like Arthur.

Two sides of the same spinning coin.

I shook away the thought, about to make my way to the safe when the door buzzer sounded. Knowing it was Braxton, I rushed to let him in.

He must’ve tackled the stairs with lightning speed, because when I opened the door, he was already there, waiting for me.

In an instant, he drew me into his arms. I pressed tightly to his chest, breathing in the scent of salt air, stormy seas, and a journey still unknown to me.

“We did it,” I said, loving him more than I ever thought possible. Loving him with a love that encompassed my whole heart, the entirety of my soul.

“There was a moment when I thought…” His words trailed off as his arms tightened around me. “But yeah, we really did it,” he whispered into my hair, my ear, the tender hollow at the base of my neck.

Just like the words he’d engraved on the circle of gold at my wrist, I knew we loved with an intensity that could move the sun and other stars.

This seemingly impossible bond that we share had managed to conquer the boundaries of time in order for us to find our way to each other.

Braxton is my miracle, and I am his.

As we crossed the threshold, Braxton’s foot swiftly kicked the door closed, sealing us away from the world. In that sanctuary of our making, he turned to me, his gaze alight with the unspoken emotions of our separation.

Without a word, he drew me closer, his hands framing my face with a tenderness that contrasted with the urgent need in those ocean-blue eyes.

Our gazes locked, a silent conversation of longing and relief passing between us before his lips finally found mine.

The kiss was a maelstrom of feelings, deep and fervent, as if we were trying to communicate every moment of absence, every second of yearning.

Through this single connection, his lips moved against mine with an intensity that stirred my soul, igniting a fire that had lain dormant during our time apart. With each caress of his lips, each mingling of breath, we were reaffirming our bond, rediscovering the familiar yet always astonishing territory of each other’s taste and touch.

The world outside faded into insignificance, time stood still, and in that moment, there was only two hearts, beating in unison—a testament to the enduring connection that distance could never undo.

When we finally withdrew, I traced a finger down the slight bend of his nose, then along the newer, small crescent scar marking his neck. A terrible lump formed in my throat when I recalled how it got there.

“And Killian?” I asked, hoping it was the last time I ever had to say that name.

Braxton shrugged. “On his way to the hospital. Apparently, he’ll live.”

I nodded, surprised by my relief. As much as Killian angered me, he was right—I’m just not the killing type.

“There’s so much to tell you,” I said. “And I want to hear everything that happened in Greece. But first, I think we should check my dad’s safe. He promised to leave a sum of money to help us start our new lives.”

Together, we made our way through the hidden door, then through the secret room where I came into my power as a Timekeeper, and finally down the hall to where the Salvador Dalí reproduction still hung in its place.

“ The Persistence of Memory ,” Braxton said, glancing between the print and me. “Seems like a strange coincidence, don’t you think?”

There’s no such thing as coincidence. Everything is connected.

My dad’s words echoed in my head, but I just nodded and spun the combination lock, stopping on the numbers that equaled my birthday.

When I heard that telltale click, I looked at Braxton and said, “Ready?”

He gave a quick nod, eyes shining with anticipation.

Without further delay, I swung the door open to find a single white envelope waiting inside.

“It must be a check,” I said. “Or perhaps the numbers to an offshore bank account.”

With Braxton watching intently, I slid a finger beneath the envelope flap and carefully extracted the item within. My heart pounded as I stared in disbelief.

No.

No-no-no-no-no-no!

How could this be?

Once again, Arthur was ten steps ahead .

With trembling hands and a racing heart, I held it up for Braxton to see.

“My God,” he said. It was all he could say.

Instead of a check or a nice wad of cash, it was a single tarot card—The Wheel of Fortune, the tenth card of the Major Arcana. The very card that started it all.

That was the moment when I realized it was true.

Time really is a flat circle.

And I am the red-cloaked girl, endlessly running through a maze with no beginning or end.

Braxton, Elodie, Killian, and I—all of us are caught in an infinite dance, and Arthur is our tireless director.

I may have won the battle, but there will always be another, and then another after that. There’s no escaping this destiny, this fated role I never auditioned for.

Now, three months into our New York life, with Braxton’s injuries fully healed, and our memories of Gray Wolf fading, I roll onto my side to find Braxton sleeping soundly beside me.

Rising from the bed, I drift to the window, peering into the predawn sky, my fingers instinctively seeking the small golden cage that still hangs from my neck, with its diamond star and lapis moon nestled inside. I recall a passage I once read, proclaiming that in the end, we are all woven from stardust.

That the very atoms that form us once originated from stars that shimmered in the cosmos eons ago.

For some reason I can’t quite understand, I find great comfort in that.

As I lower my gaze to the expanse of apartment buildings that now serve as my view, I half expect to see the familiar arrangement of the tarot garden that sprawled before my old window at Gray Wolf— The Magician , The High Priestess , and The Wheel of Fortune , all melding into one another.

According to Mason, whom I saw when I flew to California to visit him and my mom, he, Oliver, and Finn all made it out, and I couldn’t be happier for them. Gray Wolf was never their destiny, just an interesting experience on the path of their lives.

As for the rest of us, something tells me we’ll never truly leave it behind.

Killian is recovering nicely, and to my surprise, he’s decided to stay in New York. Once a week, he, Braxton, and I meet for dinner at his favorite tavern that serves a nice ale and a decent slice of shepherd’s pie.

Killian claims that Elodie went back to Gray Wolf. That despite her fondness for Nash, she was never cut out to be anyone’s nineteenth-century version of a wife. And though it makes sense, I’m still not entirely sure how Killian could possibly know that.

Unless, of course, he’s been back there himself.

Yet another reason we’re determined to keep a close eye on him. As the adage goes: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Yes, he saved my life, but with Killian, I can never truly know why.

Was it to save me from Arthur?

Or, more likely, was it to save Arthur from committing an act that would put a permanent end to his dream?

As it turns out, my destiny as a Timekeeper didn’t end with the destruction of the Antikythera Mechanism.

Apparently, Killian’s blade didn’t puncture as deeply as we thought. Just enough to stop Arthur, but not enough to finish him off.

And day by day this mark on my arm grows darker, more prominent, morphing into a much deeper shade of gold.

As long as Arthur Blackstone clings to the dream of reuniting his family and controlling time, it’ll be up to Braxton and me to stop him.

Just the other day, an envelope appeared in the mail, bearing no return address. Though I knew right away where it came from. It had the red wax seal with the Gray Wolf insignia embossed on its front.

Inside was an article about a mysterious object known as the Roman dodecahedron. According to the piece, it’s a small, hollow relic made of bronze or stone, dating back to the second and fourth centuries AD. They’d been found scattered across various parts of the Roman empire, and though their significance is unknown, some speculate…

I stopped reading there, seeing no need to go on.

Clearly, Arthur had found another way to pursue his goal, and it was just a matter of time before he’d come looking for us.

Braxton, awake now, comes up behind me. Circling his arms at my waist, he says, “My darling, are you okay?”

I lean back into his warmth, drawing strength from his steady presence, remembering Arthur’s words from what now feels like a lifetime ago.

We are always writing our own stories—all day, every day. It’s the ones you choose to play on repeat that determine your destiny.

“I’m more than okay. I’m happy,” I say, knowing in my heart that it’s true. Braxton and I are in this together, our destinies bound in a circle with no beginning or end. What’s not to be happy about?

Since Arthur stole my inheritance, our lives aren’t nearly as easy as we’d hoped. But we are smart, resourceful, and we’re making it work in the best way we can. Though the irony isn’t lost on me that I have Gray Wolf to thank for this life we’ve been given.

Still, sometimes, in these early predawn hours, I wake with a start—my skin covered in a panicky sweat, my heart beating much too fast, as my mind repeatedly reminds me that Arthur is out there, safely ensconced in his luxurious fortress, still chasing eternity.

While Braxton and I bide our time here, waiting for the day when he’ll snatch us off the street, put us into a hypnotic trance, and settle us back into his circular world, where all endings are nothing more than beginnings.

Someday, we’ll find a way to vanquish him once and for all.

I know in my heart that it’s true.

And yet, every now and then, a slim thread of doubt manages to creep its way in, just like it does now.

“What will we do?” I say, leaning deeper into Braxton’s embrace.

Pressing a kiss to my cheek, then the side of my neck, Braxton replies in the same way he always does.

“We’ll do the only thing we ever can do,” he says. “We’ll keep moving toward the light, ensuring the shadows always remain well behind us.”

The End