Page 9 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)

“You’re serious,” I say, unable to mask my skepticism. “I can actually learn to summon an Unraveling?”

“Sure.” My dad shrugs. “Once you master it, you’ll be able to peer into the past, present, and sometimes, the future, at will.”

“The future?” I ask, surprise in my voice.

A wry grin plays at his lips. “You can view only a future that wants to be known. Still, I’m inclined to warn you against it. You run the risk of opening a whole Pandora’s box of destiny versus free will.”

I frown, needing more. “Meaning?”

“You and I are bound by our roles as Timekeepers,” he explains. “Yet, we still exercise free will in how we choose to navigate that destiny.”

I take a moment to consider. “It doesn’t feel like much of a choice.”

“Didn’t you choose to come here?” he counters, lifting his brow.

I nod, albeit reluctantly. “But only because someone needs to stop Arthur. And, as a Timekeeper, that someone is me.”

“But Braxton is also a Timekeeper. Why not leave it to him?”

Without hesitation, I shake my head. “Not an option,” I say. “I wouldn’t do that to him.”

“It’s still a choice,” he points out. “You’re framing it as moral imperative, but it’s still yours to decide. Consider this…” He leans closer, voice dropping an octave. “Theoretically speaking, I could go outside now, hunt down Arthur Blackstone, and eliminate him. That would solve your problem, right?”

I freeze, unsure how to respond.

“Arthur would be dead, but I would likely end up in jail. Which means no meeting your mom, no marriage, no you. And if there’s no you, then you wouldn’t exist to come back to this moment, which in turn makes my action impossible. Or you could leave here and eliminate him instead. But what then? Even if you did manage to evade capture, where would you go? Without Arthur, the technology doesn’t exist for you to return to the future. And, according to what you’ve told me, in less than a decade from now, you’d run the risk of crossing your own timeline.”

“My head is spinning,” I admit.

He laughs. “The point is, peering into the future isn’t as helpful as you might think. It raises more questions about whether we’re acting from free will, or merely fulfilling a self-made prophecy. Anyway…” He places a hand on my shoulder, instantly grounding me. “Ready to move on?”

I nod, pushing aside the whirlwind of what-ifs spinning through my mind.

“Seeing as how this is your first lesson, nothing wrong with having a bit of fun. So, consider this your journey. You choose the timeline. I’m here only as your guide. You’ll start by choosing an object that links you to whatever time you wish to explore.”

He gestures toward a small table where he’s arranged an eclectic array of items: an ancient tome, its pages yellowed with age; today’s issue of the New York Times , its crisp lines and modern typography making for a stark and modern contrast; and a small crystal ball that, according to my dad, once belonged to the sixteenth century seer, John Dee, an advisor to Queen Elizabeth I. Each item offering a sort of portal to view the past, present, or even the future.

My gaze wanders over these artifacts, pausing on the old, weathered book. Maybe by delving into history, I’ll get some insight into Arthur’s own obscure past. What drives him to do what he does? And, more importantly, what does he fear?

I start to reach toward it, then quickly change my mind. If this practice journey is for only me, then none of these objects will provide what I really want to see.

I lift my gaze to meet my father’s. “Can I have my talisman?”

My dad hesitates, studying me for a moment before reaching into his pocket and returning the necklace to me. “Now,” he instructs, “to prepare your mind to reach beyond its usual boundaries, close your eyes, take a few deep, cleansing breaths, and focus on your intention. What do you wish to perceive—a person, an event, a location? Whatever it is, center your focus, then visualize a door that will lead you from this reality to the one you seek. Can you see it—the doorway?”

I nod, enveloped by a sudden sense of familiarity. “So far, the ground isn’t shaking,” I say. “And the walls aren’t crumbling. But otherwise, it seems a lot like psychometry.”

“It is,” my dad explains. “Think of this as a warm-up. While psychometry is the ability to obtain information about an object or its history by touching it, an Unraveling allows you to see through time and perceive information about a distant target without the need of physical contact. And, if you’re very advanced, you can sometimes interact with that subject. Now, with the doorway clear in your mind and the charm in your hand, focus on merging your consciousness with the energy it holds.”

Following his guidance, I center my focus, feeling the charm begin to pulsate with a warm, rhythmic hum.

It’s happening—I’m actually doing it!

A surge of excitement shoots through me as Braxton’s form begins to take shape, igniting a deep, aching longing within me. The vision is so vivid, so potent, it feels like one of Arthur’s holograms come to life.

“Now, once you’re in, the trick is to let go of whatever it is you hope to see,” my father says, his voice a faint echo in this surreal new landscape. “Let the vision unfold on its own.”

I do as he says, relinquishing control and letting the vision steer me wherever it wants.

Before me, I see Braxton bent over his desk, pencil in hand; he concentrates on sketching the intricate design of my small golden charm.

Abruptly, the scene skips forward. I hear the quickening of his heart echoing in my ears, as he stands nervously before me on my eighteenth birthday, holding a small, beautifully wrapped gift.

When the scene shifts again, I’m acutely aware of the warmth of his touch, the faint tremble in his fingers as they gently brush against my skin, securing the clasp of the charm at my neck, and centering it just over my heart.

“Are you in?” My dad’s voice intrudes.

I respond with a nod, not wanting to risk breaking the spell.

“Good,” he says, his voice gradually fading with the soft echo of his departing footsteps. “I’ll leave you to it.”

A moment of hesitation grips me as I toy with the idea of peeking into the future. But heeding my dad’s warning, and somewhat worried about what I might uncover, I decide instead to seek out Braxton’s current whereabouts, which is also a bit of a risk.

Is he mad at me for leaving?

Did he read the note where I told him I loved him? And if so, what did he think?

In my palm, the charm starts giving off intense heat, and I watch as a fresh new vision of Braxton materializes before me.

My gaze sweeps over him, greedily absorbing every detail. His hair, tousled from sleep, adds a touch of vulnerability. The bandages around his head and neck are stark reminders of the wounds I’ve caused, both seen and unseen. His stance, usually so confident and assured, now carries an unspoken burden.

But it’s his eyes that get me the most—the deep, ocean blue reflects a tempest of emotions churning just beneath the surface, hinting at the inner turmoil he struggles to conceal.

“Braxton,” I whisper, as though he can hear me. “I’m so sorry, I—” The words hang unfinished, choked off by an intense, creeping dread.

An icy shiver slithers down my spine as the atmosphere thickens, pulsing with an ominous, unseen danger.

Braxton is no longer alone.

The realization strikes hard, a silent alarm echoing in my thoughts, mere moments before it unfolds before my eyes.

From the dim, shadowy recesses of his room, a hooded figure emerges. Its face hidden, shrouded in darkness, radiating an aura of menace. While Braxton, lost in contemplation of his father’s gold pocket watch, remains oblivious to the sinister presence now inching closer.

As the eerie figure draws near, Braxton’s body stiffens, eyes widening in alarm.

Braxton—watch out! I struggle to shout, but my words evaporate before they can form. My heart pounds wildly as I try to rush toward him, desperately hoping to bridge the gaping chasm between our realities. But I’m not nearly advanced enough for that. I remain rooted in place, immobilized and powerless, left only to watch, as dread wraps its icy-cold fingers around me.

In the final moments, before I’m yanked from the vision and the world plunges into darkness, a haunting realization rings in my head: we are not the hunters in this sick, twisted game; we are the prey.