Page 37 of Stealing Infinity (Stolen Beauty)

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You can never go back there.

Braxton’s words repeat in my head.

“Never is a really long time,” I finally manage to say, trying not to let on just how panicked he’s made me. “And I really don’t like feeling trapped.”

Braxton regards me with a mix of sadness and regret. “You have to stop this,” he says. “You have to find a way to adapt.”

“Is that what you did?”

He presses his lips so hard, the edges turn white.

“And exactly how long did that take?” I ask. “How long beforeyougave up the fight?”

He closes his eyes and sighs. When he opens them, he says, “You assume I had a life worth fighting for.” The words come softly, but they echo through me as though they were shouted.

I stare at my feet, overcome with embarrassment for acting like I knew the first thing about him. I, of all people, should have known better.

As I silently walk alongside him, Braxton points out the more important works of art while reeling off a list of academy facts.

The campus covers several square miles.

It houses just shy of one hundred people—a mix of students, instructors, and various support staff.

But it all blows right through me. My mind has traveled into the past, remembering how ashamed I used to feel that I could never reimburse Elodie for her showy displays of generosity. But now I know it wasn’t at all what I thought. All that time she was bankrolled by Arthur, the two of them plotting against me.

“You feel guilty,” I say, cutting into Braxton’s monologue about the building’s various architectural and technological features. Although I hadn’t taken the time to properly examine the thought, I know that it’s true. “You feel guilty for sending me here. That’s why you’re going out of your way with the coffee, croissants, the tour.”

I remember how he apologized back on the dock, right before boarding the skiff I was sure would lead to my watery death. Clearly, he’s conflicted about the part he played.

Braxton stops and stands before me, arms hanging loose by his sides, staring at me with a gaze that’s surprisingly open, his eyes deep and blue as the sea.

“And I’m guessing I’m not the first person you’ve sent here,” I add.

His mouth tugs at the sides. His jaw twitches ever so slightly. But more importantly, he starts to fidget with his signet ring—a sure sign that I’m onto something.

It’s a game of emotional archeology, and I’m one trowel jab away from unearthing his truth.

“So, what I’m wondering is, why’d you go through with it? I mean, since you’re the one who—”

“The one who what—decides?” His tone is harsher than I’ve come to expect, though the posh accent rings loud and clear. He swipes a hand through his hair, shoots a sharp glance down the hall before continuing. “I was sent to do a job, and I did it. You think you’re the only one with a parent supported by Arthur?”

I swallow hard. My gaze holds steady on his, but inside, I feel jittery, tense.

“Fine.” He sighs. “You want to know why you’re here? Aside from the fact that youchoseto be here?” His gaze burns on mine. “It’s because you were actively and willfully failing—both in school and in life. And, more importantly, you had no one around who was present enough to save you from yourself, despite how hard you tried to savethem.”

The stabbing truth of his words slices straight through my heart, leaving me wrecked, struggling for each shallow breath.

“Everyone here has a similar story,” he says, adopting a much softer tone, “but we’ve learned to make the best of it, and I suggest you do the same.”

There’s a dull throb in my belly, a searing pain in my chest. And though I was right about Braxton feeling guilty, I’m no longer sure it was worth the price of confirming.

“We’ve got ourselves way behind schedule,” he says. “So, what if I just give you a quick rundown of all the rooms you’ll need to access the most?”

I follow along in subdued silence, silently admiring the strange juxtaposition between the ancient and modern—the works of old masters lining the walls, and the advanced technology where everything operates with a push of a button.

After showing me the two dining rooms and two break rooms, each of them labeled with their corresponding alchemical symbol over each door: