Page 28 of Chasing Eternity

My dad shoots me a wary look, as though he’s already guessed what I’m about to propose.

“I threatened Killian with it, and while I was mostly just trying to scare him, I realize now that I can actually make it happen. I don’t need Arthur or Elodie to Trip. I can just wait for the right moon cycle, then travel back to 1741 and stop Killian before he can—”

I don’t even get to finish before my dad says, “I’m sure Arthur has warned you about the dangers of tampering with history, even personal history?”

I give a dismissive shrug. “But isn’t that what he plans to do? So, what’s the difference if I—”

“Natasha—” My dad reaches for my hand, his grasp gentle but firm. “Your only job is to stop Arthur. It’s the single most important thing you can do. Everything else is secondary.”

“But why can’t I do both?” I counter, refusing to give in. “It’s not like the two are mutually exclusive. I’m sure I can handle—” My voice falters as I take in his somber gaze, the way his head slowly shakes.

“You don’t understand the gift you’ve already given me.” His gaze brims with emotion, cheeks misted with tears. “By coming here, you’ve granted me something invaluable—a chance to make better choices, to live differently, and more fully. Knowing what’s going to happen has given me a whole new perspective. And because of that—because of you and the courage it took to find me—I won’t waste a single second of what’s left of my existence.”

Emotion wells up inside me, spilling over as silent tears trace a wet path to the neckline of my borrowed tee.

“Thanks to you, my life won’t be one of unexamined passivity,” he says. “Nor will I waste a single moment of the time I have left.”

My throat burns, my shoulders shake, and I’m pretty sure my mascara is a soggy, black mess. “I still wish you’d reconsider,” I manage to say.

“I know.” He pulls me close, rubbing a soothing hand over my back. Then, in a voice so low I can just barely hear, he adds, “Just remember, time is like a river—everything flows, and nothing stands still.”

A flicker of recognition sparks in my mind, and I pull back slightly and look into his eyes.I’ve heard that before, but where?Then I remember—it’s a quote he taught me early on, one I’d pretty much forgotten until I entered Arthur Blackstone’s world.

“Panta Rhei,” I say, explaining how those ancient words are etched onto the plaque over the Gray Wolf Academy gate.

I guess I’m expecting more of a reaction, some sign of surprise. But my dad simply nods, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Everything is connected,” he says, with a gentle finality. “The flower of life”—he taps a finger to his tattoo—“serves as a reminder of that. It’s a powerful and ancient symbol that embodies the profound interconnectedness of the universe, the cycle of creation, of all living things.”

Then, changing the subject, he adds, “Listen, there’s something I want you to have.” He motions for me to follow. “Come this way.”

I expect him to exit through the same door we entered, but instead, he veers down a short, narrow hall and heads toward a painting that hangs on the opposite wall. Its surreal landscape and melting clocks serve as a stark reminder of the world I left behind.

“The Persistence of Memory,” I gasp, my voice barely more than a whisper.

“You know it?” My dad glances between the painting and me.

“I own it,” I tell him. Realizing how implausible that must sound—me claiming to own an original Salvador Dalí—I quickly add, “Well, it’s on loan. It’s the painting I chose on my first visit to Arthur’s vault, and it’s been hanging in my room ever since.”

“Astonishing.” My dad’s eyes widen in wonder.

“I don’t know about that.” I shrug, feeling suddenly and strangely self-conscious. “Mostly, I chose it to remind myself that no matter how opulent and enchanting life at Gray Wolf is, it’s not where I belong. It’s not home. I know it probably sounds weird, but once you’re entrenched in Arthur’s world, it’s easy to forget there’s a whole other one that continues to exist outside those walls.”

My dad’s gaze remains fixed on me, clearly unconvinced by my attempt to brush it off. “And yet, any number of paintings could’ve done the same thing,” he insists. “TakeThe Birth of Venus—it symbolizes the endless cycles of time: birth, life, renewal. The point is, there’s no such thing as mere coincidence. Remember Natasha, everything truly is connected. It’s not just a fluke. Everything that’s happened on your path has led you right here.”

I take a moment to consider his words. Honestly, it all sounds a bit farfetched, and yet I’m definitely intrigued by the concept.

“So, you think the vision I had—where I saw myself here—might’ve actually happened?” My voice rises in pitch. “Like I’m caught in some kind of loop? And that, maybe subconsciously, I was drawn to Dalí’s painting because it’s what I always do?”

“It’s possible.” My dad shrugs, rubbing at his chin.

“But if it is true, then how do I break free?”

My dad sighs, heavy and deep. “By using your free will,” he says. “And never losing sight of your destiny. Those are two things Arthur can never take from you.” His words float between us. Then, abruptly shifting gears, he gestures toward the painting and says, “Why don’t you take the lead?”

He guides my hand to the frame’s bottom left corner, gently nudging it upward. My eyes widen in astonishment as a soft, almost inaudible click sounds, and the wall swings open, revealing yet another one of his secrets.

12

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