Page 13 of Chasing Eternity

Briefly, he shutters his eyes. When he opens them, he says, “Since that moment is still several years away, I can’t exactly defend myself. But whatever you saw, I’m sure it had nothing to do with you not being wanted, and everything to do with my anguish over the burden I’d unwittingly pass on to you.”

“And by burden, you mean the whole Timekeeper thing?”

He frowns, pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s this damned lineage and all that comes with it.” He shakes his head. “Look, I admit, I’ve probably had it easier than most. Still, between the Unravelings, the training, the responsibility, and the secrets—it’s a lot.” His shoulders slump with the weight of all that’s been required of him—all that’s now required of me. “People like us don’t get to move through the world with the same blissful ignorance as everyone else.” His gaze lands on mine. “A normal life is off the menu for us. Still, I guess I thought…” He pauses, takes a quick breath, then goes on. “Well, I thought that by refusing to have kids I could spare future generations from living like I do.”

“And exactly how do you live?” I gesture around the small, neat space. “It looks pretty normal to me.”

He smiles at that. But it’s not the sort of carefree grin you might expect. Instead, it’s a smile weighted by melancholy, causing the corners of his mouth to turn up in a reluctant arc, his eyes flickering with a silent acknowledgment of the complex situation we find ourselves in.

“A lot of work goes into making it seem that way,” he says. “But tell me, Natasha, while we’re on the subject—are you happy?”

The question takes me aback, and I’m not entirely sure how to reply.

Am I happy?

One year ago, I would’ve answered with an unequivocalno. But so much has changed since then. My circumstances for one, obviously. But, more importantly, I’ve grown in ways I never could’ve imagined.

My dad is watching, waiting for me to respond.

“Am I happy?” I say, buying another moment to think. I’m about to say something vague like:Sometimes, or at least, most the time, yes.

Or:Is anyone really happy?

Or even:Well, I’m happy right now, sitting here with you.

But then I remember something Arthur once said, something important I still can’t shake. So, I offer that up instead.

“Someone recently told me that we’re always writing our own stories—all day, every day. That it’s the ones we play on repeat that determine our destiny.” I sneak a peek at my dad, seeing his gaze narrow with interest. “He also said that we alone are the alchemist of the reality we create. So, I guess that means whatever state of happiness, or unhappiness, I might claim, it all depends on whatever story I’ve decided to tell myself, about myself.”

“Sounds a lot like Amor Fati,” my dad says, his gaze locked on mine.

“That’s exactly what I said to him.” I grin.

“And who is it who told you this?” my dad asks, brow creased with interest.

My fingers nervously pick at a small tear near the hem of the borrowed T-shirt. “Arthur Blackstone,” I say, then I wait. Wait and watch. Looking for some sort of sign, a glimmer of recognition in my dad’s eyes.

But it seems the name means nothing to him. My dad merely says, “Well, this Arthur Blackstone sounds like a very wise man.”

“He is,” I agree, an unmistakable gravity creeping into my voice. “And he’s much more than that. He’s also extremely rich, incredibly powerful, a curator of sorts—”

“Is he a mentor of yours?”

I give a thoughtful nod. “He’s taught me a lot. Saved me from my worst instincts. And…yeah, he’s helped me in innumerable ways. But, as it turns out, he’s also my worst enemy.”

I lean deeper into the cushions, noting the array of complex emotions that play across my dad’s face.

“So, I take it he’s not a Timekeeper?” My dad’s eyes stay fixed on mine.

I let out a heavy sigh, my head slowly shaking as I grapple with the urgency of the words still to come. “He’s pretty much the antithesis of everything we stand for. And that’s why I’m here,” I say, voice tinged with determination. “I need you to teach me all that you can, arm me with all the necessary skills, whatever it takes to stop Arthur from seizing control of time and remaking the world.”

Once again, we find ourselves enveloped in a weighted silence, my words lingering heavily between us. My dad, lost in contemplation, turns the glass in his hand, its contents catching the light in a dance of reflections.

Beside him, I sit, silently urging him to understand the gravity of everything I just said, my hope hanging in the balance as I await his response.

Finally, with a notable shake in his voice, he says, “So, the fact that you’ve traveled all this way must mean that I…” His voice trails off, but his gaze remains fixed on mine, as though asking me to confirm the very worst.

But how can I?