Page 22 of Chasing Eternity
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.
9
Braxton
Gray Wolf Academy
Present Day
Nothing is at all like I thought.