Chapters (52)
“I’m tired. I don’t even know what I’m saying,” I say, hoping to smooth things over. It’s not exactly the truth, but it isn’t a lie, either. It’s hard to concentrate on anything when my brain feels like it’s being pulled in a thousand different directions.
Gil walks across the room like he’s grateful for an excuse to leave, but he stops just short of the doorway. “Sleep if you must. Annika wants to see you in the arena tomorrow; she thinks you’re ready to be tested.”
“For what?” I ask, heart thrumming.
“If you’re going to survive in Infinity, you need to learn how to control your consciousness. Testing your mind will help us figure out the best way to train you.” Tightening his mouth, he adds, “You may not want to fight, but maybe there’s some other way you can be useful.”
When he’s gone, I make my way to the bookshelf and find the leather book he seemed so entranced with.
It’s a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. I wonder if that’s how Gil sees himself—as a prisoner who escaped, seeking revenge. And maybe that’s how I’m supposed to see myself too, but I don’t. I don’t care about revenge. I just want to feel safe.
I split the novel open with my thumb, expecting to see words lining the pages, but to my surprise, every sheet of paper is blank. It’s as if the book had never been written at all.
A story lost to time. Lost to memory.
Because everything in the past will one day be forgotten. Whether it’s books or art or pain—one day I will forget the short life I lived. I might even forget the people I care about most.
It should scare me, but it doesn’t. I’m not sure I want to spend a thousand lifetimes missing my family when I know seeing them again means the worst has happened.
I don’t want my family to die. I don’t want them to come here.
So maybe forgetting them is a kindness. Maybe it’s a way to survive.
I wonder if infinity is enough time to heal a broken heart.
9
A SMALL ARENA SITS BEHIND the Colony’s lopsided structure, carved out of rock and soil and stepped several levels into the ground. Strangers gather in the stands, chattering among themselves and occasionally throwing a curious glance toward the ring below, where a long wooden table sits.
Three very distinct objects are perched on the surface. On the left is a crow’s feather, in the middle is an empty bowl, and on the right is a locked box.