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There was such a thing as too much power. Such a thing as too much knowledge.
Too late for what-ifs, for would’ves and could’ves. All that mattered now were ends.
She had lived through the unlivable before.
What did it mean to be a soulmate? To know someone in every world, in every universe? To slip effortlessly between where they ended and you began?
“Here’s what you’re missing, you beautiful idiot. I didn’t change,” she informed him. “You did.”
Maybe in one of the worlds Tristan was happy.
He would have said that Nico de Varona was the only one who could save anyone. He’d already seen him do it. Tristan himself was living proof.
He didn’t not love her.
“Do you understand that? Do you understand that there is no world where I forgive you for this?”
“Get your redemption somewhere else. Live with this.”
“Just tell me one thing,” he managed to say, as if one right answer might still salvage everything. “Could it have been you instead?” He understood the betrayal he’d committed by asking, but surely she had to know. Surely she knew he had to ask.
Whatever it was, it didn’t matter.
Also correct were the variety of doubts floating around in his head about whether Parisa even needed his help given that she’d just single-handedly orchestrated a coup.
“Callum. Believe me when I tell you this. I love me,” Parisa informed him.
Reina would do good for this world until it killed her.
Callum was never going to kill Tristan and Tristan was never going to kill Callum, and as for Libby Rhodes … Let Libby take on the burden of survival for a change.
Her magic was theoretical, Gideon’s was imaginary.
and I just wanted—” To stop. To rest. To grieve.
one specific person, who was no longer breathing, no longer laughing. No longer capable of dreaming.
Just let it burn.
“Sunglasses, please,” she said. “If we’re going to do this, we might as well make it look hot.”
because if he knew only one thing about life, it was that. “Life goes on.”
Boxes got opened—it was what they were for.
How ridiculous that Atlas had once sat within these walls reading The Tempest when it had been Macbeth all along! Nothing but vengeance to haunt her, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
“You’ve always thought I was useless—” “Of course. Because danger and power aren’t the same thing.”
“Callum, you smarmy idiot. Don’t.”
“First of all, we’re dealing in hypotheticals, so all of this is meaningless.”
“Please. I’m not winning on a forfeit.”
“Fine,” she said. “So I might actually like you after all.” “Don’t worry,” Callum assured her. “It’ll pass.”
“You think anyone’s coming after us in a house where someone dies every ten years? I imagine not,”
forcing a man with a suitcase to drift shoutily over to the sidewalk. Which was where he belonged!
“My choices are to work for you or take a bullet on my way out the door?”
END SCENARIO 1. BEGIN SCENARIO 2.
YESSS
Maybe someday. Not a promise. More like an offer, or a dream. Maybe someday, or maybe not.
None of it mattered because Callum died.
None of it mattered because Callum lived.
“Is that why you’re pissed at Varona?” asked Tristan. “Because you’re a god and he’s too hyperactive to properly worship you?”
“The best time to plant a tree is yesterday. Second best time is today.”
“People often search for meaning where there is none,”
Somewhere in the building were people just beginning to live.
“Power isn’t something up for grabs,” she remarked to herself. “You have to take it from someone. You live with the cost.”
“Ah yes, closure. I love endings,”
I could have sacrificed myself for him and let him live a life with someone else.
Because I chose greatness over goodness.
She must have picked up Tristan’s masochism, though, and kept reading.
was lucky, she supposed, that there wasn’t some quota for human sadness, like a bucket that could only hold so much.
One by one, Reina saw herself robbed of opportunities the longer Parisa spoke.
Reina Mori, for what in this life will you drown?
James knew a problem when he saw one.
“I say a lot of things,” Tristan replied. “I’m the son of a crook and I’ve always been a liar.”
