Chapter 1053
And floating in the center of that void, like a film projected onto a screen of smoke, was a vision of reality.
An ICU room.
Skye saw herself lying in a hospital bed, a thick plastic tube forced down her throat and connected to a ventilator that pushed her chest to rise and fall in mechanical rhythm.
Kneeling beside the bed, his head resting on the mattress, was Liam. His clothes were torn and soaked in blood. His shoulders shook with silent, tearing sobs.
And in the corner of the room, sitting in a wheelchair, was Julian.
His head was slumped forward, chin resting on his chest, eyes closed. A doctor stood over him, pressing two fingers to his neck. The doctor shook his head grimly.
Skye’s breath stopped.
The truth was right there—brutal and undeniable. The dream wasn’t a sanctuary.
It was a waiting room for death.
The ballroom was gone. The Sterling Manor had disintegrated into dust.
Skye and Julian were sitting on a solitary wooden bench, floating in the center of the endless black void. The only light came from the glowing projection of the ICU room hovering in the distance.
Julian reached into his pocket and pulled out the white silk handkerchief—the one that had held the warning note.
He took Skye’s bleeding hand and began to wrap the silk tightly around her palm, binding the deep cut.
“Does it hurt?” Julian asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Skye looked down at the blood soaking through the white fabric. “Yes. It burns.”
“Good,” Julian smiled. Not the pasted-on smile of the simulation—his real smile. Tired, slightly cynical, but deeply affectionate. “Pain means you’re still fighting. It means you’re alive.”
Skye looked from her bandaged hand to Julian’s face. The projection in the void showed his body slumped in the wheelchair, lifeless.
“Julian,” Skye’s voice trembled, the word catching in her throat. “Out there… in the real world. What happened to you?”
Julian stopped wrapping the bandage. He kept his eyes on her hand, his thumbs gently stroking her knuckles.
“My heart,” Julian said quietly. “It finally decided it had run enough marathons. The escape from the vault… the cold water… it was the finish line, Skye. I’m just so tired. I need to sleep for a very long time.”
It was the most elegant, devastating confession of death she had ever heard.
“No,” Skye gasped, tears spilling hot and fast down her cheeks. She grabbed his lapels with her good hand and pulled him toward her. “No, you can’t. You’re my strategist. You’re my mentor. You promised to see this through to the end!”
Julian reached up, his cold fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
“You don’t need a mentor anymore, Phoenix,” he said softly. “You walked out of the fire. You faced Bastian and didn’t back down. You have learned how to survive on this board—and how to win.”
As he spoke, the edges of his grey suit began to glow.