Page 43 of Flickerstate

Candace tears branches from her infinite sycamore. Bree unwinds fuzzy yarn from the endless pink skein wrapped around her. They take the manifestations of their power and toss them into my fire. Above us, my flames swirl skyward. The more Candace and Bree sacrifice, the brighter and realer the burning futures. I parse vision after vision of ten candles, dying one by one.

I find the branch I need: the first candle extinguished.

Holding that branch in my mind, breathing rhythmically, forcing myself not to pull too much, too fast from Candace and Bree, Ihunt for the second choice-point. Third. Fourth. Fifth.

Sweat drips down my spine. A headache gathers like a storm cloud in my skull. Slowly, my heartbeat rises.

I need to find the sixth branch soon. If I don’t—

There.

But once I’m holding six branches…

Millions more possibilities burn my eyes. They smear into a blue-hot blur. I can’t make them come clear. And all the while, my heartbeat rises. Soon I’ll lose control.

I need more nav. Fast.

I’m so deep in the future that I can’t see Candace and Bree anymore; I only sense them, channels of fuel flowing into me. I keep pulling. The blur in front of me separates, slowly, into candles dying.

In the real, a boy shouts.

As if an avalanche has spilled boulders into the channels feeding me, the flow slows to an obstructed trickle. Futures bleed together, dying in a single brightness.

This can’t be happening. I’m so close.

I’ve been holding six choice-points while I fight toward a deeply improbable seventh. If I wait any longer, I might lose them all. Lose the trial, the Archive, Dad, myself.

So I do to the big obstructions what I did to Rob’s knives: I blast them till they melt.

Then I siphon Candace and Bree.

No more rhythmic breathing. No more soft touch. I’m fast, rough, greedy. I rush in a crackling wave over Candace’s greenery and Bree’s wool, eating them up for fuel.

Power surges into me. The last choice-points spring clear of the bright blur: candles six, seven, eight, nine, and ten dying in perfect order.

Bree struggles, her convoluted nav shrinking away. From the real, I hear a pained whimper. I feel sharp annoyance—doesn’t she want us to win?—and incinerate the rest of her.

It’s the last bit of power I need. I gather all the nav I’ve stolen, and I force probability to bend to the future I want.

I fall hard out of flickerstate.

Bree kneels on the floor, pinching her nose. Blood drips from her chin, spattering her blue shirt purple. Beside her, Candace crouches, white as marble. Vomit, more coffee than solids, stains the floor in front of her.

“What happened?” I blurt.

“You.” Bree speaks around her pinched nose, nasal and pissed. “You happened.”

I look to Candace.

She stares through me. “It’s done. Go.”

It’s done.Meaning what? Meaning I can’t take back the damage I dealt out?

I turn away from my teammates and face the candles.

You’re doing it for Dad. You did it for Dad.

The damp wind blows. One by one, the candles die.