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Chapter 34: Uncertain Path

  Steam rose from Maeve’s cup of tea as she stared through the cafe window, watching people live their ordinary lives. Cars passed on the street, a couple walked hand in hand, a man struggled with his umbrella in the light autumn breeze. All of them blissfully unaware that in less than three years, most would be dead or fighting for survival in a world gone mad; all in the red haze that permeated the crack in the sky.

  Across from her, Tuesday Wu sipped her own tea, her rainbow-tipped hair catching the sunlight as she scrolled through her phone. The normalcy of it all, sitting in a cafe on a Saturday afternoon with her best friend, felt like a fever dream to Maeve.

  “Earth to Mae,” Tuesday said, waving her hand in front of Maeve’s face. “You’ve been staring at that poor guy with the umbrella for like five minutes straight. I’m starting to think you have a crush.”

  Maeve blinked, focusing on her friend’s face. How strange that Tuesday looked exactly the same as she had a week ago, while she felt decades older. For Tuesday, the worst crisis facing her was tomorrow’s calculus test. For Maeve, it was remembering which people in this cafe had survived the initial wave of The Fall and which had not.

  “Sorry,” Maeve said, attempting a smile. “Just tired. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

  Tuesday’s expression softened with concern. “Nightmares again?”

  Maeve nodded, grateful for the readymade excuse. She’d suffered from nightmares since childhood; long before the actual horrors of the apocalypse gave her plenty of new material. Tuesday was one of the few people who knew about them.

  “Want to talk about it?” Tuesday asked, setting down her phone. “Or should I distract you with my exceptional commentary on Blake’s new haircut instead?”

  Maeve felt the weight of her memories pressing down, memories of blood and death and difficult choices. She’d killed creatures and people in that other timeline—made split-second decisions that determined who lived and who died. Even now, her mind automatically calculated the fastest exit routes from the cafe, identified improvised weapons among the pottery and furniture, assessed the other patrons for potential threats or allies.

  “Actually,” Maeve said slowly, “I read something that I can’t get out of my head. Mind if I get your take on it?”

  Tuesday leaned forward, her eyes lighting up. “Is it finally something spicy and not one of your philosophy books? Please tell me it’s not another translation of Marcus Aurelius or something off the wall?”

  Despite herself, Maeve smiled. “No, nothing like that this time. It’s more of a thought experiment.” She gathered her words carefully. “Imagine someone who learns that something terrible is going to happen in the future. Something catastrophic that will hurt everyone they love.”

  Tuesday’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t interrupt.

  “Now imagine they’re given a choice,” Maeve continued. “They can remember everything about this future event; all the pain, all the loss, all the specific details that might help them prepare. Or they can choose to forget but still be guided toward making better choices without carrying that burden.”

  “That’s heavy,” Tuesday said, stirring her tea thoughtfully. “So basically, knowledge but trauma, or ignorance but guidance?”

  “Something like that,” Maeve agreed. “What would you choose?”

  Tuesday considered the question, her usually animated face turning serious. “Well, first question: is this future event definitely going to happen? Or can it be prevented?”

  “It’s going to happen,” Maeve said, her voice dropping lower. “But how many people survive, and what happens afterward... that could change. One decision against the future of all mankind.”

  “Hmm.” Tuesday twisted a strand of her rainbow hair around her finger. “I think I’d want to remember. Knowledge is power, right? Even if it hurts.”

  “Even if it changes you?” Maeve pressed. “Even if remembering means you have to carry all that death inside you? What if it makes you... harder? Less able to enjoy simple things, like this…” she gestured to their tea, the cafe, the ordinary moment they were sharing.

  Tuesday’s gaze sharpened. “Maeve, is this really about a book? Because you’ve been acting strange ever since your ‘family meeting’ last weekend.” She asked as she threw up quotation fingers.

  Stay within the cover story, Maeve reminded herself. But lying to Tuesday felt wrong, especially about this.

  “It’s not just about a book,” she admitted. “I’ve been thinking a lot about... choices. About paths not taken.” She fidgeted with her straw. “Sometimes I think I’m becoming too much like my dad.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Tuesday asked. “Your dad is awesome. A little intense maybe, but in a good way.”

  “He can be... calculating,” Maeve said carefully. “He sees patterns and possibilities that other people miss, which is incredible, but sometimes I think it makes it hard for him to just... be. To experience joy without analyzing it. To take the direct path instead of the strategic one.”

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  She thought about her father’s encouragement to “live in the sunshine” rather than following her natural inclination toward shadows and strategy. In the previous timeline, she’d become exactly what the apocalypse demanded: a tactical thinker who could make the hard calls. She’d been good at it too, the perfect complement to her father’s strategic mind.

  But she was so tired of death.

  Tuesday was watching her intently now. “And you think you’re becoming too much like that?”

  “I know I am,” Maeve admitted. “I can feel it happening. When you’re walking me through the latest high school drama, part of my brain is mapping relationship networks and identifying pressure points. When Ms. Havisham assigned that group project in English, I automatically assessed everyone’s weaknesses and strengths like I was assembling a tactical unit.”

  “That just sounds like being smart to me,” Tuesday said with a shrug.

  “It’s not just that,” Maeve insisted. “It’s like there’s a part of me that can’t stop strategizing, can’t stop planning for worst-case scenarios. But then there’s another part that just wants to...” She struggled to find the words.

  “Wants to what?” Tuesday prompted gently.

  “To choose the kinder path,” Maeve said finally. “To not always look for the strategic advantage or the perfect shot. To sometimes just let things be messy, imperfect and… human.”

  Tuesday studied her for a long moment. “You know, just because you can see all the angles doesn’t mean you have to play them. Being able to analyze a situation is a gift, Maeve. How you use that gift is up to you.”

  Maeve felt something loosen in her chest. “That’s... actually really insightful, Tuesday.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” Tuesday said with mock offense. “I have hidden depths.” She leaned forward, her expression growing more serious. “Look, I don’t know exactly what’s going on with you, but I do know this: you’re not just your analytical brain. You’re also the girl who helped me when my mom was sick, who never once made me feel stupid for asking questions in calculus, who always stops to pet every single dog we pass on the street.”

  Maeve smiled faintly at that. It was true; she couldn’t resist dogs. Even in the other timeline, when every resource had been precious, she’d always shared her rations with the few surviving canines at camp, much to her dad’s displeasure.

  “You’ve always seen the paths others miss,” Tuesday continued. “Maybe instead of worrying about becoming too much like your dad, you should focus on forging your own way. Use your gift for good.” She grinned. “That sounds really after-school special, but you know what I mean.”

  Maeve nodded, feeling a weight lift slightly. Tuesday was right, having the ability to see tactical advantages didn’t mean she had to use those advantages ruthlessly. Perhaps there was a middle path, one where she could honor both sides of herself: the strategic thinker and the girl who wanted a gentler world.

  “Thanks,” she said softly. “That helps more than you know.”

  “Anytime,” Tuesday replied. “Now, can we please talk about literally anything else? Preferably something involving that cute new barista who keeps looking over here?”

  Maeve glanced toward the counter, where a tall boy with kind eyes was indeed stealing glances in their direction. “He’s looking at you, not me,” she said, the familiar rhythm of teenage conversation a welcome relief after the weight of their previous discussion.

  Tuesday waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Want to bet? Ten bucks says he writes his number on your cup if you go get a refill.”

  “You’re on,” Maeve said, rising from her seat with a genuine smile. As she approached the counter, she consciously relaxed her stance, letting her guard down just a fraction. The barista smiled at her, a simple human connection untouched by calculations or strategy.

  Later, as they walked through the park with their refilled drinks, a phone number written on one, Maeve found herself studying Tuesday’s profile against the afternoon sun. In the previous timeline, Tuesday hadn’t survived the second wave. She’d died trying to reach her mother at the hospital, her body found days later amidst the rubble of what had once been Main Street.

  The memory hit with such force that she stopped walking.

  “What is it?” Tuesday asked, turning back to her.

  Maeve closed the distance between them and pulled Tuesday into a tight hug.

  “Whoa,” Tuesday said, surprised but hugging back. “What’s this for?”

  “Just because,” Maeve said, her voice thick with emotion. “Just because you’re here.”

  As they continued their walk, Maeve made a silent promise to herself. This time would be different. This time, she would use her abilities; both the teleportation skills she was developing and her natural strategic mind, to save as many people as possible. Starting with Tuesday.

  The path ahead was uncertain, balanced between shadow and light, between the calculator of deaths and the preserver of lives. Maybe she didn’t have to choose just one. Maybe, as Tuesday had suggested, she could forge her own way; one that combined her father’s strategic brilliance with her own emerging desire for a gentler approach.

  It wouldn’t be easy. The Fall was coming regardless of what she wished, and hard choices lay ahead. But for now, walking through the park with her best friend on an ordinary Saturday afternoon, Maeve allowed herself to hope.

  Everyone in the house was fighting the same emotions. As her mom would constantly say, “What good are the bad times if you can’t enjoy yourself during the good!”

  She and her father had won. He was still asleep, but everyone knew he needed the rest from the mana expenditure his memory skill required. Maeve expected he’d be an even harder taskmaster as time progressed. She had been there through it all.

  It was hard to know that you functioned as an instrument of death. She wouldn’t shy away from the task, though. The world didn’t know what was coming, and her family stood as the bulwark against worse.

  It was okay though. They saved the world once, what was one more time?

  As she glanced sideways at Tuesday, laughing at something on her phone, Maeve amended that thought. They wouldn’t just save the world this time. They would save the people too. As many as they possibly could.

  Including the girl with the rainbow-tipped hair who had never judged her friend for being different, who had just given her permission to forge her own path between darkness and light.

  Perhaps that was the true gift of this second chance; not just the opportunity to prevent death, but the chance to choose life. To choose a better way forward, even in the face of inevitable darkness.

  Her fingers brushed against the barista’s phone number on her cup. A small, ordinary connection. A beginning, perhaps, of something new.

  For the first time since regaining her memories, she felt something like peace.

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