A month later, Wynn Capital convened a special meeting of Thorne Holdings shareholders.
The fifty-one percent Class B transfer had cleared. I now held the largest voting block at Thorne Holdings.
A few of the older men around the table looked unwell.
One challenged me out of the gate.
Ms. Wynn. You are not a Thorne. Inserting yourself into Thorne Holdings is irregular.
I opened the binder.
Cite the irregularity.
He coughed.
Another tried: Mr. Thorne was in a compromised state when the transfer occurred. Once he recovers —
The door opened.
Sterling walked in.
He had lost weight. His jacket hung off his shoulders. His face was still sharp, but the haughtiness was gone, replaced by something both quieter and more tired.
Everyone stood.
Mr. Thorne.
Sterling did not take the head of the table.
He stopped at my side.
I'm clear.
The shareholder's face went.
Sterling looked around the room.
Going forward, Thorne Holdings is run on Ms. Wynn's instruction. Anyone who can't accept that is free to take their shares and go.
Nobody spoke.
I looked up at him.
Mr. Thorne. There isn't a seat for you here.
The air closed in.
Sterling lowered his eyes.
I know.
He laid a folder on the table.
This is the remainder of my Thorne Holdings position, in an irrevocable management trust. No return required.
I did not pick it up.
Sterling. I'm not here to take out the trash.
Two shareholders went still.
Sterling laughed, low. The sound was worse than crying.
Understood.
He took the folder back.
I'll wait outside until you're done.
I frowned.
That isn't necessary.
He nodded.
I'm not waiting for you to come back to me.
He looked at me. There was nothing in his eyes but the quiet steady knowledge of his own situation.
I'm waiting for sentencing.
Nothing moved in me.
After the ninety-nine were repaid, every day he stayed alive, he sentenced himself.
When the meeting closed, he was still outside the door.
I walked past him.
He did not stop me.
He only said behind me, quietly: Avery. There's wind today.
My steps did not slow.
Maren held the door of the car.
Before the window came up, I saw Sterling, still in place.
The System: Male Lead remorse indicator continues at maximum.
I shut the System off.
It didn't matter anymore.
Sterling went over the edge in the second month.
I was on a barrier island off the South Fork of Long Island. Adrian was with me. We were on site at the new Pace Maritime resort.
The wind off the Atlantic was kind for once.
I had walked out into the wet sand. For the first time in a long time, my head had quieted.
Maren called.
Ms. Wynn. Mr. Thorne is at NewYork-Presbyterian, psychiatric ward.
I stopped walking.
Why.
He stood on the parapet of the Thorne Holdings building for three hours. He told the doorman the wind sounded the same as it had on the ninety-seventh time.
Adrian was watching me.
I hung up.
A wave came up to my ankles.
He asked: Do you want to go back.
I did not answer immediately.
If this had happened in the prior ninety-nine, I would have already been running back.
Sprinting back.
Holding him, crying, begging him to stop scaring me.
Now I only felt tired.
But I went back.
Not because anything in me had softened.
Because the building Sterling was trying to die from was now mine.
If Sterling Thorne was going to die, he was not going to die off the top floor of one of my towers.
When I got to the hospital, he was sedated.
The attending told me he had severe post-traumatic stress.
I listened. It registered as something close to bitter humor.
Those wounds were originally mine.
Now they had finally taken root in him.
When Sterling opened his eyes, he saw me and assumed it was a hallucination.
He stared at me for a long time. The rims of his eyes filled in slowly.
Avery.
I stayed at the foot of the bed.
Don't die at Thorne.
He blinked.
Then he laughed. The tears came down.
Okay.
I set a folder on the bedside table.
The clinic in Zürich is arranged.
He looked at the folder.
You're sending me away.
You need treatment.
Will you come and see me.
I said: No.
He looked like he had expected that answer, and he closed his fingers around his sheet anyway.
Okay.
I turned to go.
He called me back.
Avery.
I stopped.
His voice was very small.
The ninety-ninth. Why did I kill you.
I didn't turn around.
Because you thought killing me would end the loop.
His breath caught.
I continued.
On the ninety-ninth, you recovered a little of the memory. You thought, if I died one hundred times, I'd be free.
So you delivered the final blow yourself. For the System. In the name of love.
The room was very quiet.
This truth, the System had only told me after the mission was over.
In the ninety-ninth, he had not been entirely unknowing.
He had made a choice.
He had killed me in the name of love.
Sterling spoke hoarsely.
I was wrong.
I said: Yes.
And I walked out.
Sterling went to Zürich.
Before he left, he did not ask for me.
He only sent one text.
Avery. I'll stay alive and serve out the sentence.
I did not reply.
Life found its shape again.
Wynn Capital absorbed the Brooklyn waterfront project. The Pace Maritime resort broke ground. Thorne Holdings completed its restructuring under my hand.
The East 73rd townhouse went to auction.
I bought it.
I converted it into a women's legal aid clinic — the New York office of the Mei Wynn Foundation.
At the ribbon cutting, Eleanor was in the crowd at the edge of the property.
She had aged. There was nobody beside her.
She started to come forward. A security officer turned her away.
I didn't walk over.
Some people aren't worth a glance.
Camille was sentenced to seven years on conspiracy and stalking charges. Hollis was sentenced to twelve on fiduciary fraud.
Maren asked if I wanted to be in the courtroom for sentencing.
I declined.
Their endings weren't the central events of my life.
Adrian came in often. Sometimes for work, sometimes only to share a meal.
He never raised the engagement-party night. He never asked when I would be ready to want him.
One evening, I was at my desk past nine.
He came in carrying a Hydro Flask thermos.
When I saw the thermos, I paused.
He stopped at the door.
Sorry. I'll switch it out.
I shook my head.
It's fine.
He opened the lid. The steam came up gently.
Maren said you hadn't eaten today.
I took the spoon and tasted it.
The temperature was exactly right.
Not too hot. Not too cold.
Adrian sat down across from me, opening a folder of his own. He did not wait for me to be moved. He did not wait to be thanked.
I had a small, soft thought, half-formed: being cared for can be this quiet.
The System spoke up. Host. The departure countdown is still available.
I said, Wait.
Wait for what.
I looked at the last of the sunset on the river.
Until I actually want to leave, or actually want to stay.
The System went quiet.
Six months later, Sterling came back.
Not for me.
Thorne Holdings was holding a board meeting that, as a minority shareholder, he was required to attend.
When I saw him in the boardroom, I almost did not recognize him.
He had thinned out. He was settled in a way he hadn't been before.
The edge that had cut everyone around him had been worn down. What was left was fatigue, and discipline.
During the meeting, he spoke twice.
Both comments were on operational items.
Afterward, he stood at the far end of the corridor. He did not approach me.
Maren said: Ms. Wynn. Mr. Thorne is waiting for you.
I handed her the folder.
Have the car brought around.
When I reached the elevator bank, he spoke.
Avery.
I stopped.
He kept his distance.
I go back to the clinic next week.
I nodded.
Safe travels.
His eyes reddened, faintly. He smiled.
That I can stand here, looking at you without going apart — that's already a great deal.
I didn't answer.
He produced a small thumb drive.
This is what was left in the Thorne archives that may be useful to you.
Maren took it.
Sterling, low: I dream about the deaths every night.
Sometimes when I wake up, I cannot tell who I am.
My doctor told me to keep an anchor in my mind.
He paused.
My anchor is that you are alive.
I lifted my eyes.
He looked at the floor immediately, as if afraid he had taken a liberty.
I'm not trying to bind you.
I'm telling you. I won't come near you again.
As long as you are well, I can keep serving out the sentence.
The elevator door opened.
I stepped inside.
Before it closed, I said: Sterling.
His head came up.
I looked at him.
Don't make your atonement my responsibility too.
His face went pale, briefly. Then he nodded, gravely.
I'll remember.
The doors closed.
The System: Host. You really have let go a little.
I did not deny it.
Letting go is not forgiveness.
It is when that person can no longer pull on whether I live or die.
The day the Pace Maritime resort opened, I invited everyone I knew.
Adrian, as project partner, gave the welcome.
At the end of his speech, he looked through the room until he found me.
Thank you to Ms. Wynn, who taught me something.
You can build a garden on ruined ground.
The room clapped.
I stood at the back, and felt heat behind my eyes.
Not because of Sterling.
Not because of the deaths.
Because I had finally come into possession of a stretch of water that did not belong to any assignment, any strategy guide, any task at all.
After the dinner, Adrian walked with me along the beach.
He took a small box out of his pocket.
I looked at him.
He smiled.
Don't be nervous. This isn't a proposal.
There was a key inside.
To the cottage at the end of the boardwalk.
Yours.
I frowned. The cottages aren't supposed to be conveyed personally.
He sighed.
Ms. Wynn. In the schedule of titles, that cottage is already deeded to you.
I blinked.
He said: I'm only giving you the key to it.
The wind off the Atlantic moved his hair.
He looked at me, quietly.
Avery. I don't want to be your salvation.
I want to be the person you can come home to.
I held the key. My palm was warm.
In the distance, fireworks went up over the water.
The System spoke. Host. Free will indicators stable. Initiate departure.
I looked at Adrian.
He didn't push for an answer. He simply waited.
In my head, I said: Do not initiate.
The System let out something like a held breath.
Are you certain.
I smiled.
Certain.
Not because I was once again staying for someone.
But because, this time, the choice was mine.
I looked up at Adrian.
Is there a kitchen in the cottage.
His eyes lit up.
There is.
Then tomorrow morning, you make me soup.
He smiled.
The kind where the temperature is exactly right?
I nodded.
Yes.
A year later, I received the last letter from Sterling.
It came from the clinic in Zürich. The handwriting was steadier than it had been a year before.
He wrote that he could sleep four continuous hours now.
He wrote that there was a lake near the clinic that froze over in winter.
He wrote that he had set down all ninety-nine deaths on paper and handed them to his doctor to seal away.
The last line was:
Avery, I will not wish you happiness, because that word sounds too small in my mouth.
I wish you freedom.
I read it through once.
I put it in the safety deposit box.
There were already ninety-nine sealed letters in there.
This was the hundredth.
I did not write back.
Adrian called me from the kitchen.
Breakfast.
I closed the door of the box.
On the table there were two bowls of soup, two soft-boiled eggs, and a small bouquet of cuttings he had taken from the garden that morning.
I sat down. I tasted the soup.
The temperature was exactly right.
Adrian looked at me.
Where today.
I thought about it.
The Mei Wynn Foundation office.
Afternoon.
The horses.
Evening.
I looked at him.
A film.
He smiled.
I'll get the tickets.
The System hadn't surfaced in a long time.
I had assumed it had finally left.
After breakfast, it chimed, softly, one more time.
Host. Final confirmation: do you wish to permanently remain in this world.
I looked at the water through the kitchen window.
The sun was hitting it cleanly. The light was wide and patient.
For ninety-nine lives, my ending had been decided by the mission.
In the hundredth, I finally got to write my own answer.
Yes.
The System was quiet for a moment.
Confirmed.
Wishing you freedom.
I lifted my cup. The water was warm.
Adrian asked, Something wrong.
I shook my head.
Nothing.
He came around and laid my coat across my shoulders.
Let's go.
I took his hand.
This time, there was no death countdown.
No Affection Meter ping.
No assignment to complete.
The door opened. The wind came in off the water.
I walked forward into it.