Chapter 3: Old Flames, New Bargains

The world snaps to black, then color bleeds back in—same chair, same ticking clock. I remember: Frank Carter’s with the President, fighting the Chenault rebellion. Lucy is alone now, her room stripped of laughter and warmth.

A dog barks outside, echoing up the empty street—a reminder of all the nights I dodged this confrontation. Once, I was too proud to make up with Lucy. But after three deaths, pride means nothing. I just want to live.

Before Charles can say a word, I grab the hem of his suit jacket. "Councilman Harris… could you let Lucy see me? You know, ever since she married General Carter, she’s refused to see me… Now I’m so sick I’m near death, please, please persuade her to come."

Charles studies me, his eyes searching for a lie. But a dying man’s request isn’t easy to refuse. He leaves, and an hour later brings Lucy to me.

Lucy stands in the doorway, clutching a tissue so tight her knuckles go white. She won’t meet my eyes. Charles glances between us, then slips out, closing the door with a soft click.

She starts in, voice sharp: "The Councilman said you’re dying, so I came to see you. Otherwise, I’d never have come."

There’s a secret between us. Her eldest son, Kyle Carter, is my own flesh and blood. Frank Carter doesn’t know.

"I’m about to die," I say, my voice flat.

She covers her face, laughter spilling out soft and bitter. "You look like a ghost—maybe you’ll die of heartbreak."

I manage a bitter smile. "It’s your sister who wants to kill me."

Lucy’s eyes flare wide. "Why would my sister want you dead?"

"Do you want to see your son lose his father?" I grip her wrist. "Go and beg the First Lady. Please."

She smiles—small, cold. "You never used to beg anyone."

She falls silent, then seems to make up her mind. "If I take my son and remarry you, would you be willing?"

"Alright…" I say. The truth is, neither of us ever thought much of each other. Our son was a moment’s recklessness, nothing more. But after dying so many times, I know: pride’s nothing if you’re not alive.

The city outside is waking up—traffic humming, sirens wailing, life marching on as if the world inside this room isn’t falling apart. I go out with Lucy, bracing myself for what comes next.