Read Chapter 30: The Choice

The ship groans beneath us, a sound like a living thing pierced through. I feel it through the soles of my shoes, through the brass rail I grip, through Julian’s hand clamped on my wrist. The floor tilts—barely, but it tilts—and somewhere far below, water is pouring into the belly of this steel cathedral.

I don’t need to see the iceberg. I can feel it in the sudden, sickening shift of the deck, in the distant scream of rivets giving way.

“Now, Evelyn. *Now.*” Julian’s voice is raw, stripped of its usual sardonic veneer. He’s already moving, dragging me down the corridor toward B-deck, toward the sealed cabin where Margaret waits.

The corridor is chaos. Passengers spill from their staterooms in dressing gowns and evening wear, their faces slack with confusion, then sharpening into fear as the ship lists again. A steward runs past us, his voice swallowed by the din, shouting something about a collision. No one believes him. No one wants to.

We reach the cabin. The bell is still there, nailed to the doorframe like a warning. I don’t touch it. Julian kicks the lock once, twice, and the door splinters open.

Water is already seeping under the threshold, cold and black, licking at our feet. Inside, Margaret lies on the narrow bed, her face ashen, her breath a shallow rasp. The burst appendix has done its work—she’s burning with fever, her skin hot to the touch even through her soaked nightgown.

“Evelyn.” Her eyes find mine, glassy but clear. “You came back.”

“I always come back.” I kneel beside her, pressing my hand to her cheek. “And I’m not leaving without you.”

She shakes her head weakly. “The boat. You need to get to the boat.”

“We’re all going to the boat.” Julian is already at the bed, slipping his arms under Margaret’s slight frame. She cries out as he lifts her, a thin, animal sound that cuts through me. “Hold on,” he says, softer than I’ve ever heard him. “Just hold on.”

The water is at our ankles now. Rising. The ship groans again, a deeper note, and we stumble into the corridor, Julian carrying Margaret, me clinging to his arm. The hallway is a river of panic. People push past us, clawing toward the stairs, toward the boats, toward the thin hope of survival.

We reach the boat deck. The night air is brutal, cold enough to burn. Stars glitter overhead, indifferent. The lifeboats are lowering, some already half-empty, others crammed with screaming women and children. Officers shout orders that no one hears. The band is playing somewhere—I recognize the tune, *Nearer, My God, to Thee*.

Julian spots a boat with room. Two seats, maybe three. He surges toward it, Margaret still in his arms, but a wave of desperate men surges with us, and I see the officer’s face harden. He’s already turning away. The boat is leaving.

“Evelyn.” Margaret’s voice is barely a whisper, but I hear it as if she’s shouting. She reaches up, her fingers finding mine, cold and trembling. “I know what I am to you. I know why you keep coming back.”

“You don’t know anything.” My voice breaks. “You’re my grandmother. You’re the only family I—“

“I am the reason you loop.” Her eyes are fever-bright, terrifyingly lucid. “The bell. The locket. It all points to me. If I die, the loop breaks. If I live, you’re trapped forever in this night, watching the ship sink again and again. You have to let me go.”

“No.” I’m shaking my head, tears hot on my face. “No, I won’t. I didn’t come this far to let you—“

“Evelyn.” Julian’s voice cuts through. He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at the water, at the boat, at the impossible math of how many bodies fit into how many seats. “She’s right.”

“Julian, don’t you dare.”

But he’s already moving. He hands Margaret to me in one swift motion, her weight nearly sending us both to the deck. Then he’s gone, pushing through the crowd toward the officer, shouting something I can’t hear. The officer hesitates. Julian gestures wildly at Margaret, at me, at himself.

I don’t understand. Not until I see the officer nod.

The boat is still there. I don’t know what Julian said—maybe he convinced them she was a child, maybe he offered his own place, maybe he lied with that silver tongue I’ve come to love—but the officer is reaching out, hands closing around Margaret’s arms, hauling her over the rail.

“No!” I scream, but Margaret’s hand is in mine, and I’m being pulled too, half-lifted into the boat by rough hands, stumbling over seats and feet and crates.

I turn. Julian is standing on the deck, his hands in his pockets, watching the boat slide away from the ship. The water is lapping at his shoes now. Behind him, the ship begins its terrible tilt.

“Julian!”

He smiles. That crooked, impossible smile. “I’ll see you on the other side, Evelyn. Or I won’t. Either way—finish it.”

The boat drops. The gap widens. Water floods between us like a second ocean, black and final. I lunge for the rail, but Margaret’s hand is on my arm, her grip fever-strong, and she pulls me back as the boat swings away, as the ship groans its last, as Julian’s figure grows small, then smaller, then gone.