‘Explain to me again,’ said Thawn, trying to keep the bite out of her voice, ‘how this is supposed to work.’

Narien had them sat cross-legged on the floor of Rhade’s quarters, the lights dimmed to an atmospheric, gentle gleam. Between them sat the unassuming, carved wooden box he’d brought and had yet to open. ‘It’s a ritual derived and adapted from old Vulcan methods and meditations,’ he began, with a hint of wry superiority about his ancestry. ‘But where they used the Arev as a tool of emotional control, suppressing themselves, our monks developed means of drawing on its inherent psychic energy for far deeper insights.’

She looked to him because it was preferable to looking at Rhade. ‘It isn’t purporting to show us the actual future,’ she stated with unavoidable scepticism.

He gave a sardonic smile. ‘That wouldn’t be possible, would it? No. You do have a vision which appears to be of your future, but rather than any magical insight, it’s drawn from your subconscious. It’s a construction based on what you know – including what you don’t realise you know – and your capacity to analyse and extrapolate. The point isn’t to tell you what’s next. It’s to show you the depths of the path you’re on.’

‘What,’ asked Rhade quietly, ‘is the Arev itself?’

Narien knelt between them and reached for the box. ‘This.’

There was no reason for the object inside to shine. Thawn could feel by the faint pressure behind her eyes that it wasn’t glowing, that this was nothing but a psychic illusion – but it was a powerful one. That was enough to make her tense, and she felt Rhade do the same, the two of them at once painfully reminded of the influence of Blood Dilithium mere months ago.

His eyes flickered to hers. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

‘You mean you don’t have to do this,’ she said, indignation overriding sympathy. He’d been more susceptible to Blood Dilithium than her. She’d been the one to marshal control over the psychic trumpet, liberate the echoes trapped within, while he’d succumbed wholly to the violent urges. ‘This was your idea, Adamant.’ Perhaps shaming him to press on was not the kindest choice. But they had come this far, and she didn’t know how to turn back.

‘Arev is an old Vulcan word for “desert wind,”’ said Narien. ‘The winds you listen to as a matter of survival. We lost our records on exactly where the crystal was found. But we know some of how to use it. All I need you to do is reach out with your minds and connect with it. I can do the rest to guide you.’

But he kept his hand on the box, she noticed, whatever capabilities he had far less powerful than anything the two Betazoids could bring to bear. What could go wrong, she wondered, with this relative child harnessing something ancient and powerful so intimately connecting with who and what they were? Did he truly comprehend the powers with which he toyed?

But the alternative was, again, to turn back. Rosara Thawn closed her eyes and reached out with her mind.

Red alert sirens blaring. Crimson gleaming to life from dark, stable and intimate as a heartbeat, bathing the walls in blood. Arm thudding in agony, Thawn lay on the deck of Endeavour’s bridge and knew what she’d see when she rolled over.

But it wasn’t the lifeless face of Noah Pierce beside her. It was his doppelganger who stood looking down, expression twisted in a rictus of hate he’d never worn because that would suggest that man, the one who’d tortured her, had cared. He reached down, and she reeled away, a scream catching in her throat.

As she turned, this time she did find a corpse beside her. Not Noah Pierce, but Connor Drake, who’d sat beside her at helm after him, and died on another day as pointlessly and brutally.

Her eyes slammed shut. At the edge of her hearing, there was a whisper, something calling her from far away. She opened her eyes again as if that would help her make it out –

And just before everything went black again, she saw the face of the corpse before her wasn’t Connor Drake’s any more. It was Nate Beckett’s.

Come to me, Narien’s voice commanded. Away from this. Come to me.

As if she’d erupted from dark, drowning waters, Thawn gasped to light. The bridge was gone, the klaxon was gone, and all around her was soft sunshine, gentle fields, and, in the distance, the soaring white towers of the cities of Betazed.

‘…and we’re looking for these projects for green-lighting, Director.’

She sat at fine outdoor furniture on a sun-soaked patio and was presented by a smartly dressed young Betazoid woman with a PADD. Without reading it all, her eyes soaked up the details: software development, projects to change the face of the next iteration of LCARS, plans to push the envelope on how people used the most essential and everyday technologies.

Thawn took it to skim through. Once relieved of the PADD, the attendant reached to refill her glass of something cool, sparkling, and emerald. ‘I’ll review them before the day’s up.’

‘Very good, Director. And your aunt would like you to speak at the conference next month.’

‘We’ll have to check my schedule,’ said Thawn with a coolness that surprised herself. It did not come naturally to her to consider refusing her aunt so easily. ‘Thank you.’

The attendant left, the footsteps of her departure fading into the birdsong from the nearby bushes. All around was neatly cultivated, the sweet scent of the tresioss flowers along the hedgerow filling the air, but one only had to look a little further across the gently bowing blades of the lawn to see the distant trees and their thick undergrowth. It was serene, harnessed, but a mere minute’s walk could bring her to some wilderness.

Or what wilderness had been let in.

It was from there that the next sound came. The footsteps this time were faster and more irregular, and Thawn could almost picture the sight before she saw it: Adamant Rhade, mussed and windblown, emerging from that wilderness with a blond, laughing child slung under his arm.

‘Got you!’

And together, they advanced, father and child, delighted to join her.

‘It doesn’t count if you use telepathy!’ came the inevitable accusation of cheating.

‘It’s not telepathy,’ was Rhade’s easy counter, ‘when you’re as loud as a Talarian warthog.’

‘Mum, he’s cheating…’

‘I’m not getting involved,’ Thawn found herself saying and looked up at her husband. ‘Your meeting’s tomorrow afternoon?’

‘I won’t be at the palace for long,’ Rhade said as he nodded confirmation, setting their golden-haired child down on the patio. ‘I’ll be back by dinner. Then we need to talk schools.’

‘Boarding school -’

‘Did me no harm.’ But Rhade’s grin softened. ‘We can talk about it.’

Even that flicker of dissent came and went with no more discomfort than swallowing. Her heart had surged as he’d emerged from the hedgerow, as he’d hauled their child into his arms. Now they spoke in a simple shorthand, knowing each other’s lives – lives they lived together and yet with their own achievements, ambitions – and planning the future together. Not of one mind. But of one purpose.

Perhaps there was more. Perhaps they sat together and talked, or perhaps she stood to play with their child. Perhaps that sun-bathed afternoon ended there, or lasted another thousand years. The details were not what stuck with Thawn when the vision rushed away, and all that was left were the shadowed quarters of Adamant Rhade.

‘That… worked.’ Narien’s voice broke through the haze, but it felt like he was checking, not sure. ‘The two of you truly are powerful.’

But neither gave him a second’s thought, their eyes locking on each other. Rhade’s gaze was apprehensive, but she could see the brightness in his eyes. ‘That was…’

‘Fascinating,’ Thawn found herself saying first, and when she swallowed, she could taste the adrenaline on her tongue. ‘But no, it was… that’s not what I mean… I mean it was…’

Her voice trailed off, and as one they spoke – him, eager, firm; her, quiet, as if saying more than a whisper would break the thought, break the moment.

‘Perfect.’