Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
The soft clack of my keyboard fills my office as I finish typing the last sentence of a final exam question. With exams starting in a few weeks, I should have these questions written today. But I can’t seem to stay focused.
Because this exam question about particle-in-a-box energy shifts under boundary deformation isn’t giving my mind the itch it’s craving.
My eyes slide to the corner of my screen, where a Python script is open in another window, just waiting for me. My fingers hover over the trackpad as I eye it, knowing I should finish writing this exam.
But what if the divergence I saw in the last run wasn’t a coding error?
Fuck it.
I click to bring the simulation forward, and my screen floods with stochastic entropy production trajectories under time-asymmetric protocols, visualized as noisy curves across a tight interval. But buried in the noise is something that shouldn’t be there.
My last run had shown something strange—entropy dropping lower than it should under the laws we know. I thought maybe it was a bug in the code, but now I’m not so sure.
I adjust a line of code, narrowing the window for entropy exchange, and rerun. The simulations spool out, each mapping a full stochastic path through an imaginary quantum system undergoing partial erasure.
And there it is again. A cluster of outliers where the work cost dips below Landauer’s bound.
I tweak the coupling strength and feed in a new set of protocol timings. The feedback lag seems to enhance the deviation, not suppress it. It’s subtle… but it’s there. A tiny window where entropy cost isn’t just minimized… it breaks the rules we thought were unbreakable.
I grab my notebook and scribble a note in the margin:
Non-Markovian feedback as an entropy loophole?
My thoughts race towards control theory, experimental inaccessibility, and whether this could be reframed as an imaginary-time path integral. The numbers don’t lie, and neither does the way something inside me just lit up.
Movement at the door pulls my attention away, and I unsuccessfully suppress a sigh.
Annika steps into my office, smiling as usual.
Of fucking course.
“Hey, Cade,” she chirps, gracefully sliding into a seat opposite my desk. But then her smile immediately falls when her eyes land on my neck, and she stiffens.
I just stare back at her, my fingers still hovering over my keyboard, as I wait for her to get the fuck on with this so I can get back to what actually matters.
“Are you ok?” she asks, shifting forward in her seat. Her eyes quickly dart between my neck and my eyes, like she doesn’t know where to look. Then her gaze firmly meets mine, and worry seeps out of her. “Cade, what’s going on?”
I exhale and look at my computer screen. “Well, I was just exploring a potential entropy loophole—”
“No,” she cuts me off with a sharp tone, and my eyes dart back to her. “What’s going on with you?”
I watch as her gaze drops once again to the red marks on my neck from Alder’s belt last night. Her whole posture has now shifted, and she’s no longer the airy, light presence she usually is. She’s now rigid, fierce, and has a look that demands answers.
“Tied my tie a bit too tight,” I say flatly, staring back at her. “Reminded me why I never wear them.”
Annika sighs, and a look of disappointment flashes across her face.
“What is it you want from me, Annika?” I ask, pulling my hands from the keyboard and turning my chair to face her fully. “My personal life is not your concern. Or anyone else’s. I show up, I teach my students, I do my work, I—”
“You left the conference,” she says, like it’s an accusation.
I huff as I drag a hand through my hair. “Yeah. I’ve already heard about that one. Message received.”
Her features harden, and her gaze flicks back to my neck again. She keeps her eyes on the marks like she wants me to see her seeing it. “I’m here to help, Cade.”
“And what do I need help from, Annika?” I ask, staring right at her.
She just meets my eyes and stares right back at me. Her lips don’t move, but I can hear the words anyway.
Me. I need help from me.
And part of me believes that.
But instead of saying it, she rises from her chair, smoothing her hands against her skirt like she’s trying to settle herself. And a small, sad smile touches her lips. “I’m just always here, ok?”
I lean back in my chair and let out a slow breath. “Yeah. You always are.”
The second that leaves my mouth, I regret it. But it’s too late to take it back, as her expression falters, and I catch the flash of hurt in her eyes before she drops them.
Fuck, I’m an asshole.
Before I can open my mouth to say anything else and try to soften the blow, she looks at me again.
“It’s been really sad to watch you fall apart.”
Those words land like stone, and I freeze.
“And you have been,” she continues. “The past couple months, I’ve watched you drift from everything. You’ve isolated yourself. More than usual. But these past two weeks…” Her eyes flick down to the marks on my neck, then back up. “I just really hope you can come back from this.”
My fingers pick at the skin around my thumb as I stare back at her. “And why do you think I want to come back?” I ask, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Her head tilts slightly, and her eyes fill with sadness. “Please don’t throw your life away, Cade.”
Then she turns and leaves my office.
My eyes stay fixed on the empty doorway as her footsteps fade down the hall, and silence settles over me again. It spreads through the room like a heavy fog rolling in, clouding any chance I have to recognize anger, regret, sadness… anything I can hold on to.
I let my gaze fall to the desk, where the late afternoon sun is stretching across the surface, and part of it spills onto my arm.
I push up my sleeve with my other hand and angle my wrist into it, closing my eyes as I try to hold on to the sensation.
The warmth touches my skin, and I focus on it with everything I have, willing it to ignite something deeper.
I wait, searching for the flicker of emotion I know should be there following that conversation.
But nothing comes.
So I slam my laptop shut and forcefully push back from the desk to stand.
Fuck this.
I grab my bag and lock my office behind me, keeping my eyes forward as I pass Annika and Omar’s open office doors.
But when I reach my car, I pause.
The static inside me has been growing with an intense need since Annika first stepped into my office.
I successfully kept it at bay all day, buried beneath exam questions, simulations, and the sting of my hoodie against the raw skin on my neck…
but now it’s pushing in, and it’s demanding to be answered.
I toss my bag into the back seat, pull off my hoodie so I’m in just my T-shirt and sweatpants, and slam the car door. Then I turn and walk out of the parking lot. And once I reach the street, I start running.
Where I’m running… I don’t even know. I just know I need to outrun the need to get so fucked up I can’t even remember my own name.
I’d rather forget it another way.
My shoes strike the pavement in a punishing rhythm, carrying me through quiet residential streets that surround the university.
The harder I push, the more my lungs burn, and each inhale tears through my throat as my vision blurs with sweat and exertion.
My muscles start to scream, and the subtle pain pushing through the static at least reminds me I’m still here. But it’s not enough. I need more.
I drive harder, ignoring the way my chest heaves and my legs shake, and how the pressure inside me climbs until it seizes my throat, and my vision sharpens and softens with each desperate, watery blink.
But eventually my body gives out, and my legs tremble as I slow to a stop.
My hands land on my knees as I drag in ragged breaths and search for anything inside me that might surface.
A reason, an answer, a spark of something that makes sense.
I dig deeper, clawing against the wall that keeps everything locked away. But once again… nothing opens.
As I stand up straight and lift my head, my gaze snags on the last thing I should be facing right now.
About a block down the street, the sign for a liquor store glows bright.
My chest tightens as I stare at it, my breath coming fast as my mind turns hazy. I hear the muted voice, hiding somewhere deep inside me, whispering no. But the protest is faint, as though it’s coming from another world entirely, drowned out by the roar urging me forward.
And no matter how hard I try to give space to the whisper… the roar wins.
Before I know it, my feet are moving, and I’m exiting the liquor store with a bottle of rum in hand.
I grip it tight as I walk, fingers clenched around the neck like I’m afraid I might drop it.
With each step I take towards Odell Park, I slip further away until I’m floating above myself, watching each one of my movements as if someone else is controlling my body.
I want it to stop, and at the same time, I want to see how far this goes.
So I just keep walking and wait to see which part of me wins this fight.
The crunch of gravel under my feet greets me at the edge of Odell Park. Tall trees line the pathway, casting long shadows over me as the sun starts to dip low. I keep my grip on the bottle as I step off the path, noticing the voice that’s been screaming no is becoming just a little bit louder.
I drop to the ground beneath a large tree, and as I lean against the rough bark, I press harder into it, letting the edges bite into my skin as I unscrew the cap and take a long drink.
The burn is immediate and satisfying, as heat spreads through my chest and curls through my limbs. I close my eyes and listen to the forest around me, as birds call somewhere overhead and branches rustle. I take another pull, longer this time, as I will the rum and nature to settle into me.
Fuck.
Fuck.
What the fuck am I doing…
And why the fuck isn’t it working?
I drink again, even deeper this time, as I push past the sting in my throat and past the urge to stop, swallowing like it’ll bury everything further if I just keep going.
It hits hard as I cough and gag, the heat clawing up my throat as I force it down anyway.
Once I’ve had enough, I drop the bottle to my side and let my head fall back against the tree with a thud.
I sit in silence, listening to my breath as my brain goes fuzzy, and my limbs feel lighter.
My eyes slowly open and the trees blur around me, looming over the spot where I sit as their branches sway overhead.
I look up and try to fixate on the soft green buds, but they slowly swirl away into a mess of colour and movement.
Yet there’s something oddly calming about that. Because the trees are just… here. Holding me up, supporting me in a quiet, steady way without being asked, and just letting me do what I need to do.
And all of a sudden, the emotion that’s been building in my throat unravels.
“Fuck,” I whisper, as I drop my head into my hands.
Hot tears sting my eyes as something inside me seems to break free and rushes to the surface, and one slides down my cheek before I can stop it.
So I let them all come.
And as I sit here with the trees, letting them hold me up in the way I’ve never let anyone else, I let it all out.