Chapter 30: The Lecture on Fate, I
The lecture hall always smelled of oil-lamps and wet wool. On certain days, the scent of old paper mixed in—a reminder that this place had aged more gracefully than the men inside it. I sat in the third row, slightly off-center, close enough to see the board, far enough to vanish among the others.
Dr Holtz paced the floor in slow arcs, dragging chalk across the slate with a rhythm I could set a watch to. Today's topic was familiar—determinism, again—but he spoke of it like it was something new.
"Free will," he said, "is the illusion the conscious mind requires to maintain identity."
He didn't say it like a warning. He said it like a fact.
The others scribbled away, eager to extract a thesis—worthy phrase. I pretended to write. Instead, I stared at the clock above the door.
Tick.
Tick.
Ticktick.
It stuttered.
I blinked, and it was steady again.
***