The drive home was unusually quiet.
Rain tapped at the darkened windows of the black Rolls-Royce as it pulled away from central London.
Leon lounged in the backseat, scrolling through his phone.
Sam, meanwhile, stared at the sealed envelope in his hands.
He hadn’t opened it yet.
Leon gave a sidelong glance.
“…You’re really going to stare at it the whole way home?”
“I was thinking.”
“Dangerous hobby.”
Sam ignored him.
“If Father wanted to tell me something…”
“…why didn’t he just call?”
Leon shrugged.
“I asked.”
“And?”
“He said…”Some conversations deserve paper.”
Sam turned his gaze back to the window.
That response was far too much like Edward Valecroft.
It also didn’t help that the words had somehow made him more curious.
The car pulled up at a traffic light, and a street performer caught Sam’s eye.
He was juggling three bright orange balls for a small crowd.
Leon watched him with only mild interest.
Then Sam stiffened.
“What?” Leon asked.
“That man.”
“The juggler?”
“No.”
“The man watching him.”
Leon turned his head.
A businessman stood nearby, his hands tucked into the pockets of his suit.
Otherwise, he looked completely unassuming.
“What about him?”
Sam frowned.
“Watch.”
For nearly thirty seconds, neither brother said a word.
The businessman smiled whenever the crowd did, and clapped when the performance ended.
Then he walked away.
Leon blinked at him.
“…I don’t get it.”He never looked at the juggler.”
“…What?”
“He only watched the crowd.”
Leon thought about it for a moment.
“…Marketing research?”
“Maybe.”
“Pickpocket?”
“Maybe.”
“Psychology student?”
Sam gave a small, humorless smile.
“Maybe.”
Leon sighed.
“I hate when every answer is ‘maybe.'”
“It’s usually the honest one.”
The traffic light changed, and the moment was lost.
Twenty minutes later, the Valecroft Estate appeared on the horizon.
Towering iron gates opened before the Rolls-Royce, revealing manicured gardens.
A fountain stood at the center of the circular drive, and gardeners trimmed the hedges.
Security guards gave a respectful nod as the car passed, and several maids swept into the entrance hall with fresh flowers.
The place looked less like a mansion and more like a private institution.
The Rolls-Royce pulled up to the front doors, and a butler opened the backseat.
“Welcome home, Master Sam.
Master Leon.”
“Lord Valecroft is in the study.”
Leon whispered, “…Good luck.”
“You aren’t coming?”
“I was dismissed.”
Sam raised an eyebrow.
“Lucky me.”
Edward Valecroft’s study was located in the west wing of the manor.
Shelves of warm oak lined the walls, holding books, maps, and historical documents.
There was not a single useless decoration to be seen.
Edward himself stood by the fireplace, still in his business suit.
He turned at the sound of Sam’s footsteps.
“You came.”
“You sent for Leon.” Sam placed the unopened envelope on the desk.
“I assumed it was important.”
Edward’s eyes flickered over the paper.
“You didn’t open it.”You said some conversations deserve paper.”
A small smile touched his lips.
“So Leon listened.”
“He repeated your words verbatim.”
Edward gestured to the chair across from him.
“Sit down, Sam.”
Sam complied, and for a long moment, neither man said a word.
Finally, Edward asked, “What did you learn today?”
Sam wasn’t surprised.
His father rarely asked about grades.
He asked about lessons.
“We studied selective attention.”And?”
“People notice what they’re looking for.”
Edward nodded.
“What else?”
Sam studied his father’s face.
“…People also fail to notice what they aren’t looking for.”
Edward came around the desk.
He picked up an old magnifying glass from a shelf.
“When detectives first learn to observe a crime scene…”
“They look for the clues.” Edward set the glass down on his desk.
“Professionals, however…”
“…search for what should be there…” Sam hesitated.
“…but isn’t.”
Edward gave him a long, measuring look.
“This isn’t about psychology.”
“No.”
“…It’s about life.”
Edward opened his coat, revealing a small photograph tucked inside.
It was a black-and-white picture of a busy London street.
Nothing special.
No writing, no faces, nothing at all to indicate what it was.
He slid it across the desk.
“What do you see?”
Sam took the picture and examined it.
People walked by, shops cast shadows over the road, and a few pedestrians held umbrellas.
Children darted between parked cars, and an elderly couple held hands.
After a minute, he finally answered.
“A normal street.”
Edward said nothing.
“…I’m missing something.”
“You are.”
“What?”
Edward tapped the edge of the picture.
“A policeman.”
Sam frowned.
“Exactly.”
There was a pause.
Edward folded his hands on the desk.
“The photograph was taken during a royal procession in 1986.
There should have been at least six officers in view.”
Sam looked at the picture again.
Still nothing.
Edward chuckled.
“Sometimes…
…the greatest clue is an absence.”
He stood.
“Keep the photograph.
Don’t solve it tonight.
Just…”
“…look at it.”
Later that evening, Sam returned to his room.
He placed the picture next to his notebook on the desk.
Next to it, he laid out Professor Holloway’s notes on selective attention.
He couldn’t help but notice the uncanny similarities between the two.
Two very different men, teaching completely separate classes…
Yet both of them had used nearly the same lesson to explain the same concept.
Perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence at all.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
Leon stepped inside without waiting for an answer.
“You look like you’re trying to solve the universe.”
“I’m looking at a photograph.”
Leon picked it up.
“…Looks boring.”
He tossed it back on the desk.
Then he smirked.
“Oh.
By the way…”
“Iris beat me at chess again.”
Sam looked up.
“…Again?”
Leon groaned dramatically.
“I think she’s cheating.”
From the hallway, a familiar voice shouted, “I HEARD THAT!”
Leon grinned.
“Worth it.”
For the first time that day, Sam laughed.
Maybe…
Just maybe…
Some mysteries were best left unsolved.
Elsewhere, deep beneath the streets of London…
A single file was slid onto a steel table.
A woman in dark gloves opened it, revealing a single report.
Subject: Sam Valecroft.
She scanned the contents, her eyes lingering on the final line.
Subject consistently recognizes missing information before visible information.
She closed the file.
Across the room, a man asked, “Continue?”
She shook her head.
“No.
Not yet.
He still believes…”
“…this is only a university assignment.”
The lights in the chamber dimmed, and the woman turned off the camera.
Only one symbol remained on the screen.
Seven thin lines, crossing a perfect circle.
End of Chapter 13