Thursday.
7:03 A.M.
The Valecroft Estate was already lively before the sun could rise above the horizon.
Gardeners meticulously pruned the hedges surrounding the eastern gardens.
Maids bustled about the mansion, completing their morning duties with practiced efficiency.
Arthur stood in the entrance hall, issuing orders for the day’s tasks.
It was all completely normal, he thought as he peered at his morning paper, save for one detail.
Edward Valecroft.
His father sat in the study, completely alone, with the day’s newspaper laid out before him.
Nothing was amiss, his father’s eyes not a single page had turned in the past fifteen minutes.
His father’s thoughts were not on the paper.
They were on yesterday’s letter.
Someone knew.
Someone had followed his instructions to the letter.
Someone had reached the second level.
Edward carefully folded the newspaper, setting it aside on the table, his gaze still distant as he stared into the far distance.
His expression did not change, save for the realization that his tea had long since gone cold.
A knock echoed in the study’s doorway.
Arthur’s voice followed.
“Sir.”
Edward turned to greet his son.
“The security reports?” Arthur asked, handing his father a small report folder.
“Nothing out of the ordinary has occurred overnight,” Arthur stated as Edward opened the folder.
He scanned over the standard nightly procedures, the camera feed reports, and patrol logs.
They were all completely routine.
All completely normal.
Edward closed the folder with a quiet sigh.
“Arthur,” he said, setting the folder down.
His son turned to him at once.
“For the next few weeks…
double the night patrol.”
Arthur did not question the order.
He never did.
“Of course, sir,” Arthur said at last.
“And inform no one of this conversation.
The family should not know of it.”
Arthur left the study without a sound.
Edward returned to his chair, exhaling a quiet breath.
“…Too early,” he muttered to himself.
Meanwhile, upstairs…
Leon knocked twice on Sam’s door before giving an exasperated sigh.
He knocked a third time before grinning and opening the door himself.
Sam sat at his desk, reading over his morning paper.
Leon gave a mock gasp.
“I was hoping to catch you sleeping,” he teased.
“I was awake,” Sam replied.
“I know,” Leon said simply.
“That’s disappointing.”
Sam finally looked up at his older brother.
“What do you want?”
Leon tossed Sam two ties.
“Blue or black?”
Sam did not look at the ties as he answered.
“Blue.”
“I knew you’d say that,” Leon said with a smile.
“So why ask?”
“I wanted to hear you say it.”
Sam shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“You waste an incredible amount of time.”
“And yet…” Leon grinned, “I’m happy.”
Sam could not argue with that.
Breakfast was unusually quiet, aside from Grace talking about yet another charity event.
Iris read over her meal, while Leon tried to convince everyone that breakfast cereal counted as soup.
“It contains liquid,” he insisted.
Claire would have been disappointed at his antics, Sam thought.
As for Edward, he barely said a word.
Not enough to draw any suspicion.
Not enough to raise any questions…
for Sam, at least.
Every few minutes, he caught sight of one of the large glass windows overlooking the front gates.
He would only stare for a few seconds before returning to his meal.
Sam caught sight of it twice.
Three times.
He said nothing.
Forty minutes later, the Rolls-Royce pulled away from the estate.
As the busy streets of London replaced the scenic country roads, Sam at last spoke.
“Arthur.”
The driver tensed slightly in the rearview mirror.
“Yes, Master Sam?”
“Has Father been busy lately?”
Arthur gave a polite smile in the rearview mirror.
“Lord Valecroft is always busy,” he said.
“That’s not what I asked,” Sam said.
Arthur did not react for a long moment before answering.
“…He has been thinking.”
That was all he said.
And yet, somehow, that answer said it all.
Blackthorn University was just as lively as ever.
Students bustled back and forth across campus, rushing to their next lecture.
Some studied beneath the large oak tree while others ate snacks before their morning classes.
Ethan was the first to spot Sam.
“There you are,” he said.
Sam smiled.
“You look happy,” he noted.
“I am,” Ethan replied, pulling out two museum tickets.
“Our history project,” Sam said as he took one.
“I’ll take blue,” he joked.
“Don’t change the subject,” Ethan said with a grin.
“It’s not a subject,” Sam countered.
He looked up at Ethan in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
Ethan waved the tickets in his hands.
“Our history project.
We were supposed to visit the museum.”
“Oh!” Sam said.
“I completely forgot.”
“I know,”
said Ethan.
“So I volunteered us.”Convenient,”
said Sam lightly.
“For me,”
added Ethan.
Sam chuckled.
“When is it?”
“After lunch,”
replied Ethan.
It was odd, really.
Despite the reputation of Blackthorn’s Psychology Department, not a single one of the morning lessons had been anything out of the ordinary.
Even Professor Holloway seemed content to merely lecture that day.
As the students gathered their things to head back to their dorms, he called out to Sam.
“Mr.
Valecroft.”
Sam paused as the Professor approached him.
“I’ve noticed something,” said Professor Holloway.
Sam turned to him.
“You’ve stopped searching for answers,” the professor stated.
Sam processed this for a moment before nodding.
“I think…”You’ve started looking for questions.”
Professor Holloway smiled.
“They usually do.”
He turned to leave, leaving Sam thoughtful for the rest of the lecture.
That afternoon, the British Museum was even more magnificent than Sam had expected.
Tourists wandered the many exhibit halls, chatting loudly and taking pictures.
Children ran rampant throughout the building, marveling at all the ancient artifacts.
Ethan whistled as he observed the place.
“I could spend a week here,”…the questions last longer.”I absolutely would,” Sam said with a grin.
They both laughed as they received their task for the day: research a few select artifacts relating to nineteenth century Britain and take notes.
It was not difficult, really.
They only had to study a few objects and review a few documents before comparing their findings and presenting them to the class.
They took their time wandering the museum, studying a few documents and discussing their findings before Ethan spotted an older man examining an old map.
The man was likely in his seventies, with neatly combed grey hair and carefully dressed in a tweed vest.
His round spectacles perched delicately on his nose as he took in the various hieroglyphics.
He looked up when he spotted the two students.
“History students?” he asked.
Ethan gave a curious look.
“Second year,” Sam supplied.
The older man chuckled.
“Good,” he said.
“You’d get lost.”They’re the only ones willing to question it,” he added.
Sam gave a polite smile, surprised by how normal the conversation was flowing.
It wasn’t until the old man questioned him that he realized how odd the situation really was.
“And your name?” The old man asked.
“Ethan Brooks,”
answered Ethan.
The older man gave a warm smile.
“And yours?” he asked Sam.
“…Sam Valecroft,”
Sam said carefully.
The smile on the old man’s face vanished instantly, along with whatever trace of warmth had been in his eyes.
His hand froze, halfway through shutting his leather notebook.
Sam and Ethan both watched in stunned silence as the older man stared at him, eyes wide.
“…Valecroft?” Sam repeated.
The old man gave a slow nod.
“My father is Edward Valecroft,” Sam added, watching the older man’s expression closely.
He was surprised to see something akin to regret in his features, though it was quickly replaced by something else.
Recognition, perhaps?
The old man slowly closed the notebook in his hands.
“…Edward’s son,” he murmured.
“You know my father?” Sam asked.
The old man opened his mouth to reply, only to stop and look away.
He gave a small shake of his head.
“…No.
I do not.”
There was a long pause before he gave a small, sad smile.
“I believe…” The old man said quietly.
Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Sam watched him go, knowing full well that the old man had lied.
He did not follow after him, however.
Ethan only stopped after the mysterious man had vanished behind a large set of marble pillars.
“…That was strange,” Ethan said.
“It was,” Sam agreed.
“You noticed it too?” Ethan asked.
“I noticed several things,” Sam said simply.
They fell silent as they continued walking through the exhibit halls.
Ethan gave a thoughtful look.
“Go on,” he said quietly.
Sam gave a small smile.
“He lied,” he said.
“I figured that much,” Ethan said with a small shrug.
“He knew your father’s name before you even finished introducing yourself,” Ethan added.
“Did he?” Sam asked.
“No,”
said Ethan.
“He reacted when you told him your name.”
Sam was quiet as he processed this.
“…Interesting,” he said at last.
Ethan gave a small smirk.
“You always notice actions,” he said.
“I notice faces,” Sam replied.
“And that’s why I missed it,”
Sam said quietly.
This was the first time he had ever admitted it, even to himself.
Ethan was silent for a moment before saying, “I noticed something else.”
Sam looked at him.
“He wasn’t afraid,” Ethan said quietly.
“No,”
Sam agreed.
“He looked…” Ethan paused, searching for the right word.
“…ashamed.”
Sam stopped walking.
That was not the reaction he expected.
He thought he saw something else in the old man’s face: recognition, perhaps?
Regret, maybe?
But not shame.
Not disappointment.
Sam replayed the short conversation in his mind.
He thought about the old man’s trembling hands, the way he froze when Sam gave his name.
Yes.
Ethan was right.
“…Interesting,”
Sam said again.
Ethan smiled.
“You always notice actions,” he repeated.
“I notice faces,”
Sam said once more.
They finished their task an hour later, poring over ancient maps and military records.
Everything felt strangely different to Sam now.
History was more than just stories of the past.
It was people, real people who made real decisions.
It was human nature, and the ability to choose what, and who, would be forgotten.
As they left the museum, the rain began to fall once more.
It seemed London never stopped raining for very long.
The old historian stood waiting when they left the building, as if he had not left at all.
He smiled when he spotted Sam.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?” Sam asked.
the old man said simply.
There was a long pause before the old historian sighed.
“I do know your father,”
he admitted.
“I thought so,”
Sam replied.
“I knew him…”
He paused, choosing his words carefully, before adding “…many years ago.”
Sam said nothing as the old man gave a small smile.
“As strange as this sounds…”
“…I never expected to meet one of his children.”
“What was he like?” Sam asked curiously.
The old historian gave a small, sad smile.
“Very different,” he said.
“In what way?” Sam asked.
“He asked fewer questions,” the old man said.
Sam blinked in surprise.
“My father?”
“He already knew most of the answers,” the old man said simply.
There was a long pause before Ethan finally spoke.
“…That’s it?” he asked.
The old man chuckled lightly.
“You always notice actions,” he said.
Ethan gave a small smile.
“You always notice faces,” Sam added.
The old man reached into his coat pocket, taking out a small brass bookmark.
It was worn with age, the metal tarnished slightly.
Etched onto one side was a simple compass, the other side bearing only three words: Always look twice.
The historian carefully placed it in Sam’s hands.
“Give that back to Edward,” he said quietly.
“You don’t want me to keep it?”
The old man chuckled.
“No.
It belongs to him.”
Sam looked up at the old man.
“…Who are you?”
The old man smiled sadly.
“A man who owes your father more than he’ll ever repay,” he said.
Before Sam could ask anything else, the old man tipped his hat to him and crossed the street.
Neither Sam nor Ethan followed him.
Something about it simply felt wrong.
The train ride home was quiet, save for Ethan’s next comment.
“Your father…” He trailed off, staring out the window.
“…isn’t just a businessman,” he said at last.
It was not a question.
Sam simply stared out the window as well.
“I’ve started thinking the same thing,” he admitted.
Ethan crossed his arms as he gave a small, thoughtful smile.
“When people find out my surname…”
“They always ask where I’m from,” Sam said quietly.
“When people found out yours…”
“…they reacted,”
Ethan finished.
Sam thought about it.
About Professor Holloway, about the old historian, about the picture in his father’s study.
About the anonymous letter.
Everything was beginning to come together, puzzle pieces clicking into place in his mind.
Not a full picture, not yet.
But something.
Later that night, Edward was going over some documents in his study when Arthur knocked on the door.
“Sir,” Arthur said.
Edward looked up from his papers.
“Master Sam,” Arthur announced.
“Send him in.”
Sam entered the room without a word, setting the small brass bookmark on the desk before his father.
Edward’s eyes widened ever so slightly at the sight of it before he carefully picked it up, running his thumb over the etched compass on the side.
“…Where?” Edward asked quietly.
“The British Museum,” Sam replied.
Edward closed his eyes briefly.
“I see,” he said simply.
Sam said nothing as he watched his father examine the small object.
At last, Edward looked up at him.
“He said it belongs to you,” Sam said quietly.
“It does,” Edward replied.
“Who was he?”
Edward said nothing as he walked over to the fireplace, carefully setting the bookmark down on it as if it were made of gold.
“He was…”
Edward paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully.
“…an old colleague.”
“From business?” Sam asked.
Edward gave a small smile.
“No,” he said.
“From life.”
That was not an answer at all.
Sam frowned slightly.
“Father,” he said carefully.
Edward turned to him.
“Who are you?”
For a long moment, Sam thought he might actually answer.
The room was completely silent, save for the steady patter of rain against the study windows.
The fireplace crackled quietly as Edward finally spoke.
“I’m your father,” he said simply.
Sam did not smile.
“I’m serious,”
Edward replied.
“So am I.”
Edward turned to leave, pausing just long enough to say quietly,
“A name…
is the smallest part of a person.”
And with that, he was gone.
Sam was left alone in the study, staring out the window at the night sky.
His gaze drifted over the various objects on the bookshelf, the framed photographs, the globe on the table.
Everything looked the same as it always had.
And yet…
nothing felt the same at all.
Across town, the old historian entered his small apartment, locking the door behind him.
He drew the heavy curtains shut before heading over to an old cabinet.
From the bottom drawer, he carefully retrieved a small photograph, brushing away the dust before unfolding it.
The image was faded, nearly all of the faces carefully removed save for one.
A young Edward Valecroft stood in the center of the picture, smiling proudly.
The old man traced his fingers over Edward’s face, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“I thought…
none of you survived.”
He carefully refolded the photograph, slipping it back into the drawer before quietly locking it.
He turned off the lights as he left, vanishing into the night.
Outside, rain continued to fall over London.
Somewhere in the city, the past had just caught up to the present.
End of Chapter 18.
TO BE CONTINUED…..