Friday.
10:35 A.M.
Blackthorn University was filled with the usual calmness of the school after midterms.
Students stopped rushing through the halls.
Assignments became less stressful.
The professors became less strict.
For the first time in weeks…
The campus was…normal.
“…I’m telling you.”
Ollie gestured towards the vending machine.
“It hates me.”
Claire crossed her arms.
“No.”
“It hates your decisions.”
“I pressed B4.”
“You pressed B7.”
“They’re basically neighbours.”
“They’re numbers.”
“They don’t have neighbourhoods.”
Ethan laughed.
“Just buy another one.”
“I’m not rewarding bad behaviour.”
“The vending machine?”
“Exactly.”
Mehjabeen shook her head.
“I still can’t believe you argue with machines.”
“They usually lose.”
The machine spat out an incorrect chocolate bar.
Ollie stared at it.
“…I accept your apology.”
Even Sam laughed.
They walked across the courtyard towards their next lecture.
All around them…
Students talked.
Some studied on the grass.
Others hurried from building to building with mugs of coffee in hand and laptops slung over their shoulders.
Life went on.
Simple.
Predictable.
Almost comforting.
Ethan slowed down until he was walking beside Sam.
“You’ve been quiet.”
Sam glanced at him.
“Have I?”
“You don’t disappear into your thoughts as much.”
“You disappear before you even realize we’re talking.”
Sam gave a small smile.
“…Sorry.”
“No need.”
Ethan looked ahead.
“I was just wondering…”
“…are you alright?”
Sam mulled over the question.
Then gave an honest reply.
“I don’t know.”
“The photograph.”
“The historian.”
“My father…”
“They’re all connected.”
“I just don’t know how.”
Ethan gave a small nod.
“You don’t have to figure everything out at once.”
“I know.”
“You keep acting like every mystery has an expiry date.”
Sam blinked.
He suddenly realized how true that statement was.
Their lecture began shortly after noon, and as students filed out, Sam’s phone began to vibrate in his hand. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
Unknown Number.
Only one message.
If you still have questions…Westbridge Books.Today.3:00 P.M.
– H
No explanation.
No greeting.
Sam already knew who it was.
Three o’clock.
Westbridge Books.
The shop appeared to have been around for centuries.
Dark wooden shelves took up every available space, and motes of dust floated lazily through the slats of sunlight that shone through the windows.
The scent of old paper filled the room, and there were very few customers.
Only the elderly historian…
Standing in the shop, waiting for Sam to arrive.
He gave a smile as Sam entered the shop.
“You came.”
“You knew I would.”
“I hoped.”
The old man gestured towards two chairs at the back of the shop.
“Sit.”
Sam did as he was told, and for a while, the two men sat in comfortable silence.
Finally, it was the historian who broke it.
“I won’t answer your questions.”
Sam wasn’t surprised.
“I expected that.”
“But…”
“I can answer one.”
Sam gave a small nod.
“Why do people react when they hear my father’s name?”
The old man looked up at one of the shelves.
As if reminiscing.
“Twenty two years ago…”
“A fire broke out in the Royal Historical Archive.”
Sam listened intently.
“Thousands of original documents.”
“Centuries of records.”
“Maps.”
“Personal journals.”
“They would’ve all been lost.”
“The fire brigade arrived.”
“They tried.”
“The building was collapsing.”
“No one was willing to go in.”
There was a pause.
“Except one man.”
Sam already knew who it was.
“My father.”
The historian gave a small smile.
“He walked inside.”
“Alone.”
“He knew the layout.”
“He knew which room was the most important.”
Sam frowned.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“He never told me.”
The old man gave a small smile.
“He walked out twenty minutes later…”
“…covered in soot…”
“…with the only cabinet that mattered.”
“What was in it?”
“The oldest surviving records of London’s founding.”
Another pause.
“Everything else was lost.”
The story was absurd.
Yet…
There was nothing magical about it.
Just one man’s unbelievable bravery.
“What happened afterwards?”
The old man gave a chuckle.
“That’s the interesting part.”
“The newspapers praised the firefighters.”
“The government thanked the emergency services.”
“The archive was rebuilt.”
“And your father…”
“…went back to work the next day.”
“He never accepted their thanks.”
“He never even allowed his name to be published.”
Sam looked down at the floor.
That sounded like Edward.
The historian leaned forward.
“Do you know why I remember him?”
Sam shook his head.
“Because I was inside that archive.”
Silence.
“I was the junior archivist.”I would’ve died.”He didn’t know me.”
“He never asked my name.”
“He simply…”
“…refused to leave anyone behind.”
The old man’s eyes softened.
“People think history remembers kings.”
“It doesn’t.”
“History remembers those who quietly prevent it from disappearing.”
He reached into his pocket, not to give Sam another object, but to retrieve a folded piece of paper.
He placed it on the table in front of Sam.
“You may give this to your father.”
“What is it?”
“I think…”
“…he’ll recognise the handwriting.”
Sam didn’t unfold it.
Not this time.
Before he left, the historian only spoke one more time.
“Your father spent his life making sure people never learned his name.”
He gave a sad smile.
“Which is exactly why…”
“…the right people never forgot it.”
Elsewhere.
Across London.
Inside a windowless room.
The woman in the grey coat placed her notebook onto a steel desk.
A man sat across from her, his face hidden by the shadows.
He opened the notebook and read the pages.
Then closed it.
“Has Edward reacted?”
“Exactly as predicted.”
“And Subject Sam?”
“He still believes…”
“…he’s discovering the truth by himself.”
A small smile graced his lips.
“Good.”
“Leave it that way.”
He stood and walked over to the darkened window.
Then murmured quietly.
“Proceed to Phase Two.”
The woman in the grey coat only nodded once.
Without another word, she left the room.
The man looked out over the skyline of London, his reflection staring back at him from the glass.
Only one sentence remained in the empty room.
“The game has finally begun.”
End of Chapter 21
TO BE CONTINUED…..