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My perception has failed to such a degree I’m reminded of something Arthur once told me:reality,he said,depends on an observer.

If that’s true, what does my initial observation say about me? The figure I mistook for a faceless, menacing monster is anything but.

The man who emerges from the shadows is imposing, broad-shouldered, and tall. When he lowers the hood of his frayed brown cloak and steps into the light, I see a rumpled mane of silvery-white hair, a long, straight nose, and a weathered jawline. But his eyes—kind and bright—shine with the same intense blue as mine.

“It seems my arrival has caught you unawares,” he says, his voice clipped and genteel. “Yet I have anticipated this moment for centuries.”

Before either of us can speak, he raises a hand, and in a blink, it’s like we’re transported to another world. Though I’m pretty sure it’s the same world, only transformed.

The familiar confines of my room dissolve into an expansive chamber with towering stone walls that radiate a mysterious, golden glow. This must be some kind of temple. The air feels denser, humming with the charged energy of ancient times, as if history breathes within these walls.

“Where are we?” I glance around quickly. “And who are you?” I add, though I’m sure I already know.

“I am your grandfather,” he says. “Your father’s father—the one you are named after.”

“My grandfather James—my—my namesake,” I stammer, a mix of awe and disbelief coloring my words. “You look just like your portrait. The one that hung over the mantel in Father’s private study.”

“We have met once before.” My grandfather nods. “Briefly, just after you were born.”

“And then you vanished, and I never had the chance to know you.” My gaze flickers with memories, a legacy lost and now found.

“As for where we are”—he dips his head—“we stand at the threshold of knowledge, a place of deep learning. We stand at the place where it all began.”

“The Mystery Schools of Egypt?” I ask.

He responds with a grin. “This is where the secrets of the true nature of time, reality, and consciousness were imparted to the members of this ancient and secret society. The type of knowledge that was forbidden to ordinary people.”

I open my mouth, about to ask him why he’s showing me this now, but he cuts me off before I can speak.

“We must hurry,” he says. “We have much to do, and time is a luxury we no longer possess.”

I nod, feeling torn between playing along and struggling to comprehend just exactly what this is. I’m well-versed in psychometry, and no stranger to an Unraveling. But what’s happening now is entirely new.

“I’m not sure I understand any of this,” I say. “I was only trying to see if I could uncover a message left by my father. I never expected to release an actual being, like Aladdin from his lamp.”

My grandfather studies me with a look of bemusement.“The reason you’re seeing me now is because I knew this day would come.”

I take a moment to consider his words. “So, you’re saying none of this is happening in real time? That it’s some sort of illusion—like one of Arthur’s holograms?”

“I assure you, my boy,” my grandfather says, “I am no hologram. Though I am well acquainted with Arthur.”

His gaze burns with such intensity, I flinch as though I’ve been scorched from its heat. And I watch as he removes his cloak and lifts the hem of his worn muslin shirt, revealing a large circular wound that spans the entire width of his chest.

My eyes lock onto the startling sight. The margins are so surgical and precise, they stand in stark contrast to the scar’s harsher landscape—a brutal crust of angry, red tissue stretched taut, like a distorted canvas over the hollow where flesh once was.

My first thought is one of amazement that anyone could survive such an attack. A moment later, I realize he didn’t.

“This,” my grandfather says, pressing a finger to the center of his chest, “is the result of my meeting with Arthur Blackstone.”

The revelation strikes with the force of a tidal wave, relentless and unyielding.How could Arthur, a man of the twentieth century, have orchestrated such a gruesome fate for someone from the early 1800s?

Then I remember, and all the ominous pieces fall into place. It wasn’t that long ago when Arthur made regular Trips to the past. Trips I now realize weren’t just exploratory, but predatory. It’s how he found me, Killian, and possibly even Elodie, along with the rest of the support staff.

“Yes, Arthur appeared to be from another time,” my grandfather says, pulling me back to the present. “Yet he hunted me down all the same.”

The gravity of his words presses heavily upon me, leaving me immobilized, caught in a tempest of fury and grief.

“He’s the reason you—” I pause, take a steadying breath. “Arthur is the reason you were absent from my life, isn’t he?”