Chapter Fifty-One: The Signature I Couldn't Remember

My name stared back at me from the page.

Adrian Vale.

The ink was still dark enough to be recent.

The date beneath it read only three days earlier.

I traced the signature with my fingertips.

Every stroke was mine.

The slight hook on the "A."

The sharp angle beneath the "V."

Even the tiny flourish at the end that my father had always criticized.

"A signature should be difficult to copy," he used to say.

"Yours is too elegant."

No forger could have reproduced those imperfections.

Because they weren't imperfections.

They were habits.

"I signed this," I whispered.

Marcus looked over my shoulder.

"Maybe they forged it."

"No."

I closed the ledger.

"I've spent years watching experts verify contracts worth billions."

I looked around the room.

"This wasn't forged."

Ronan remained unusually quiet.

He wasn't looking at the ledger.

He was watching me.

"What?"

"You already knew."

I frowned.

"Knew what?"

"You weren't surprised."

"I was."

"No."

He shook his head slowly.

"You were confused."

The distinction caught me off guard.

"Those aren't the same thing."

"They are when you're lying."

I met his eyes.

"I'm not lying."

"I know."

He took a step closer.

"I think you believed you had never been here."

His voice softened.

"But some part of you expected to find evidence that proved otherwise."

The words settled uncomfortably inside me.

Because they were true.

When I'd seen my signature...

Something inside me hadn't screamed impossible.

It had whispered...

Of course.

Dr. Dawson slowly approached the table.

"May I?"

I hesitated before sliding the ledger toward him.

He examined the ink without touching it.

Then his expression darkened.

"This signature was written under sedation."

Marcus blinked.

"What?"

"Look closely."

He pointed toward the final letters.

"The pressure weakens."

I leaned in.

He was right.

The beginning of my signature was firm and controlled.

The final strokes drifted ever so slightly.

Like the hand that wrote them had suddenly grown tired.

"You can tell that?"

"I've spent thirty years studying neurological control."

He looked at me.

"This wasn't written by someone unconscious."

"Then what?"

"Someone whose short-term memory had been chemically impaired."

The room fell silent.

My stomach tightened.

"You mean..."

"You were awake."

"You were speaking."

"You were making decisions."

He paused.

"But whatever happened afterward..."

He looked at the ledger again.

"...was deliberately erased."

Inspector Mara Voss folded her arms.

"Can memory suppression work that precisely?"

Dawson didn't answer immediately.

Finally, he nodded.

"Only if the subject agreed."

Every muscle in my body went rigid.

"No."

"It's possible."

"I would never agree to that."

"You might..."

His voice grew quiet.

"...if forgetting protected someone else."

I thought of my father.

Of Ronan.

Of Silverfang.

There were people I'd sacrifice almost anything to protect.

Would I sacrifice my own memories?

I didn't know.

That frightened me.

Ronan reached into the legacy box and removed the silver pocket watch.

"You've all missed something."

He laid it beside the ledger.

"The watch."

I frowned.

"What about it?"

"It started running when you opened the box."

"So?"

"It stopped again."

He gently pressed the crown.

Nothing happened.

"It only moved once."

Mr. Rowan's eyes widened.

"It wasn't measuring time."

"It was counting."

"Counting what?" Marcus asked.

Ronan turned the watch over.

The second hand still rested at twelve.

The minute hand pointed to forty-seven.

The hour hand to eleven.

Then he smiled.

"Not time."

He handed the watch to me.

"Coordinates."

A pulse of realization hit me.

Eleven.

Forty-seven.

The code.

The archive.

The signature.

None of them had been separate clues.

They formed one trail.

I opened the visitor register again.

This time I ignored my own name.

Instead, I read every signature entered that day.

Three names.

Mine.

An unreadable set of initials.

And one final signature.

Written twenty-three minutes after mine.

Sebastian Vale.

My breath caught.

"He came here after me."

"No," Ivy said quietly.

"He came because of you."

We all turned toward her.

She stood beside one of the towering shelves, gently running her fingers across the spines of old books.

"I watched the two of you leave together."

"You saw us?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you stop us?"

She looked at me with deep sadness.

"Because you asked me not to."

A cold silence settled over the room.

"I asked you?"

"You were frightened."

Her eyes searched mine.

"But you were also certain."

She took a slow breath.

"You told me that if anyone ever asked whether you had been here..."

She paused.

"...I was to pretend we'd never met."

Marcus stared at me.

"You planned this."

"I don't remember planning anything."

"No."

Ivy nodded gently.

"That's exactly what you wanted."

Before anyone could speak again, a loud crash echoed through the library.

The front doors shuddered violently.

Once.

Twice.

Then a third impact splintered the ancient oak.

Inspector Voss rushed to the entrance.

"They've brought a battering ram!"

Another blow shook the building.

The stained-glass windows rattled.

Dust drifted from the ceiling.

Marcus looked at me.

"They're coming in."

I looked down at the ledger one final time.

At my own signature.

At the date.

At the proof that three days of my life had vanished.

Then I closed the book.

"No."

Everyone looked at me.

"They're coming for what's behind the shelves."

I slid the ledger back into the hidden drawer beneath the chessboard.

"And this time..."

I looked toward the shaking front doors.

"...we're going to make them fight on our board."