Noir set the mug down, the ceramic clinking softly against the wooden table. The brief respite offered by Grace's company was over. The kitchen door swung shut behind her, leaving him in a silence that was far more oppressive than any noise. He had survived the first interaction, a small victory in this absurd new existence. He had navigated the mundane, deflected the questions, and, most crucially, kept his terrifying knowledge hidden. But the fleeting mention of Elias, however casual, was a stark reminder of the fragile tightrope he walked.
He pushed himself up from the table, feeling a restless energy begin to churn within him. He couldn't afford to sit idly by. He needed to act, to understand this "setup" before he became its next casualty.
Noir walked quickly back to Alder's room, his gaze sweeping over the space. He knew the general layout, and from the schedule he'd already found, he had a skeletal understanding of Alder's routine. He needed to embody Alder, not just in appearance, but in action.
He walked to the full-length mirror on the wall. He needed to see Alder Wilson. He stared at his reflection: the familiar dark hair, the slightly narrow, intelligent eyes, the scholarly spectacles perched on a straight nose. He smoothed down his hair, adjusted his spectacles, trying to infuse his posture with Alder's quiet studiousness. It was a mask he had to wear, one that now included a layer of quiet melancholy, a suitable reaction to Elias's death.
He then moved back to the desk, picking up a heavy, leather-bound volume – one of Alder's more academic-looking history books, The Rise and Fall of the Industrial Lords. He opened it to a random page, letting his eyes skim the dense text, trying to create the illusion of diligent study. He had to look the part, act the part, until he understood the part.
Just as the early evening light began to truly fade outside, plunging the room into deeper shadow, Grace's voice called from downstairs, sounding brighter now. "Alder! Time to go! Thomas's train will be in soon!"
Noir's heart leaped into his throat. Thomas. The elder brother. And the train station pickup. He quickly placed the book back on the desk. He had seen it on the schedule, but the sheer chaos of the day had pushed it to the periphery of his panicked mind. This was another critical test. He had to appear normal, eager even, to greet his "brother."
He hurried downstairs, finding Grace already by the front door, pulling on her gloves. She looked at him expectantly.
"Ready?" she asked, her smile a little weary but genuine.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Noir replied, managing a small nod. He tried to project a calm readiness, though his mind raced, trying to recall any specific brotherly rituals or greetings. They stepped out into the crisp evening air, the gaslights on the street already flickering to life.
A short walk brought them to the main thoroughfare, where Grace hailed a hansom cab. The ride to the Central Rail Station was silent, save for the rhythmic clatter of the horse's hooves and the rumbling of the carriage wheels on the cobblestones. Noir gazed out the window, the city lights blurring into streaks. He focused on the mundane details, trying to anchor himself: the shop windows, the hurried pedestrians, the occasional newsboy shouting headlines. He had to stay alert. He had to be Alder.
The Central Rail Station was a cavernous, bustling hub of activity. Steam hissed from colossal locomotives, porters shouted, and a cacophony of voices filled the air. Crowds of people surged around them, families reuniting, travelers disembarking, all amidst the smells of coal smoke and damp earth.
Grace, being familiar with the routine, steered them through the throng. "He usually takes the express from the northern line," she explained, raising her voice slightly over the din.
Noir nodded, pretending to scan the arriving passengers. His eyes, however, were searching for a face he vaguely recalled from a photograph, Alder's elder brother. And then he saw him. Standing a head taller than most, a broad-shouldered man with graying temples, a neatly trimmed mustache, and a commanding presence. He was dressed in a well-tailored, but travel-worn, dark suit, and carried a sturdy leather brief-bag. He was looking around, a faint frown on his face, as if expecting them.
"Thomas!" Grace called out, her face lighting up with genuine pleasure as she waved. She started to move towards him, and Noir followed, a knot tightening in his stomach.
Thomas Wilson spotted them, his expression softening into a broad smile. He started walking towards them, his steps deliberate and confident. "Grace! Alder! Good to see you both." His voice was deep, carrying a booming warmth. He embraced Grace warmly, then turned to Noir.
"Alder, my boy!" Thomas clapped him heartily on the shoulder, his grip firm. "You look... a bit tired, little brother. Everything alright? I was just about to find a cab."
Noir forced a smile, the word "Thomas" feeling profoundly alien and heavy on his tongue. "Thomas," he managed, trying to inject the appropriate brotherly warmth. "Yes, just… deep in study. It's been a rather… eventful day, actually." He kept his voice steady, his eyes wide and innocent, hoping his improvisation would hold. He knew he couldn't mention Elias yet. Not here, not like this. Grace was right beside them, and the public setting was all wrong for such grim tidings.
Thomas's brow furrowed, his gaze sharpening. "Eventful? What happened? And you look... not quite yourself." He kept his hand on Alder's shoulder, a mix of concern and elder-brotherly scrutiny in his features.
Noir felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. He was under scrutiny. He had to tell a convincing lie, one that explained his pallor and vague answers, without revealing the abyss he'd stumbled into.
"Just… a particularly grueling lecture this morning, Thomas," Noir began, choosing his words carefully. "Professor Armitage was quite… intense. He delved into some of the more unsettling historical narratives – the collapses of ancient empires, the… fragility of human constructs. It left me rather preoccupied." He tried to project a look of weary intellectual contemplation, hoping it would mask his raw fear. He kept his gaze on Thomas, avoiding Grace for a moment.
Thomas hummed, a knowing look in his eyes. "Ah, Armitage. Always stirring the pot, isn't he? Well, you always did take those things to heart, Alder. Don't let dusty old empires consume you entirely." He finally removed his hand from Noir's shoulder, turning to Grace. "Grace, my dear. You look well. How was your day?"
Grace smiled, relieved at the shift in topic. "Busy, Thomas. Very busy. But it's wonderful to have you back." She took his arm. "Let's get you home. I imagine you're famished after your journey."
As they began to move through the station, Thomas flanked by his younger siblings, Noir felt a cold dread tighten in his chest. He had avoided immediate detection, but the grim news about Elias still hung heavy. He had to find the right moment, the right way, to deliver that devastating blow, and further solidify his 'amnesia' persona. This family reunion, however, was already a minefield.