Night fell heavy over Ashford Hall. The wind was still, but Eleanor's thoughts were storming.
She couldn't sleep.
Instead, she sat in the study, the rattle and bracelet beside her, the letter open again on the desk. Let history forget him...
But she wouldn't.
She couldn't.
Thomas entered quietly, carrying a thin leather-bound journal. "I found this in the attic," he said. "It's not part of the official records."
Eleanor opened it carefully.
The pages were old, some torn. But near the middle, a name appeared.
Jonas Ashcroft.
Born in secrecy. No birth record, no baptism. Hidden.
Beneath it, in Evelyn's handwriting:
My son. Forgive me.
Eleanor's breath caught in her throat.
Jonas. J.A.
"This is him," she said, tears welling. "My mother's son. My brother."
Thomas rested a hand on hers. "And now, the question is what happened to him?"
They followed the journal's final entries references to a coastal town, a midwife's name, a hidden arrangement.
"He was sent away," Eleanor whispered. "To protect him from… someone."
*
The next morning, Eleanor announced her decision to leave Ashford, temporarily.
"I have to find him," she told Thomas. "If he's alive... he deserves to know who he is."
Thomas didn't hesitate. "Then I'm coming with you."
She smiled faintly. "You don't have to"
"I want to."
For the first time in days, hope flickered.
Jonas Ashcroft was not forgotten.
And his sister was coming to find him.