The hansom cab ride home from the bustling Central Rail Station was filled with the easy chatter of Grace and Thomas. The crimson moon outside the window provided a nice red aesthetic to the surroundings. Grace recounted her day at the university, and Thomas spoke of his business dealings, a complex negotiation involving shipping manifests and port regulations. Noir sat mostly silent, offering only a few murmured agreements or vague comments, attempting to appear lost in his own scholarly thoughts, while internally, his mind was a maelstrom. The knowledge of Elias's death, the police visit, and Inspector Volkova's "expert" due in three days weighed on him like a lead shroud.
As the cab pulled up to their house, a familiar, imposing silhouette against the darkening sky, Noir's heart pounded with a different kind of dread. This was home, the place where his deception would be put to its most intimate test.
They disembarked, Thomas paying the cabbie. As they stepped onto the porch, the gaslight above casting their long shadows, Grace reached for her key. The front door swung open, revealing the warm, inviting glow of the interior, a stark contrast to the cold fear gripping Noir.
"Ah, home at last," Thomas sighed, setting his brief-bag down in the foyer. "It's good to be back."
Grace hung her coat on the rack, then turned to Thomas, her earlier weariness replaced by a sense of contentment. "I'll put the kettle on, Thomas. You must be tired. Alder, why don't you show Thomas to his room? And then perhaps you can both tell me all about Professor Armitage's latest historical theories." She smiled at Noir, a fond, teasing look.
Noir's smile felt brittle. "Of course, Grace." He turned to Thomas, trying to project polite readiness. "Right this way, Thomas."
Thomas picked up his brief-bag. "Lead the way, little brother." He gave Noir a warm, but observant, look before following him up the stairs.
Noir showed Thomas to his familiar room, a slightly larger version of Alder's own, sparsely but comfortably furnished. Thomas set down his bag, stretching with a satisfied groan. "It's good to sleep in one's own bed after a week of hotel mattresses." He turned to Noir, his gaze still holding that hint of concern. "You still look a bit under the weather, Alder. Are you truly alright? You seemed particularly quiet at the station."
Noir managed a weary nod. "Just... tired, Thomas. And perhaps a bit over-immersed in my studies. Armitage's lectures, as you know, can be quite draining. They force one to think about the fragility of... everything." He hoped his vague philosophical musings would suffice.
Thomas chuckled softly. "Indeed. Don't let him turn you into a melancholic old professor before your time. Dinner will do you good. I imagine Grace is already conjuring something marvelous."
They reconvened in the dining room a little while later, the table already set with a simple but hearty meal Grace had prepared: roasted chicken, boiled potatoes, and steamed green beans. The aroma was comforting, a stark contrast to the internal turmoil Noir felt. He sat opposite Thomas, with Grace at the head of the table, presiding over the meal.
"This is wonderful, Grace," Thomas praised, carving a generous portion of chicken for himself. "Much better than the stale bread and tougher cuts one finds on the road."
Grace beamed. "I'm glad you think so. It's not every day we have the prodigal brother home, after all." She glanced at Noir. "Alder, you've barely touched your food. Are you feeling ill?"
Noir forced himself to pick up his fork. "No, no, just... my appetite's a little subdued today. Still processing, as I said." He took a bite of chicken, chewing slowly. Every action was a performance.
Thomas looked at him. "Still on about Armitage's lectures? You ought to take a break. Your mind will thank you for it." He then turned to Grace. "How was your day at the university, Grace? Any new experiments in the labs?"
Grace happily launched into a detailed account of her day, describing a new, challenging project in applied mechanics. Thomas listened intently, occasionally interjecting with thoughtful questions or observations drawn from his own industrial experience. Noir listened too, letting their conversation wash over him, picking up small details about Grace's life, and Thomas's work. He observed Thomas's mannerisms, his calm authority, his easy way of speaking. He also observed Grace, her genuine warmth, her innocent nature. Both were oblivious to the dark secret he carried.
He kept his own contributions minimal, offering only a few non-committal hums or brief, philosophical-sounding remarks about the nature of knowledge or the progress of society – vague enough to be Alder, but lacking any specific detail that could betray his true identity. He ate slowly, forcing down the food, acutely aware of every movement, every expression he made. He had to be Alder, the quiet, scholarly one, perhaps a little withdrawn due to his intellectual pursuits.
As dinner wound down, Thomas leaned back, satisfied. "That was splendid, Grace. Truly. Now, Alder, tell me more about what has you so... engrossed. You seem more reflective than usual, even for you." There was a genuine, brotherly concern in his voice. "Is it just Armitage, or something deeper?"
Noir's heart skipped a beat. This was it. A deeper probe. He couldn't confess to the truth of the diaries, or Elias's death. He had to divert.
"Just the usual academic rabbit holes, Thomas," Noir replied, striving for a tone of weary intellectualism. He sighed softly, as Alder might. "You know how it is. One reads a text, and it leads to another, and suddenly you're questioning the very fabric of historical causality. It's... a lot to unpack. And then, the weight of the upcoming essays always looms." He managed a small, self-deprecating shrug, hoping to appear overwhelmed by scholarly pursuits rather than cosmic horror.
Thomas chuckled, seemingly appeased. "Always the thinker, Alder. Well, don't overthink yourself into a stupor." He pushed his chair back from the table. "Speaking of my journey, I managed to pick up a few things along the way. Thought you two might appreciate them."
He retrieved his brief-bag from the foyer and returned to the dining room, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Thomas was known for his little 'surprises' – often slightly peculiar trinkets or questionable local delicacies, designed more to amuse himself by annoying his siblings than to genuinely please them.
He first handed Grace a small, intricately carved wooden bird. "For your studies, Grace. A constant reminder that even machines can take flight, given enough ingenuity... and perhaps a bit of luck." Grace accepted it with a polite smile, though Noir saw her suppress a sigh.
Then, Thomas turned to Noir, a wider, more pronounced grin spreading across his face. He held out a small, dark-glass bottle, filled with a viscous, red liquid that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dining room light. It had a simple, unlabeled cork stopper.
"And for you, Alder, my dear brother," Thomas announced, his voice thick with feigned seriousness. "I found this while looking for some new beverages in a peculiar little shop near the docks. The shop-owner, a rather eccentric fellow, told me this is a 'Potion to ascend to a Seer.'" He paused, letting the words hang in the air, then burst into a loud, booming laugh. "Why don't you try it, Alder? Maybe you'll finally be able to gain more knowledge over the past and the future."
Noir stared at the bottle, his mind reeling. A Seer? The word felt chillingly familiar, reminiscent of the cryptic notes in Alder's diary, the whispers of hidden abilities. His heart hammered against his ribs. Was this a sick joke? Or something more? He felt a wave of confusion and annoyance, unable to decipher Thomas's true intent.
Seeing Noir's stunned, bewildered expression, Thomas waved a dismissive hand, still chuckling. "Don't worry, don't worry, little brother! He told me it's just some herbal tea. Some obscure, highly concentrated root infusion, supposedly good for the mind. Said it would be good for you, to 'clear your clouded thoughts.' Just a bit of a laugh, eh?" He nudged the bottle closer.
Noir reluctantly took the bottle, its glass cool against his palm. It felt heavier than it looked, the red liquid unsettlingly still within. He managed a strained nod, forcing a weak smile. "Right. Herbal tea. Fascinating." The joke, if it was one, felt profoundly ill-timed given the true nature of the secrets he was hiding. He kept his gaze on the bottle, avoiding his brothers.