Chapter 7 - Dinner Behind Locked Doors
They did not find Trent inside the observatory.
They found what he had left behind.
A table set for two.
Two plates.
Two wineglasses.
A vase containing a single white rose.
Saraphene stopped in the doorway.
“He used to do this.”
Selian looked at the arrangement.
“Do what?”
“Turn terrifying things into romantic gestures.”
On the table lay an envelope addressed to Saraphene.
Ramirez photographed it before allowing her to open it.
Inside was a dinner reservation card from a restaurant Saraphene and Trent had once visited on their anniversary.
Below it:
Remember when we were happy? You could have made all of this easier.
Saraphene tore the card in half.
Ramirez raised an eyebrow.
“Evidence.”
“Sorry.”
“Understandable.”
Selian said nothing.
His expression suggested he would have preferred burning the entire table.
The observatory itself was mostly empty.
Old equipment had been removed.
Dust covered the circular room beneath the dome.
At the center stood a concrete pedestal where the telescope had once been mounted.
Three coordinates from Joseph Winters had led here.
But coordinates alone did not tell them where the ledger was hidden.
They searched for hours.
Nothing.
By evening, Ramirez ordered everyone back.
“There’s no reason to remain after dark.”
Selian agreed.
That surprised Saraphene.
“You’re getting better at listening to police.”
“I contain multitudes.”
She laughed before she could stop herself.
Selian looked at her.
The sound seemed to catch him off guard.
She turned away.
They returned to his estate.
Mrs. Vale had prepared dinner.
Saraphene initially said she wasn't hungry.
Then she smelled roasted chicken and realized she had eaten almost nothing in twenty-four hours.
Selian joined her.
For the first time, there was no Adrian, no police detective, no immediate crisis.
Just two people at opposite ends of a kitchen table much too large for two.
Saraphene pointed with her fork.
“Do you always sit that far away?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Habit.”
“From what?”
“Family dinners.”
She waited.
He sighed.
“My father believed distance reinforced hierarchy.”
“Your father sounds delightful.”
“He wasn't.”
Saraphene took another bite.
“Move closer.”
Selian looked at her.
“This feels like a trap.”
“You’re sitting twelve feet away while we're eating the same potatoes.”
After a second, he moved to the chair beside the corner.
Still not close.
But closer.
Saraphene smiled.
“Progress.”
He shook his head.
Mrs. Vale passed through carrying a tray.
She saw Selian’s new seat.
Her eyebrows rose.
Saraphene liked her even more.
Dinner was strangely peaceful.
Then Saraphene noticed a framed photograph on a nearby shelf.
Two young men.
Selian and Elias.
Younger.
Laughing.
Selian followed her gaze.
“He was twenty-six there.”
“You look happy.”
“I was.”
“What changed?”
“Elias disappeared.”
Saraphene set down her fork.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don't be.”
“You hate when people say that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they're apologizing for something they didn't do.”
“Maybe they're saying they're sorry you had to survive it.”
Selian’s gaze settled on her.
“Is that what you want people to say to you?”
She considered the question.
“Sometimes.”
“Then I'm sorry you had to survive Trent.”
The room went still.
Saraphene looked down.
“Thank you.”
No advice.
No accusation.
No question about why she stayed.
Just that.
Something loosened inside her.
After dinner, they returned to the observatory clues.
Photographs covered Selian’s study.
Coordinates.
Clock sketches.
Property deeds.
Elias’s tape transcript.
Saraphene read the phrase again.
There are three coordinates hidden where time stops twice.
“Three coordinates,” she said.
“But we only found two sets of numbers,” Adrian replied.
Selian looked up.
“Because the third coordinate is somewhere else.”
Saraphene shook her head.
“No. Grandpa said ‘where time stops twice.’ Two broken clocks. We found a set behind each.”
“Together they formed one geographic coordinate,” Selian said.
“Yes.”
“Then ‘three coordinates’ means three locations.”
Saraphene leaned over the photographs.
“The observatory is only the first.”
“Where do we get the second?”
She remembered the cassette.
Elias’s exact wording.
“Three coordinates hidden where time stops twice.”
Hidden where time stops twice.
Not were hidden.
Present tense.
“What if there are three pairs of stopped clocks?”
Adrian began searching Joseph Winters’s records.
The old shop.
Saraphene’s mother’s house.
A church whose clock her grandfather maintained.
A train station.
A courthouse.
Then Selian found an invoice.
Two clocks purchased by Elias Ashford and delivered to Selian's family estate.
Selian stared.
“No.”
“What?”
“Those clocks are here.”
Everyone stopped.
“Where?” Saraphene asked.
“One in the east hallway.”
“And the other?”
Selian's face changed.
“My father's study.”
The east hallway clock had been broken for fifteen years.
The study clock had stopped on the morning Elias disappeared.
Selian had never allowed anyone to repair it.
They removed both carefully.
Numbers were written behind each.
Together, they formed coordinates.
Adrian entered them.
The location appeared.
An old church cemetery.
Selian stared at the screen.
“My mother is buried there.”
Saraphene looked toward him.
“Elias chose somewhere only you would eventually search.”
Selian’s phone rang before he could answer.
He listened.
His face darkened.
“What?” Adrian asked.
“The observatory.”
Ramirez had left officers watching it.
Someone had broken in again.
This time security cameras caught the person clearly.
Victor Lane.
Selian leaned toward the monitor.
Victor was older now.
Gray hair.
Expensive coat.
But Saraphene recognized him.
“That's him.”
Victor had spent fourteen minutes inside.
He left carrying nothing.
Then something happened that no one expected.
Trent arrived six minutes later.
Security footage showed him confronting Victor outside.
No audio.
But body language was unmistakable.
They were arguing.
Victor shoved Trent.
Trent pointed toward the building.
Victor drove away.
Saraphene frowned.
“They're not working together.”
“Not anymore,” Selian said.
Adrian zoomed in.
“Look.”
Before Trent left, he looked directly into the security camera.
Then held up a piece of paper.
Written across it:
ASK ASHFORD WHO REALLY ORDERED THE HIT.
Selian’s face became stone.
Saraphene turned toward him.
“The hit?”
No answer.
“Selian.”
He looked at the frozen image of Trent.
“There are things about my family I haven't told you.”
Saraphene's stomach tightened.
“What things?”
Selian stood.
“My father did not believe Elias simply disappeared.”
“What did he believe?”
“That someone inside our organization ordered him killed.”
Saraphene went cold.
“And who did he suspect?”
Selian’s gaze moved toward the family photographs along the wall.
“My uncle.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
A voice answered from the study doorway.
“Right here.”
Saraphene turned.
An elegant man in his early sixties stood beside Mrs. Vale.
Silver hair.
Dark suit.
A walking cane.
He looked at Selian with an expression that was almost affectionate.
“Nephew.”
Selian did not move.
“Lucien.”
The man smiled.
Then his eyes settled on Saraphene.
“And you must be Joseph Winters’s granddaughter.”
Saraphene's blood chilled.
She had never met him.
May you like
Yet Lucien Ashford knew exactly who she was.
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