Page 251 of Sinister

He only shrugs. “You never know. Come on,” he says with a smile, “I brought food. You must be starving.”

I nod and follow him back into the bunker.

The table is already set. While he’s distracted arranging things, I slip the journal behind the sofa cushion, between the frame and the armrest. Then I give him a quick smile and start eating.

He tells me he swung by his house, let his parents know he’d be staying at a friend’s for a while, and that they weren’t worried. He also called my parents to reassure them he’d take care of me.

“You have their number?” I ask, surprised.

“Of course I do, silly. It was the first thing I did after we talked. I needed an emergency contact—you never know.”

It’s strange. Or maybe it’s just me, seeing everything he does as strange.

After we finish eating, he tosses the containers and starts tidying up. He’s in a surprisingly good mood. Maybe that’s why I decide to finally bring it up.

“Sin, can I show you something?” I ask warily.

“Sure,” he says.

I take his hand and lead him to the study I found yesterday. This time, the door isn’t locked. It opens easily.

“Whoa,” he says, stepping inside. “I didn’t know this room was here.”

“I found it the other day,” I tell him.

“This is cool,” he says, glancing around.

“Come here. There’s something I want to show you.”

I bring him to the stack of documents and slowly begin laying them out. Photographs. Files.

“What’s all this?” he asks, frowning.

“Look at this one.” I hand him the photo of Arnoult and Sin Kimaris. “This man—it looks like you.”

He takes it, eyes narrowing as he inspects it. “You’re right. It does look like me.”

“Why do you think that is?”

He shrugs. “Maybe he’s an ancestor?”

“Look at the back. It says the man on the left is Arnoult the First. The one next to him is Kimaris.”

He flinches slightly at the name.

“So?”

“What do you mean, so? The man on the left is your ancestor. The one next to him—the one who looks exactly like you—is not. You don’t think that’s strange?”

“Maybe I just have a historical doppelgänger.” He laughs nervously. “Is that what you wanted to show me?”

“No,” I say. “Sin . . . tell me the truth.”

“What truth?” he says, voice tightening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I show him another photo, this time with the entire Theology Department. “Look again. Arnoult the First. Sinclair Arnoult. And next to him, Sin Kimaris.” I pause. “He has your name. And your face.”

He doesn’t respond.