Page 79 of No Place in Time

Her hand found his shirt and gripped it tight. She pressed her face into his shoulder.

They lay like that for a long moment in the darkness.

Then she spoke, her voice muffled. “How can there be two of me?”

“I don’t know.”

He remembered Anton trying to explain it, his voice low over the machine’s hum. Something about time branching like a tree, creating new realities. He had warned what might happen if two versions of the same person ever met. The timelines couldn’t stay split forever, he’d said. One would have to win out. Finn held her tighter, the memory a cold dread spreading through him. What did that mean for the woman in his arms? And for the one wasting away at Veyron manor?

“We’ll go to Veyron tomorrow,” he said quietly. “We’ll see what’s really happening. Maybe… maybe it’s not you. We’ll know what to do when we see for ourselves.”

“Will we?” Her voice was small.

He didn’t know. But he held her tighter, his hand moving slowly through her hair.

“Yes, we’ll know what to do,” he lied.

40

FINN

1301

Finn and Cecily left Faversham the next morning on foot, walking through fields and along forest edges. He had not seen Veyron Hall in more than two years. He’d left it as his father’s heir and was returning now as a ghost, someone who, in this time, had been thought dead since 1239.

Through the branches, Veyron Hall was visible across a stretch of open ground. The manor looked prosperous. There was new stonework on the tower, and the gardens were more expansive and well-tended. A new stable, large enough to house dozens of horses, stood near the rear of the manor.

Cecily stopped beside him, staring at the distant buildings.

“How will we get onto the estate without being noticed?” she asked.

Finn glanced at her. “Don’t forget, I used to live here. I know a way.”

He turned and headed deeper into the woods. They moved carefully through the undergrowth, staying in the shadows. Finn paused every few minutes to listen. Nothing. No sounds of workers or guards nearby. Just birds twittering and the gentle rustle of leaves.

Finn knew this land—every path, every stream, every stand of trees. He’d played in the fields, fished in the streams, climbed the tallest trees. It felt strange approaching his family’s estate like a trespasser. These had been his lands once. His home. He would have inherited all of it, along with the title, had he not disappeared with Cecily. Now he was sneaking through the forest to spy on his own house.

The trees opened up slightly ahead. Finn stopped.

There it was. The old oak near the south wall. He’d climbed it many times as a boy. The branches spread wide over the estate wall, reaching toward the manor. From the upper limbs, you could see directly into the solar windows. The tree was taller now, thicker. The years showed in the trunk’s width and the spread of its canopy.

“That one,” Finn said, pointing. Cecily looked up at the massive oak. “I used to climb it when I was young.” He studied the branches, mapping the route up. “The solar windows are just there. We’ll be able to see inside, but the branches will hide us.”

They crossed the last stretch of forest floor, checking once more for any sign of movement. All was quiet.

Finn reached the trunk first. The lowest branch was higher than he remembered, but he pulled himself up easily enough. His ribs protested, but he pushed through. He climbed to the second branch, then the third, testing each one.

“Here,” he called down in a low voice, extending his arm. “Come up.”

Cecily hiked up her skirts and reached for the first branch. Finn leaned down, caught her hand, and helped pull her up.

They settled into the branches about fifteen paces above the ground. Leaves concealed them on all sides. Through a gap in the foliage, Finn had a clear view of the solar window, about ten paces away.

The room was empty. There was an embroidery frame by the window, books stacked on a shelf, and a cushioned chair.

They waited. The sun moved. Finn’s legs cramped. Beside him, Cecily barely moved, her eyes fixed on the window. Neither of them spoke.

Finn watched the empty solar and tried not to think about what lay beyond those walls, his father’s hall, his father’s table, the rooms where he’d grown up. His own private suite as the oldest son. He wondered if his portrait still hung on the wall.