With a plan in mind, Wei Chen felt a strange sense of reassurance settle over him. The fear and confusion that had haunted him since awakening faded into the background, replaced by a cautious resolve.
Now, he could finally turn his attention to the fragments of Emil Weiss's memories.
Wei stood up and, out of habit, twisted the valve to shut off the gas. He watched the lamp's glow slowly die, plunging the room into the deep crimson shadows of early dawn. Sitting again, he absently spun the revolver's cylinder and pressed his fingers to his temple, sifting through the scattered recollections as if watching a fractured film.
The bullet wound had left Emil's memories fragmented—shards of faces, places, and conversations, with crucial details missing. How had the revolver appeared in his possession? Had he truly taken his own life, or had someone else pulled the trigger? What did the cryptic line in the notebook mean? And what had happened in the days leading up to that fateful night?
Even the ordinary details of Emil's life felt incomplete. If he were to return to university now, Wei doubted he could pass as Emil for long. The memories were too broken, the knowledge too patchy.
He remembered: an interview at Helmsgart University's History Department in two days…
A recommendation letter from his mentor…
A city that never slept, always humming with secrets and ambition…
Wei gazed through the window as the crimson moon dipped below the rooftops, replaced by the first gold of morning. Soon, footsteps echoed in the corridor—light, measured, familiar.
Mira is up… Always so punctual. The thought, borrowed from Emil, made Wei smile despite himself.
But I never had a little sister… The realization stung, a reminder of how much was borrowed, how little was truly his.
Mira was different from Emil and their older brother. She'd grown up in a city where education was changing—public schools now welcomed girls, and the technical academy was open to those who dreamed of more than needlework or prayer. From a young age, Mira had been fascinated by gears and springs, determined to become a steam mechanic.
Their brother, having struggled for every opportunity, supported her ambitions, just as he'd helped Emil reach university. Mira's tuition at the city's Technical Institute was steep, but she had passed the entrance exams with flying colors, and the family had scraped together enough to pay her fees.
But times were hard. Their brother's job at the docks was threatened by strikes and layoffs. He worked long hours, took dangerous assignments, and rarely slept at home.
As for Emil, his own sense of inadequacy had haunted him through university. He'd always felt a step behind the wealthier students, struggling to master the ancient languages and esoteric knowledge that came so easily to others.
These memories lingered as Wei heard the door creak open. He jolted, suddenly aware of the revolver in his hand. He quickly tucked it into a drawer and shut it tight.
"What was that?" Mira's voice drifted in, curious but calm.
She was still young, her face thin but bright-eyed, her dark hair pulled back with a simple ribbon. Despite the city's hardships, she carried herself with quiet determination.
Wei forced a smile, picking up a battered pocket watch from the desk and pretending to examine it. The silver cover flipped open, revealing a faded photograph of their father—a relic from his days as a city guard. The watch was old, prone to stopping, but Mira had recently managed to repair it using borrowed tools from her school.
Wei twisted the dial, but the second hand didn't move. "Looks like it's broken again," he said, searching for a distraction.
Mira stepped over, took the watch, and with a few deft movements, pulled the button and set it ticking once more.
A distant cathedral bell tolled six times, echoing through the city's narrow streets.
Mira listened, then adjusted the watch's hands to match the chimes. "There. All fixed," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. She handed the watch back and turned to gather her things from the cupboard.
Wei watched her, a mix of gratitude and awkwardness in his smile. She moved with the efficiency of someone used to making do—collecting her toiletries, slinging a patched satchel over her shoulder, and heading for the communal bathroom.
Why does she always look at me like that? Is it pity, or just the exasperation of a little sister with a hopeless brother?
Wei snapped the watch open and closed, lost in thought. If Emil had truly shot himself, why hadn't Mira heard? Was she such a deep sleeper, or was there something more sinister at play?
Mira returned, her hair damp, and began preparing breakfast. "Emil, take out the last of the bread. Don't forget to buy fresh loaves today. And get mutton and peas, too. Your interview's coming up—I'll make you stew."
She moved the small stove, boiled water, and brewed a weak tea from the last of their leaves. They shared coarse rye bread, Mira dividing it with practiced care.
Wei ate in silence, forcing down the dry bread with sips of tea. Mira finished quickly, then straightened her vest and adjusted her cap—an old one, mended many times.
"Remember, just eight pounds of bread. The weather's warm, it'll spoil fast. And don't buy too much mutton. Our brother might come home Sunday." She repeated herself, voice gentle but firm.
Wei nodded. "I will."
Mira packed the last slice of bread for lunch and slipped out the door, ready for her long walk to the academy. Public carriages were too expensive; she'd rather save the pennies for books and tools.
At the door, she paused. "Emil, don't forget—eight pounds. And peas. I'll see you tonight."
Wei watched her leave, the door clicking shut behind her. He sat for a long moment, staring at the faded light, lost in thought.
The ritual. The hope of returning home.
He closed his eyes, whispering a silent apology to the world he'd left behind.