Pippa's dad opened the door almost as soon as we rang the bell.
I took Marcus's hand and led him inside, guiding him up the stairs to the second-floor's flat. I wasn't sure how he'd feel about elevators yet. Marcus, meanwhile, couldn't seem to keep his mouth closed as he took in the London townhouse.
His gaze lingered everywhere. On the tiled floors, the ornate architecture and the sculptures arranged carefully in the corners of the house.
Dr. Aloysius Cheung, dressed in a crisp white button-up beneath a blue V-neck sweater, looked exactly how one might imagine a respected historian in an old Hollywood film. His hair slicked neatly to the side, his eyes sharp and intelligent above a strong square jaw.
And he was smiling widely at the sight of the two of us, standing awkwardly in the doorway.
No wonder Pippa always claimed half her friends had crushes on her father.
"I wondered when you two would arrive," he exclaimed warmly. "Come, come."
I glanced at Marcus.
His expression had turned unreadable again, but he dipped his head politely before stepping inside.
The moment I closed the door behind us, Dr.Cheung approached Marcus, inclined his head and began speaking in rapid Latin.
I had never seen Marcus relax so quickly. It was as if some invisible tension had drained from his shoulders the instant he heard his own language spoken. He answered Dr.Cheung just as quickly, their conversation flowing back and forth with ease.
I stood there, stunned, watching the exchange.
"Right, we shouldn't forget the lady of the hour," Dr.Cheung said, turning to me.
I could feel Marcus's inquisitive gaze on me as Dr.Cheung spread his arms and pulled me into a brief hug, the way a father might greet a daughter.
"It's good to see you again, Elena."
"Likewise, Dr.Cheu—"
"No," he said, releasing me and waving a hand dismissively. "Call me Uncle Alan. That's what I make most of my daughter's friends call me, anyway." He smiled. "Now tell me, how have you been? How's work?"
I shrugged, gesturing toward Marcus. "Dr. Madakwe told me to come here. Pippa's on her way too. He said you might know how to help him."
Uncle Alan's smile faded slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.
"It may sound illogical to you, Elena," he said carefully, "but what Marcus told you is true. He is not from here, not even from this time."
I nodded quickly. "I know. I know, I just—"
My eyes drifted to Marcus. His expression had softened, watching me with quiet patience. "—I don't know how to help him," I admitted. "Or if he should..."
"Let me worry about that," he said, resting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "I'll speak with Marcus here. You must be exhausted. Samuel told me you haven't slept in more than twenty-four hours. You can rest in Pippa's room if you'd like. She should be here soon."
I hesitated.
Part of my body ached for the feel of a bed beneath me, for the heavy pull of sleep finally claiming me. But another part me tightened at the thought of leaving Marcus alone with Uncle Alan. Who knew what they might discuss while I was gone? It wasn't that I didn't trust Uncle Alan.
It was just...
If Marcus was going to leave, I'd want to know.
"Rest, Elena," Marcus said softly, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.
I hadn't even realized I was still holding onto him. Embarrassed, I quickly pulled my hand away.
For a brief moment, something flickered across his face. Something almost like disappointment, before his expression settled again. Perhaps it was only the light.
"We will speak once you have awakened," he continued. "I promise I will not make any drastic decisions before you return."
Uncle Alan must have noticed something in the exchange, because he was smirking and he wasn't even trying to hide it.
"Seriously, Elena," he said. "Go rest. You're starting to look like a zombie."
I rubbed at my eyes, finally letting out a tired breath. "Fine."
Uncle Alan gave a satisfied nod, already turning back toward Marcus as if the matter had been settled. I lingered for a second longer, then forced my feet to move.
The hallway was familiar. I had walked through it countless of times before. From the late-night study sessions with Pippa, or dinners that stretched well past midnight while Uncle Alan lectured us about ancient empires and forgotten kings.
Tonight, it felt strangely different. The place was quieter, heavier.
Marcus was still standing where I had left him, when I glanced back before turning the corner. His posture was straight, hands clasped loosely in front of him like some knight waiting on a lord's hall rather than the living room of a London townhouse.
His eyes met mine.
And for a brief moment, the noise from the city outside, the exhaustion pressing against my skull, even Uncle Alan's presence...everything seemed to fade into the background.
Until he said something in Latin.
Marcus turned away to answer him, his voice low but steady.
I continued down the hallway anyway.
The door to Pippa's room stood slightly ajar, just the way she usually left it. I pushed it open and stepped inside. The room looked exactly as how she left it. Her clothes half-folded on a chair, books stacked unevenly on the desk, fairy lights draped lazily along the headboard.
Through the wall, I could faintly hear their voices. Marcus and Uncle Alan speaking in rapid Latin. I couldn't understand a single word, but every so often, my name slipped through the rhythm of their conversation.
Elena.
So I simply closed the door behind me.
Exhaling slowly, I kicked off my shoes before collapsing onto Pippa's bed.
The mattress dipped under my weight, softer than anything I had touched all day. My body immediately sank to it, exhaustion finally catching up with me. And as sleep began pulling me under, I couldn't help but wonder, how the hell had I gotten into this mess?
Why me, of all people? Why did Marcus seem to trust me? Why did he look at me like I was the only familiar thing left in a world that didn't belong to him?
The last thing I remembered before sleep finally claimed me was the faint murmur of Latin through the walls. Elena, Elena, Elena...
And the unsettling realization that somehow, somewhere along the way—
Marcus had begun to feel...comfortable.
Not just for me.
But with me.