Morning came… but it brought no peace.
The house felt heavier than ever.
Like the walls themselves were holding secrets.
Catherine stood in the kitchen, staring blankly at the cup in her hand.
The tea had gone cold.
She hadn't taken a single sip.
Her mind was still stuck on his words.
"I don't have a past…"
"I am what they made me…"
She closed her eyes tightly.
"No… this is too much…"
First, her husband dies.
Then he returns.
Then someone tries to kill him.
And now—
He might not even know who he really is.
"Cathy."
She froze.
Jack stood at the entrance.
Quiet.
Careful.
Like a man unsure if he was welcome in his own home.
Her heart reacted instantly.
But her mind—
Still resisted.
"You should rest," she said without turning.
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
"I'm fine," he replied.
A pause.
Then—
"I remember something else."
That made her turn.
Slowly.
"What?" she asked.
Jack stepped closer, but kept a respectful distance this time.
"I don't know if it means anything," he said, "but… I saw a face."
Catherine frowned slightly.
"A face?"
He nodded.
"Just for a second," he said. "It felt important."
"Who was it?"
Jack hesitated.
His brows furrowed slightly.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I feel like… I've seen him before."
Something about that unsettled her.
"Can you describe him?" she asked.
Jack exhaled slowly.
"Older," he said. "Sharp eyes. Calm… but dangerous."
He paused.
"Like someone who's always in control."
Catherine's fingers tightened slightly around her cup.
Because for some reason—
That description felt familiar.
Too familiar.
Before she could respond—
Footsteps approached.
"Good morning."
Both of them turned.
Richard.
Dressed neatly.
Composed.
Like nothing had happened the night before.
Catherine forced a small nod.
"Morning, Uncle."
Jack didn't speak.
His eyes were already locked onto him.
Studying.
Watching.
And something inside him—
Shifted.
A flicker.
A feeling.
Recognition.
Jack's expression changed slightly.
Almost unnoticeable.
But it was there.
"…you."
The word slipped out before he could stop it.
Richard paused.
Just for a second.
Then smiled.
"Yes?" he said calmly.
Jack stared at him.
His heartbeat picking up.
His mind—
Trying to catch something just out of reach.
"I've seen you before," Jack said slowly.
The room went still.
Catherine looked between them, confusion rising again.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Jack didn't take his eyes off Richard.
"I don't know where," he said. "But I know your face."
Richard chuckled softly.
"That's not surprising," he said. "We are family, after all."
But Jack didn't smile.
"No," he said quietly.
"This is different."
Silence.
Tension.
Then—
Richard tilted his head slightly.
Amused.
"Careful, Jack," he said. "You're starting to sound like a man chasing ghosts."
The word hit differently this time.
Ghosts.
Jack's jaw tightened.
"I saw a room," he said suddenly.
Catherine's breath caught.
"A room?" she repeated.
Jack nodded slowly.
"Dark. Cold. Metal walls," he said. "And voices."
Richard's smile faded.
Just a little.
"And one of those voices…" Jack continued, his eyes narrowing now, "…felt like yours."
Silence exploded.
Catherine's heart skipped.
"What?"
Richard laughed.
Too quickly.
Too smoothly.
"That's ridiculous," he said. "You must still be in shock from everything that's happened."
But Jack didn't back down.
"You told me something," he said.
His voice dropped.
Colder now.
"You said… I don't have a past."
Catherine felt a chill run down her spine.
"That's enough," Richard said sharply.
The calm tone was gone.
Replaced with something harder.
For a moment—
The mask slipped.
And Catherine saw it.
Not kindness.
Not concern.
Control.
Jack saw it too.
And suddenly—
Everything inside him screamed.
Danger.
Before anyone could say another word—
Jack turned.
Fast.
Opening a drawer nearby.
Catherine frowned.
"Jack—what are you doing?"
He didn't answer.
He pulled something out.
A photograph.
Old.
Slightly worn.
His hands trembled as he stared at it.
"What is that?" Catherine asked, stepping closer.
Jack slowly turned the photo toward her.
Her breath caught.
It was him.
Jack.
But younger.
Standing in that same cold room.
And beside him—
Richard.
No smile.
No warmth.
Just that same cold…
Controlling gaze.
Catherine's hands started shaking.
"No…"
Jack's voice came out low.
Deadly.
"You said we're family…"
He looked up.
Straight at Richard.
"Then why were you there?"
Silence.
Heavy.
Explosive.
Because now—
The truth wasn't hiding anymore.
It was staring right at them.