Chapter 63: Chapter 63: Grimsdyke

Settings

Font Size

A

A

16px

Font Family

Background Color

Chapter 63: Grimsdyke

They walked down the corridor toward the common room, and it was there, in the doorway, that Kairan saw him for the first time.

He was two meters tall and fat. His heavy body strained the seams of his coat; the buttons were pulled to their limit, and the fabric showed white stress lines where the tension was greatest. His neck vanished into a second chin whenever he lowered his gaze toward the rows of seated children. His bald, shiny scalp caught the yellow light of the gas lamps, reflecting it back with a faint, almost moist sheen. But it was his skin that struck one first: white starkly white a pallor unlike any illness Kairan knew, and one that clashed sharply with the dark, crusted stains along his coat cuffs.

His eyes were black. Not merely dark black, devoid of any nuance that might distinguish iris from pupil; two opaque points set deep in a face too fleshy to hold them comfortably. They moved slowly across the room, shifting from one bowed head to the next. There was no curiosity in that movement. It was a tallying.

Kairan paused for a moment in the doorway. He didn’t need to ask who the man was; the name had stuck with him since that very morning, spoken by Peter with a caution that had seemed excessive at the time.

“That’s him,” he said in a low voice. “Grimsdyke.”

Amara nodded, unperturbed. “Yes. That’s him.”

They walked toward their seats, passing within inches of Grimsdyke. As Kairan drew level with him, he felt a shift in the air not a sound, nor any gesture from the man, but a change in density, a coldness that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. Something specific flared up inside him an alarm that needed no explanation: that man was dangerous. Not just odd, not just unpleasant to look at. Dangerous in the most concrete sense of the word the same kind of threat Kairan had learned to recognize as a child, long before he had ever crossed a portal.

He didn’t turn around. He didn’t slow his pace. He sat down next to Amara, his body composed, his face devoid of any visible tension. Inside, however, he remained on guard, every sense still focused on that white figure standing motionless near the entrance.

“He isn’t dangerous, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Gregory said, noticing Kairan’s gaze lingering a moment too long. “He’s just a doctor. A good one, too.”

“Highly skilled,” Peter added. “He’s been coming here for years.” He paused, his voice dropping. “You know, he was the one who discovered Ezra’s talent. Our old roommate the one I told you about this morning.”

“His talent?” Kairan asked.

“His blood,” Peter said. “Grimsdyke said it was something special something he’d rarely seen in all his years of drawing blood. After the first time he took a sample, Ezra vanished. We never saw him again.”

“But it turned out well,” Gregory said quickly, as if wanting to close the subject before it took an unpleasant turn. “He was adopted. Into a modern facility, they said. Precisely because of his blood. In a way, he was lucky.”

Samuel nodded silently, his eyes cast down at his bowl.

Kairan said nothing. Deep down, a thought formed effortlessly sharp and clear, like everything else he had learned to assess since arriving in this world: *It seems strange to me.* He didn’t say it aloud. He stood there, motionless, clinging to the same certainty he had felt ever since that cold draft brushed past him moments earlier.

Lena showed no such restraint.

“Yes,” she said, her voice low but firm, “but why didn’t they at least let us say goodbye? I think Mrs. Hargrove is hiding something from us. Ezra used to tell us everything. Everything. And if he’d left for a good reason, he would have found a way to say goodbye. Me, at the very least.” She clasped her hands in her lap; her eyes darted briefly toward the entrance before returning to the table. “I think they’re hiding something. And I’m going to find out what it is.”

No one answered immediately. Peter looked down at his empty bowl. Gregory’s jaw remained slightly set. Clara, for the first time since sitting down, looked up from her book and fixed her gaze on Lena.

“What is this suspicion based on?” she asked, her voice cold and analytical as ever. “A lack of goodbyes isn’t proof. It’s just an absence.”

“It’s enough for me,” Lena said, refusing to back down.

“It’s not nearly enough,” Clara said, though her tone lacked its usual confidence there was something in her reply that sounded more like a wish to be contradicted than a genuine conviction.

Victor, who hadn’t said a word until then, studied Lena for a long moment. “Ask Mrs. Hargrove, then,” he finally said. “Directly.”

“I already did,” Lena said. “She told me it was none of my business.”

Kairan listened to every word without interjecting, watching Lena that resolute declaration adding without her knowing it, to the very same feeling he already carried within himself.

“Maybe we should let it go,” Samuel said quietly, his eyes shifting from one companion to the other. “If Mrs. Hargrove doesn’t want to talk about it…”

“I’m not letting it go,” Lena said.

Amara placed a hand on her arm a gesture of conciliation rather than disagreement. “No one is asking you to let it go,” she said. “Just to be careful. If there really is something strange going on, it’s better to find out without drawing attention to ourselves.”

Lena didn’t answer immediately, but she nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.

The table fell silent all at once when a voice one everyone recognized all too well drifted in from the entrance of the hall.

Mrs. Hargrove had entered; the lamp she always carried was unlit this time, replaced by the light already filling the room. She stopped beside Grimsdyke, her gaze sweeping quickly over the rows of seated children, and raised a hand to call for silence though silence already reigned almost everywhere.

Kairan remained still, his eyes fixed on her, waiting to hear what she had to say; he wore the same composed calm as the others, yet beneath that calm still intact lay the certainty he had felt moments before.