Author's Notice: This chapter is a draft chapter and not the real chapter... I'll edit as soon as possible after I recover from my illness.
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He laid the clipping flat beside it. The image mocked him—blurred, imperfect, but enough. The scar above the brow, the tilt of the mouth. James, or a ghost wearing his skin.
Daniel rubbed his face hard. He needed more than a guess. He needed proof.
Sleep was impossible. He sat at the desk until the window grew pale with dawn. At last, when the clock ticked past six, he shoved himself up and pulled on a dry shirt. His eyes burned, but his body moved with the restless strength of a man who had no other choice.
The library opened early. Daniel reached it before the sun broke through the clouds. He stepped inside, nodding once at the guard who barely looked at him. The air smelled of dust and ink, the shelves stretching tall in the dim light.
