The Natural History Museum was closed on Tuesdays, so the Stones went on Wednesday. Emma had begun her countdown on Monday, her first words each morning being, "How many days until the dinosaurs?"
At seven on Wednesday morning, she appeared in the kitchen in her self-assembled "explorer outfit" — camouflage overalls, yellow rain boots (despite the clear sky outside), and a faded police whistle from Sophia around her neck ("For scaring away bad dinosaurs!").
"Logically," Liam said while frying eggs, "dinosaurs have been extinct for sixty-five million years. Defensive gear is unnecessary."
"What if there are magic dinosaurs?" Emma climbed onto the barstool, swinging her rain boots. "My book says the museum dinosaurs come alive at night!"
Sophia came downstairs, hair still damp. "Then I'll have to remind the night guards to step up their patrols."
Breakfast featured dinosaur-shaped eggs (made with Liam's mold) and "volcano blast" orange juice (squeezed by Emma, with a sprinkle of cinnamon pretending to be ash). Over the meal, Emma announced her plan: first the T. rex, then the triceratops, then a dinosaur ice cream, then…
"And then it'll be time to go home," Sophia said with a smile. "Unless you want to sleep here."
"Can I?"
"No."
Emma pouted, but only for three seconds, because Liam handed her a hand-drawn "Museum Expedition Map," marking all the dinosaur exhibits, the best photo spots, and restroom locations.
"Daddy, you drew a little person next to the toilet!"
"Strategic marker. Statistically, six-year-olds require a bathroom visit approximately every two hours."
Sophia leaned in to look and laughed. "You even marked the café. Very thoughtful."
"Parents need fuel too," Liam said seriously, but the slight crinkle at the corner of his eye—Sophia recognized that as his version of a joke.
The museum opened at ten. They arrived at 9:50 to find a small line already formed. Emma stomped excitedly, her rain boots making a *plip-plop* sound. Ahead of them, a young mother with twin boys was mediating an argument over who would see the dinosaurs first.
"I can let them share priority," Emma told Sophia solemnly. "Police should keep order."
"You're off-duty today, sweetie," Sophia said, pulling her back.
Liam stood behind them, his gaze sweeping the line. His mind ran a background scan: The man in a cap was looking at his phone, but the screen was dark. The woman with the stroller kept checking her watch. Two middle schoolers with backpacks had anime keychains on their zippers…
Normal. All normal.
Yet the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. That feeling of being watched was back. He turned slowly, looking across the street.
At the café's outdoor seating, a man sat reading a newspaper. It was held high, hiding his face. But Liam saw the hand—slender fingers, calloused at the base of the thumb, as from years of holding tools. And the dark blue work jacket, its cuffs frayed.
The man lowered the paper and glanced in Liam's direction.
It was 'Brother.'
Their eyes met briefly. The man gave an almost imperceptible nod, then raised his coffee cup as if in a toast.
"Liam?" Sophia touched his arm. "We're going in."
He turned and followed his family into the museum's cool, dim lobby. Emma's gasp echoed under the marble dome: "Mommy! Daddy! Look! Bones!"
In the center of the hall, a massive Diplodocus skeleton spanned the entire space, its long neck stretching toward the second-floor balcony. Sunlight streamed from high windows, casting dappled shadows on the bones.
"It's so BIG!" Emma's head was tilted back, her mouth a perfect 'O'. "What did it eat?"
"Ferns, conifers, probably some stones to aid digestion," Liam said, then caught himself slipping into data mode. He added, "Like your dinosaur soup."
Emma giggled. "But it can't eat magic stones! Only I can!"
They followed the map. Emma spent at least five minutes at each exhibit, asking a barrage of questions. Liam's answers were precise and detailed; Sophia translated the science into "six-year-old terms."
"Why does this dinosaur only have three legs?" Emma pointed to an incomplete skeleton.
"Because its fourth leg was buried somewhere else," Sophia said. "Fossils aren't always found whole."
"Like a puzzle missing the last piece!"
"Exactly."
By the T. rex exhibit, the crowd had thickened. A group of schoolchildren surrounded the giant skull while their teacher explained bite force. Emma squeezed to the front, eyes wide.
That's when Liam felt it again.
He turned, scanning the crowd. A man in a grey jacket stood in the corner, looking at his phone. A woman with glasses sketched in a notebook. An elderly man dozed on a bench.
Then he saw her: by the archway leading to the next hall stood Olivia Chase.
She wasn't dressed up today—jeans, a flannel shirt, her hair in a messy bun. She looked like any other visitor, holding a museum guide and studying a Pterosaur skeleton. But Liam noticed her gaze drifting their way.
Sophia saw her too. Her posture stiffened slightly. She bent down to Emma. "Sweetie, want to see the flying dinosaurs? They're over there."
"Pterosaurs aren't dinosaurs!" Emma announced proudly. "My teacher said they're reptiles, but different!"
"You're absolutely right. Let's go see the different reptiles."
They moved in the opposite direction, avoiding Olivia's area. But Liam knew it was temporary. In a closed space like a museum, a 'chance encounter' was too easy to arrange.
Sure enough, in the dinosaur egg exhibit, Olivia appeared beside a massive Argentinosaurus egg fossil.
"What a coincidence," she said with a smile. "Museum day for you too?"
Sophia's expression was calm, but Liam saw her grip tighten on Emma's hand. "Chicago isn't that big, Ms. Chase."
"Olivia, please." She crouched to Emma's level. "Do you like dinosaurs?"
"I love T. rex the most! But I also like triceratops because they have armor."
"Armor is good," Olivia said, her eyes lifting to Liam. "Protects you from harm."
The hall was quiet, filled only with distant children's laughter and a docent's amplified voice. Fossilized eggs lay in glass cases, some cracked open, revealing tiny skeletal outlines.
"You know," Olivia stood up, her voice soft, "I loved dinosaurs too, as a girl. My father used to say they teach us two things: first, that even the mightiest things can vanish. And second, that they always leave traces behind."
She turned to Liam. "Like fossils. No matter how much time passes, the traces remain. Waiting to be found."
Sophia stepped forward, placing herself between her husband and the reporter. "We should see the mammal exhibit. Emma wants to see the mammoth."
"Oh, the mammoth hall is under renovation," Olivia said. "There's a sign at the entrance—you might have missed it." She pulled a folded map from her bag. "But the minerals exhibit is open. Some lovely metal ores. Mr. Stone might find that interesting."
Liam took the map. A slip of paper was tucked into the fold.
He didn't open it there, just nodded. "Thanks."
Olivia smiled, then winked at Emma. "Enjoy the adventure, little dino-expert."
She walked away, her footsteps fading on the polished floor.
"What does she *want*?" Sophia murmured, watching her go.
"A storyteller needs material," Liam said, pocketing the map. "Let's keep going."
Emma dragged them to the gift shop, buying a small triceratops model with her allowance. At the register, Liam noticed the clerk giving him an extra glance—not curiosity, but recognition.
After the shop, Emma needed the restroom. Sophia took her, and Liam waited on a bench in the corridor.
He took out the map. The slip of paper fell into his lap. A single line, typed, not handwritten:
*Locker 47. The key is in your hand. The answer is where you don't wish to look.*
Liam's fingers clenched, crumpling the paper. He glanced toward the restrooms—Sophia and Emma weren't back yet—and quickly slipped the note into his wallet.
Locker 47. Seattle Central Station.
That rusty key was in his workshop's hidden compartment. Untouched for fifteen years.
"Daddy!" Emma ran back, her triceratops model dripping wet. "I gave it a bath in the sink!"
Sophia followed, her expression thoughtful. She looked at Liam. "You okay?"
"Fine," he stood up. "What's next?"
"Ice cream!" Emma declared. "The museum café has dinosaur-shaped waffle cones! Mrs. Martha said so!"
The café did indeed have them. Emma chose chocolate, Sophia vanilla, Liam just black coffee. Sitting by the window, Emma devoted herself to conquering her "dino-ice-cream," getting chocolate all over her face.
Outside was the museum's small garden courtyard with a few benches. A man sat there smoking.
Dark blue work jacket.
'Brother' looked up toward the window. He took a final drag, stubbed out the cigarette, then took a small object from his pocket and placed it on the bench.
He stood and walked away without looking back.
"I'll be right back," Liam said, heading for the restroom.
Sophia nodded, busy wiping Emma's face. "Hurry, the ice cream's melting."
Liam went through the café's side door into the garden. On the bench, where the man had sat, lay a plain white envelope, unmarked.
He picked it up, feeling something solid inside. He moved behind a large tree and tore it open.
Inside were a photograph and a small key.
The photo was new: a blond boy, about ten, smiling brightly in a playground. On the back, in handwriting: *Liam Stone, 1997. He is alive.*
The key had a plastic tag: *Seattle Central Station, Locker 47. Spare.*
Liam stared. The boy… was indeed the real Liam Stone. But the photo looked recent, the boy was ten, and twenty-six years had passed.
Unless…
His mind calculated quickly: If the real Liam were alive, he'd be thirty-six now. But the boy in the photo was only ten. The timeline didn't fit.
Then he understood. This was an old photo. But *'He is alive'* was new information.
'Brother' was telling him: *The man whose identity you took, is still living.*
Footsteps approached. Liam quickly stuffed the photo and key into his pocket and turned.
It was Olivia.
"Found you," she smiled, holding two coffee cups. "Your wife said you went to the restroom, but I thought you might need this." She offered one cup. "Black, no sugar. Correct?"
Liam took it. "Good observation."
"It's my job." She leaned against the tree, looking at the museum building. "Beautiful architecture, isn't it? Stone and steel, built to last centuries. Longer than memory."
"What's your point, Ms. Chase?"
"Olivia," she corrected. "My point is, you should see what's in that locker. Before someone else does."
"Who are you working for?"
"For the story," she took a sip. "A good story needs all its pieces. And some pieces… only you can find."
"What if I don't want to find them?"
"Then someone else will write the story." Her expression turned serious. "And they might write one you don't like. For example, that you killed the real Liam Stone. Not just… borrowed his life."
The air seemed to still. Only the rustle of leaves in the breeze filled the garden.
"I didn't kill him," Liam said, his voice calm.
"I know," Olivia nodded. "But I need proof. The locker has proof. Look, or I will."
She turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and one more thing. Be careful with the man in the blue jacket. He's protecting you. But protection can also be a prison."
She left him standing alone under the tree, holding the lukewarm coffee cup.
When he returned, Emma had finished her ice cream and was playing "dinosaur drinking coffee" with a straw. Sophia looked at him. "You were a while."
"Long line," Liam sat down. The coffee was cold, but he drank it anyway.
On the drive home, Emma fell asleep in the back, clutching her triceratops. Sophia drove, occasionally glancing at their daughter in the rearview mirror.
After ten minutes of quiet, Sophia spoke softly. "She's following us, isn't she? Olivia."
"It seems so."
"Why?"
"She wants to write a story."
"About you."
Liam watched the streets blur past. "About a lot of people. I might just be a chapter."
At a red light, Sophia turned to him. "Liam, if you have secrets… if there's something you need to tell me…"
"I know," he said, then reached for her hand. "But not today. Today is museum day."
Sophia's fingers trembled slightly in his, then squeezed back tightly. "Okay," she said. "Then happy museum day."
"Happy museum day."
At home, they carried the sleeping Emma upstairs, took off her shoes and socks, and tucked her in. The triceratops was placed by her pillow.
Downstairs, Sophia opened the fridge. "Dinner? We have pizza, or I can make pasta."
"Pizza," Liam said. "You're tired."
"I am tired," Sophia took out a frozen pizza and preheated the oven. "But more than that… I'm puzzled. That reporter, the way she looks at you… it's not how you look at a local hero. It's how you look at a puzzle."
Liam walked over and gently wrapped his arms around her from behind. The gesture wasn't in any programmed script; it was spontaneous. He felt Sophia tense for a moment, then relax, leaning back against him.
"Am I a puzzle?" he whispered.
"Everyone is," Sophia turned to face him. "But some puzzles… you hope you never have to solve. Because you're afraid the answer will change everything."
The oven timer beeped. Sophia slipped from his embrace to attend to the pizza.
Liam stood in the middle of the kitchen, his fingers finding the spare key and the photograph in his pocket.
Locker 47. Seattle.
Should he go?
If he did, he might find evidence to clear his name.
He might also open a door that could never be closed again.
Outside, dusk was falling. Lights in neighboring houses flicked on one by one, like little campfires in the dark.
Behind every window was a family, a story, secrets.
And his secret waited in a rusty locker in a Seattle station, untouched for fifteen years—waiting to be claimed, or perhaps, to be buried.
The smell of baking pizza began to fill the kitchen. Sophia hummed softly, setting the table. Upstairs, Emma turned in her sleep, murmuring something about dinosaurs in her dreams.
All of this—this warm, messy, real life—was worth protecting.
Worth protecting with everything he had.
Even if it meant going alone to Seattle, opening that fifteen-year-old locker, and facing whatever was inside.
He had decided.
He would go this weekend.
Until then, he would make sure the pizza was baked just right, that Emma's triceratops was somewhere safe, and that Sophia slept well tonight.
Because when storms come, you need a store of good memories to weather the long dark.
And good memories are often just this: the smell of pizza, a daughter's dream-words, the tune a wife hums, and the museum T. rex, jaws forever gaping wide, yet never to bite again.
He hid the spare key in his workshop's secret compartment, beside its rusty twin.
Two keys. One secret.
Waiting to be opened, or locked away forever.