Chapter Two: What Was Taken
The silence that followed felt heavier than the slap.
Julian blinked once. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It didn’t,” Martin said. “Not to me either. Not at first.”
He moved toward the armchair across from the sofa, lowering himself into it with the slow care of a man who had learned how quickly a body could betray him.
“I didn’t take your mother’s clock,” he continued. “I was asked to remove it.”
Julian shook his head. “You expect me to believe that?”
“No,” Martin said. “I expect you to listen.”
Claire sat down again, though she didn’t remember deciding to. Lydia remained still, her eyes flicking between the two men as if she were watching something unfold that had already been decided years ago.
“Your mother came to me the night before I left,” Martin said. “Not your father. Her.”
Julian’s throat tightened.
“She said she needed the clock gone. Not hidden. Not protected. Gone.”
“Why?” Julian demanded.
Martin’s eyes flickered—pain, old and stubborn.
“Because of what was inside it.”
Julian frowned. “It’s a clock.”
“No,” Martin said gently. “It’s a lock.”
That landed differently.
Julian felt it before he understood it.
“A compartment,” Martin clarified. “Your grandmother had it built in during the war. Small. Hidden behind the inner casing.”
Julian’s gaze snapped back to the bag.
“And you just… took it?” he said.
“I opened it first,” Martin replied.
“And?”
May you like
Martin exhaled slowly.
“And I understood why your mother was afraid.”
