Lucian didn't have time to react before the world flipped upside down—literally.
A strong arm caught him behind the knees, another around his back, and suddenly he was slung over the shoulder of the dark-haired man who had just introduced himself as Rohan.
"Hey—what—put me down!" Lucian shouted, pounding his fists against Rohan's back.
"Not a chance," Rohan grunted, breaking into a run with the ease of someone used to hauling troublemakers. "If I let you walk, you'll disappear again. Ellis will skin me alive if that happens twice in one day."
Lucian's world jostled violently: sky, grass, gravel, the occasional startled face of a passerby turning to watch the spectacle. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed.
"Rohan! Are you dragging the young master home again?"
Another voice chimed in, "Make sure he doesn't set anything on fire this time!"
Lucian groaned into his captor's shoulder, mortified. "What is wrong with you people—put me down!"
"Quit wriggling," Rohan said, though his tone was more amused than irritated. "You're lighter than you look."
"Excuse me?!"
Rohan only tightened his grip and picked up his pace, dust kicking up behind them. The manor loomed larger with every step—alive and whole and heartbreakingly bright under the afternoon sun. Lucian could see the verandas and flowerbeds up close now, all perfectly tended, no sign of the ruin he'd seen in his own time.
They burst through the open gates, startling a gardener who nearly dropped his watering can. Rohan jogged across the back garden and stopped near the edge of the cliff that overlooked the sea. There, he finally set Lucian down—not gently, but at least upright.
Before Lucian could start yelling again, Rohan cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted toward the trees.
"Ellis!"
The name hit Lucian like a slap.
His stomach dropped. That name—Ellis Whitmore—belonged to a ghost, not a living boy.
And yet, from the garden's edge, a figure appeared.
The boy who came running had blond, shoulder-length hair, tied loosely at the nape. His white shirt was rolled at the sleeves, smudged with charcoal and dirt. He looked sunburned and breathless, his expression an open book of worry.
"Lance!" he called, relief breaking across his face.
Lucian froze. His pulse thundered.
Before he could move, Ellis reached him and threw his arms around him.
"Don't scare us like that again," Ellis muttered, voice shaking. "You vanished right before lunch. Rohan said you might've gone to the town, but no one saw you."
Lucian stood stiff in his embrace, mind blank. He could feel the warmth of Ellis's body, the quick rhythm of his heartbeat, even the faint scent of soap and grass. This wasn't a ghost. This was a living, breathing boy.
"Ellis," Rohan said, exhaling in exasperation. "Told you I'd find him. You owe me lunch."
Ellis shot him a look. "I'd rather owe you a punch next time if you don't stop encouraging him." He turned back to Lucian, hands gripping his shoulders. "Lance, what were you thinking? Running off like that again just because you don't want to study?"
"I—I—what?" Lucian stammered.
Ellis sighed, half-scolding, half-tired. "If your father finds out, you'll get another beating. And I can't patch you up every single time, you know that."
The word beating hit Lucian harder than the summer sun.
Grandfather? Beating?
His grandfather—kind, soft-spoken, the sort of man who brewed tea for the staff and cried at family weddings—was the same person who, forty years ago, struck his son hard enough to leave bruises?
Lucian's thoughts twisted, trying to fit the gentle man he knew into this harsher past. Maybe grief had changed him later. Or maybe he'd never truly known him at all.
He barely noticed when Ellis called his name again.
"Lance? Are you even listening?"
Lucian blinked. "Oh—uh—yeah. Sorry."
Rohan crossed his arms, studying him. "Something's weird about you today."
Ellis frowned. "Weird how?"
"Look at him," Rohan said, tilting his head. "He's actually listening for once. Not arguing, not rolling his eyes. I'm almost worried."
Ellis's lips twitched. "Maybe he finally hit his head hard enough to learn manners."
Lucian scowled. "I'm not your—" He stopped himself before finishing. What was he supposed to say? I'm not your Lance, I'm his nephew from forty years in the future?
Instead, he muttered, "You're both insane."
Rohan chuckled, but it faded quickly. His gaze lingered on Lucian with a flicker of something thoughtful—like he'd noticed a puzzle piece that didn't fit.
Before either could speak again, a faint rustle came from the bushes nearby.
Ellis turned, frowning. "Did you hear that?"
Rohan shifted slightly, moving closer to Lucian in an unconscious, protective motion. "Probably another rabbit."
The rustle came again—louder this time, followed by the snap of a twig. Then someone stumbled out from the thicket.
A boy, covered in dirt and leaves, hair matted with dust. He looked exhausted, breathing hard as though he'd been running for hours. His shirt was torn at the sleeve.
Rohan stepped forward, ready to scold whoever it was, but then the boy lifted his head.
Lucian's breath caught in his throat.
It was his own face.
The same sharp cheekbones, the same narrow nose, the same startled eyes—only this version of him looked wilder, more defiant, a smudge of blood on his lip and a glare that could cut glass.
The boy stopped short, staring back at him in open disbelief.
"What the hell…" he said, voice rough.
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
Ellis's gaze darted between them, confusion etching into fear. Rohan's mouth opened, closed, then opened again, entirely at a loss.
Finally, all three spoke at once:
"Lance?" Ellis asked, voice trembling.
"Who are you?" Rohan demanded, pointing at Lucian.
Lance could barely breathe. "Why are there…two of us?"
The wind off the cliff swirled around them, carrying the echo of their voices out into the bright summer air.
And for the first time since waking in this strange, living past, Lucian realized that whatever had happened with the lantern wasn't just a fluke of time—it was something that had gone terribly, impossibly wrong.