Chapter 6
Amelia sat at her desk, tapping the end of her pen against her notebook. The events of the last few days had left her restless. Thomas's voice still echoed in her mind, his worries about Lord Beckett and the impending confrontation weighing heavily on her. There was something about the way he spoke, the underlying fear that he tried to mask, that haunted her. She had never felt so helpless. Knowing that he was trapped in a situation with no easy way out while she sat in the comfort of her modern life felt unbearable.
But today, there was something more. An odd sensation tugged at her, an unsettling feeling that something was out of place. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but the air in her apartment felt heavier, almost charged, as if the world around her had shifted ever so slightly.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft thud. She glanced down at the floor, confused, and then her eyes widened. Lying next to her chair was a small, leather-bound book. It looked worn and old, its pages yellowed with age. Her heart raced as she bent down to pick it up. She turned it over in her hands, inspecting the cover. There was no title, no markings to indicate where it had come from.
Amelia's breath caught in her throat. She hadn't brought this into her apartment. She had never seen it before. And yet, as she flipped open the first page, a cold shiver ran down her spine. The handwriting was elegant, almost artistic in its precision. It was a style she recognized all too well.
Thomas.
The ink, though faded, was unmistakably from another time. The words on the page seemed like a fragment of a life lived centuries ago, as if they had been plucked from Thomas's world and dropped into hers. Her hands trembled as she read the first few lines:
"November 12th, 1775.
Today, I had the strangest feeling, as though someone was watching over me. I cannot explain it, but it felt as though I were not alone, even in my most private thoughts."
Amelia stared at the page, her pulse quickening. This wasn't just a journal from any random person. It was Thomas's journal. Somehow, impossibly, it had appeared in her apartment.
She flipped through the pages, skimming over entries that detailed Thomas's daily life—his frustrations with his father, his struggles with his art, and his growing fear of Lord Beckett. The words leapt off the page, vivid and alive, as though Thomas himself were speaking to her again. But how had this book gotten here?
Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Was this some kind of sign? A manifestation of their connection? But the journal wasn't the only thing. She suddenly noticed other small, strange anomalies around her apartment. A quill pen lay on her windowsill, its feather delicate and frayed. Next to her coffee mug was a small, tarnished pocket watch, its hands frozen at 11:45.
These objects didn't belong here. They didn't belong in her time. Yet here they were, tangible and real. Her heart pounded as she ran her fingers over the cool metal of the pocket watch, trying to make sense of what was happening.
Was their connection becoming more than just thoughts and emotions? Could it be something physical, something that transcended even time itself?
She stood, pacing her apartment as the implications of what she was experiencing began to dawn on her. If objects from Thomas's world could appear in hers, what else was possible? Could she cross over into his world? Could their bond allow for something even more profound—time travel?
The thought sent a jolt of electricity through her. She had never considered the possibility before, always assuming that her connection to Thomas was limited to the mind. But what if there was a way to bridge the gap between their two worlds? What if she could step into his time, even if only for a brief moment?
Amelia's thoughts turned frantic as she tried to piece together how it might work. The objects—his journal, the quill, the watch—were all clues, she was sure of it. They were signals, hints that something larger was at play. But how? And why now?
She grabbed the journal again, flipping through its pages for anything that might explain what was happening. Her eyes scanned line after line, her breath shallow with anticipation.
Then she saw it.
"November 14th, 1775.
Lord Beckett's visit is imminent. I fear what he may demand of my family. My father remains stubborn in his refusal to heed my warnings, and I worry that my efforts to resist will only bring danger upon us. But in the midst of all this, there has been a strange development.
I have felt her presence more strongly than ever before. Not just in my thoughts, but almost as though she were here with me. I cannot explain it. It is as if our worlds are colliding, though how or why I cannot say."*
Amelia's hands shook as she read the passage. Thomas had felt it too—their worlds were converging, their connection growing stronger. The barrier between them was thinning, and it wasn't just in her mind. There was something real, something physical happening.
She rushed to her laptop, her fingers flying over the keys as she searched for anything that might help her understand what was going on. Time travel was a concept that had fascinated humans for centuries, but it was still firmly in the realm of science fiction. Yet here she was, experiencing something that defied all logic, all reason.
As she scrolled through pages of theories and scientific articles, one idea stood out: quantum entanglement. The concept that two particles, once connected, could affect each other no matter the distance between them. Could it be possible that she and Thomas were somehow entangled across time? That their bond had created a bridge, not just between their minds, but between their worlds?
It was a wild theory, but it was the only one that made sense.
She closed her laptop and stood in the middle of her apartment, her mind racing. If this was real—if their connection was powerful enough to allow objects to cross between their times—then perhaps it could allow her to cross over too. But how? How could she unlock the mystery and step into Thomas's world?
Her eyes fell on the pocket watch again, its hands still frozen at 11:45. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. There was an inscription on the back, something she hadn't noticed before.
"To T.H., for when the time is right."
Her heart skipped a beat. T.H.—Thomas Hargrave. The watch was his. But what did the inscription mean? For when the time is right? Was this another clue?
Amelia's mind buzzed with questions. She was on the edge of something monumental, something that could change everything. The pieces were falling into place, but she still didn't know how to make the final leap.
She clutched the watch in her hand, her pulse racing. The answers were there, just beyond her reach. And somehow, she knew that if she could just figure out how to unlock the mystery, she would be able to cross that barrier.
She could find Thomas.
And maybe, just maybe, she could save him.