Chapter 2: The Signet of Betrayal
Evelyn’s hands began to shake so violently that the locket rattled against her palm. She looked up, her gaze shifting from the locket to the boy on the floor. He wasn't crying. He wasn't cowering. He was watching Arthur.
Arthur reached out to grab the boy again, his hand coming down like a hawk’s claw. On his ring finger sat a heavy, custom-made signet ring—a jagged gold crest that had been a family heirloom for three generations.
The boy’s eyes locked onto the ring. He didn't flinch. He didn't look at Arthur’s face; he looked at the gold crest, his eyes narrowing with a terrifying, adult-like recognition.
"That ring," the boy whispered, his voice raspy and impossibly calm, "was the payment you made to the man who took me from the nursery."
The silence in the room was so thick it could be carved. Arthur’s face went ash-grey, his hand freezing in mid-air. He looked at the boy, then at Evelyn, his chest heaving.
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"He's delusional," Arthur stammered, his voice rising a frantic octave. "Evelyn, the child is clearly hallucinating. He’s a street rat. He’s looking for a payout."
But Evelyn wasn't listening. She was looking at the boy’s eyes. They were her eyes. The same shade of storm-cloud grey, the same distinct, sharp arch in the brow.
