Warm sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting thin golden lines across the principal's office. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, unaware of the weight sitting between the two men.
Edward leaned back in his chair, fingers laced together on the desk. Across from him sat Harvey, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes clouded with something close to dread.
"So," Edward said at last, breaking the silence, "what was so urgent that you needed to see me this early?"
Harvey exhaled slowly, as if the air itself was heavy. "I received a message."
Edward frowned. "From who?"
"My disciple," Harvey replied. "Rowena."
Edward straightened instantly. "Rowena?" A pause. "What did she say?"
Harvey shook his head. "Not much. But what she did say…" He hesitated, jaw tightening. "She mentioned her daughter. The way she spoke—it sounded like the girl is dead."
Edward's brow creased. "If something that serious happened, why didn't she ask for help? She knows she can always come to you."
A bitter smile tugged at Harvey's lips. "You know Rowena better than that. She's never relied on anyone. Not even me."
Edward sighed, rubbing his temples. "That's true. She's always carried her burdens alone." He looked up again. "So what are you going to do?"
"That's the problem," Harvey said quietly. "I don't know." He paused, then added, "But I saw someone today."
Edward blinked. "Saw someone?"
"A girl."
Edward tilted his head. "And?"
"She reminded me of Rowena."
Silence settled between them.
"You're serious," Edward said slowly.
"I am." Harvey leaned forward slightly. "It wasn't just her face—though there's a resemblance. About forty percent, I'd say. It was her posture. Her eyes. The way she carried herself. It felt… familiar."
Edward hesitated. "Where did you see her?"
"Here," Harvey said. "On school grounds."
Edward's expression hardened with caution. "Harvey, that could be coincidence."
"Maybe," Harvey admitted. "But my instincts are rarely wrong."
"And what do you plan to do?" Edward asked.
"I want to meet her," Harvey said firmly. "Tomorrow. With you."
Edward studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright." He leaned back, exhaling. "In that case… I have something to tell you as well."
Harvey raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"The boy you came to see at the hospital last week," Edward said quietly.
Harvey's eyes widened slightly. "The one Bethel saved?"
"Yes." Edward's voice dropped. "He's my biological grandson."
Harvey stared at him, stunned. "You're joking."
"I wish I were," Edward said. "He has amnesia. Doesn't remember anything. Not his name. Not his mother." His gaze fell to the desk. "I'm planning to send him abroad for treatment."
Harvey softened. "I hope he recovers. You've already lost so much since your daughter was taken."
Edward swallowed. "If I ever find her…" His voice wavered. "Do you think she'll forgive me?"
Harvey didn't hesitate. "She will. You didn't betray her. You just trusted the wrong people."
"I hope she understands that someday," Edward murmured.
Harvey stood, straightening his coat. "She will." He paused at the door. "And don't forget what I told you about the company."
"I won't," Edward replied.
"I'll go check on that girl," Harvey added.
Edward's voice followed him. "Just don't let hope blind you. I'd hate to see you disappointed."
Harvey smiled faintly. "I'll try."
The door closed softly behind him.
Edward leaned back, eyes drifting shut. His hands folded over his chest as memories pressed in—faces, voices, promises left unfinished.
"I really hope you forgive me," he whispered to no one.
The sunlight shifted across his face, blurring the line between past and present—ghosts stirring, restless, refusing to stay buried.