Read Chapter 13: The Aftermath of Confusion

The silence in the cargo hold pressed against Evelyn’s ears long after Fleet vanished. One moment he had been there—solid, real, his hand on the great brass wheel of the ship’s clock—and the next, nothing but the echo of his voice and the faint, oily smell of coal dust.

Julian’s hand found her elbow. Gently. Steadily. “We need to move. If anyone heard—“

“Heard what?” Evelyn’s voice came out thinner than she intended. “That a dead man rewound the clock eight hours? That we’re standing in a room where time itself bent backward?”

Julian didn’t answer. He simply guided her toward the ladder, his footsteps sure in the dim light. She followed, her mind a riot of half-formed questions.

They emerged on the aft well deck, where the evening air hit her face like a wet cloth. The sky had deepened to bruised purple, and the first stars were pricking through. Below, the sea was black glass, unbroken by any hint of the ice that waited in their future. In *a* future. In whichever future would come when this day ended and the loop reset—or didn’t reset. She no longer knew which outcome she feared more.

Julian led her to a quiet corner near the winch housing, out of the lamplight’s reach. He leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed, and for a long moment neither of them spoke.

“He rewound time,” Evelyn said finally. “In front of us. While we watched.”

“I saw it.”

“That’s not possible.”

“And yet we’re both here, remembering it.” Julian’s jaw tightened. “I’ve spent—God knows how many loops—telling myself there must be a rational explanation. A dream. A fever. Some trick of the mind that makes me wake each morning to the same breakfast bell, the same gray Atlantic. But that—that was not a dream. That was a warning.”

Evelyn pressed her palms against the cool metal of the winch. She could feel the vibration of the engines through her shoes, the great heartbeat of the ship that would, in less than twenty-four hours, stop forever. Unless they changed it. Unless they were meant to.

“Do you trust him?” she asked.

Julian’s silence was answer enough. Then, slowly: “He knew things. Things I’ve never told anyone. He knew about the first loop—my first loop.”

Evelyn turned to face him fully. The lamplight from the deck above caught half his face, leaving the other half in shadow. “What do you mean, your first loop? You’ve spoken of previous cycles, but you’ve never—“

“I died.” The words came out flat, stripped of inflection. “On the Titanic. In my first life, Evelyn. I was on this ship, and I died when it went down, and then I woke up the next morning in my cabin, the sun rising over an ocean that had not yet claimed me. And I’ve been waking up ever since.”

The confession hung between them like a physical weight. Evelyn’s breath caught. She had assumed—she didn’t know what she had assumed. That Julian was like her, a stranger thrown into this impossible situation. That his knowledge of previous loops came from the same fragmented, half-remembered place as her own.

“You never told me,” she said.

“Would it have changed anything? You arrived in my loop—in this loop—already frightened and confused. I didn’t think adding my own damnation to yours would make you trust me more.”

“Your own damnation?” Evelyn stepped closer, searching his face. “Is that what this is? You think you’re being punished?”

Julian’s laugh was hollow. “I don’t know what I think anymore. I’ve stopped trying to understand the why of it. All I know is that I was meant to die on this ship, and something—someone—decided otherwise. I’ve been given second chances I never asked for, and every time I fail to change what’s coming, I wake up and do it all again.”

“But you haven’t failed,” Evelyn said. “You’re still here. We’re still trying.”

“We’re still trying because of you.” His eyes met hers, and there was something raw in them she hadn’t seen before. “Before you, I was just—repeating. Going through the motions. Trying to save whoever I could and knowing it wouldn’t matter, because the next morning they’d be alive again, and I’d have to watch them die all over again. But you—you remember. You *remember*, Evelyn. The loops don’t reset for you the way they do for everyone else. You’re the first person I’ve met who carries the weight of what’s coming.”

The words settled into her chest, warm and frightening in equal measure. She thought of Margaret—her grandmother, if her eyes hadn’t deceived her—and the hairpin with its scratched message. Lifeboat 6, 4:00. A sacrifice.

“Fleet said we shouldn’t go alone,” Evelyn murmured. “He said my father has lied to me—has been lying to me for twenty years in ways I don’t expect.”

“And your grandmother—or whoever she is—was hiding a child. A child your father has been hunting.”

Evelyn’s throat tightened. “What if it’s me?”

The question hung raw in the air. She hadn’t meant to say it aloud. It had been a whisper of suspicion since the moment she’d seen Margaret’s face—a suspicion that had grown roots in the intervening hours, fed by every clue they’d uncovered.

Julian’s expression didn’t shift. “I’ve considered it.”

“You have?”

“Who else would she leave clues for? You found the note in Fleet’s hiding spot. You found the hairpin. She knows who you are, Evelyn. She anticipated you.” He paused. “And your father—Lord Ashworth—he’s on this ship. Not by coincidence, presumably. He’s here because of her, or because of the child, or because of you.”

“And you,” Evelyn said quietly. “He’s looking for you too. The debt you mentioned—what is it between you and my father?”

Julian’s jaw worked. For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then: “Your father financed my first expedition. The one I was supposed to die on. When I returned—when I survived—he called it ill fortune and demanded repayment. I’ve been carrying that debt for three years now. He holds the notes on my family’s estate.”

“He’s using it to control you.”

“He’s using it to ensure I do what he asks.” Julian’s voice was tight. “And what he asks is never simple. It’s always—convenient. A favor here, an errand there. I’ve been his shadow for years without fully realizing it. And now, on this ship, in these loops—I wonder if even our meeting was engineered.”

“Our meeting?” Evelyn’s brow furrowed. “We met because—“

“Because I happened to be at the forward rail at the exact moment you walked past. Because I struck up a conversation with a woman who had no reason to trust me.” He shook his head. “I’ve relived that moment a hundred times. I never questioned why I was there. I just—was.”

A cold finger traced Evelyn’s spine. Fleet’s words echoed in her mind: *You were never supposed to be the one who finds her.*

Before she could follow the thought, footsteps sounded on the deck above. Heavy, deliberate. The click of a walking stick against iron.

Evelyn’s blood went cold as Lord Ashworth descended the short stair, his silhouette cutting a familiar, commanding shape against the lamplight. He was dressed impeccably, as always, his gray hair oiled and gleaming, his face arranged in an expression of paternal concern that Evelyn had learned to read as calculation.

“Evelyn,” he said, his voice carrying the practiced warmth of a man who had spent a lifetime performing affection. “I’ve been looking for you. The ship is vast, but you seem determined to explore its less—salubrious—corners.”

Julian stepped slightly in front of her, a subtle movement that didn’t escape Lord Ashworth’s notice. The older man’s eyes flicked to him, and his smile thinned.

“Mr. Cross. How fortunate to find you both together.” He paused. “Though I confess I’m surprised to see you in such company, Julian. Given your outstanding obligations.”

The word *obligations* landed like a blade. Julian’s posture stiffened, but his voice remained level. “Lord Ashworth. I was just escorting your daughter back to her cabin.”

“A noble gesture. And yet you’ve chosen a rather circuitous route.” Ashworth’s gaze swept the well deck, the winches, the dark water beyond. “But perhaps I’ve interrupted a more private conversation. One about—family, perhaps? Or inheritance?”

Evelyn’s stomach twisted. She stepped around Julian, meeting her father’s gaze directly. “What are you doing here, Father?”

“I might ask you the same. But I’m a patient man, and I’ve learned that pressing you rarely yields results.” He smiled, and it didn’t reach his eyes. “I came to remind you of the dinner engagement. The captain’s table. You did remember?”

Evelyn had forgotten entirely. The loops had blurred the social obligations of a woman in her position—those endless evenings of polite conversation and strategic alliances. She opened her mouth to decline, but her father spoke first.

“And Mr. Cross—you’ll join us, of course. I have several matters I wish to discuss with you.” The way he said it left no room for refusal. “Your debt, primarily. But also—opportunities. Ones that might prove mutually beneficial.”

Julian’s jaw tightened. “I’m not certain my evening is free.”

“Make it free.” Ashworth’s tone didn’t rise, but the command beneath it was unmistakable. He turned back to Evelyn, his expression softening into something that might have passed for tenderness if she hadn’t known better. “I’ve been remiss, Evelyn. We haven’t spoken properly—not for years, truly. I intend to rectify that tonight.”

He offered his arm. Evelyn looked at Julian, whose face betrayed nothing.

She took her father’s arm. The touch of his sleeve beneath her fingers was familiar—so familiar—and yet it felt like grasping a snake.

As they climbed the stairs together, Evelyn glanced back. Julian stood motionless in the shadows, watching them go. His expression was unreadable, but his hands were curled into fists at his sides.