Chapter 52 – The Weight of Knowing 02
Back at the van, Felix was frowning at his tablet.
"Find something?" Luke asked.
"Maybe. The energy signatures I mentioned—they're not random. They're pulsing. Like a heartbeat. Whatever's under the glassworks, it's not dead. It's just... sleeping."
Luke looked at the map. The glassworks was marked in red.
"Can you tell what it is?"
Felix shook his head. "No. The Bureau sealed the site for a reason. My scans can't penetrate more than a few meters. Whatever's down there, it's buried deep."
"Fourteen meters," Petra said. "The guide wasn't guessing."
Luke turned away from the screen. "We'll need clearance to go in. Bureau jurisdiction means we can't just walk through the front door."
"So we wait for Silas?"
"We wait. For now."
He was back in his apartment by late afternoon.
The earpiece was still on the nightstand. He hadn't put it back in. The Cult hadn't contacted him again—not yet.
His phone buzzed.
Emily. The girls are home. Sara's asking about the bakery.
He typed: I'll bring pastries.
Then he grabbed his coat and left.
The apartment building looked the same as always. The same cracked steps. The same flickering hallway light. The same smell of boiled rice and detergent.
Luke climbed the stairs. His hand hesitated for just a moment before he knocked.
Emily opened the door.
She looked tired—the kind of tired that sleep couldn't fix. Her arm was still in the sling.
Her hair was pulled back, loose strands framing her face. She studied him for a second, then stepped aside.
"Sara's in the living room. Sera's in her room. She's been quiet all day."
"The nightmare?"
"She won't talk about it. Just drew that picture and went silent."
Luke stepped inside. The apartment was warm. A pot simmered on the stove—soup, maybe. Dishes in the drying rack. A half-finished puzzle on the coffee table.
Sara was sprawled on the rug, colouring. She looked up when he walked in.
"Baba!"
She scrambled to her feet and launched herself at him.
He caught her, one arm around her back, and held her for a moment longer than usual.
"You brought pastries?" she asked, pulling back to look at his empty hands.
"Left them in the car. I'll go get them in a minute."
She pouted, then shrugged and ran back to her colouring.
Luke looked toward the hallway. Sera's room. The door was closed.
He walked over and knocked softly.
"Come in."
Sera was sitting on her bed, knees drawn up, a sketchbook in her lap. She didn't look up when he entered.
"Hey," Luke said.
"Hey."
He sat on the edge of the bed—the mattress creaked under his weight.
The room was small, just a bed and a dresser, with star stickers on the window glass. A mobile of paper stars hung from the ceiling, turning slowly in the warm air.
"Your mom said you had a bad dream."
Sera shrugged. Her fingers traced the edge of the sketchbook.
"You want to talk about it?"
"No."
Luke waited. The heater clicked. Somewhere outside, a car drove past.
After a long moment, Sera turned the sketchbook around.
The drawing was simple. Charcoal—she'd been using his old sticks, the ones he'd left behind.
A man in a long coat, standing on a street corner. His face was blank—not erased, just not drawn. The background was dark, the lines heavy.
"That's the man from your dream?"
Sera nodded.
"Did he say anything?"
"No. He was just... there. Watching."
Luke looked at the drawing. The coat was the same.
Dark. Long. But the man in the drawing was thinner than the one at the coal yard. Older, maybe. It was hard to tell.
"It's not the same man," Petra said. "The build is wrong. Your daughter is seeing something else."
Luke felt his chest go cold. He kept his voice steady.
"Sera. Have you seen him anywhere else? Outside of dreams?"
She hesitated. Then she nodded.
"Where?"
"Outside our building. Last week. Mom didn't see him. Just me."
"When last week?"
"I don't remember. A few days ago."
"Before the note," Petra said. "Before the coal yard. Someone's been watching them longer than we thought."
Luke put his hand on Sera's shoulder. She didn't pull away.
"You did the right thing, telling me. If you see him again—in a dream or anywhere else—you tell me. Or your mom. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Promise?"
She looked at him. Her eyes were too old for her face.
"I promise."
He stayed for dinner.
Emily made soup—vegetable, with bread on the side. Sara talked through the whole meal, switching between the puzzle and the pastries and a story about a girl at school who'd tripped on the playground.
Sera ate in silence, but she sat closer to Luke than usual.
After dinner, Emily walked him to the door.
"The girls missed you," she said. "Sara wouldn't stop asking when you were coming."
"I'm here now."
"For a few hours."
Luke didn't answer.
Emily leaned against the doorframe. Her good arm was crossed over her chest.
She was studying him again—the way she always did, like she was trying to read a document in a language she barely remembered.
"You seem different."
"Different how?"
"More tired. But also... more here. If that makes sense."
Luke met her eyes. "I'm trying to be."
She held his gaze for a moment. Then she looked away.
"Sera likes you being here. Even if she doesn't say it."
"I know."
"Then come more often."
She closed the door before he could answer.
The drive home was quiet.
The streets were wet with melted snow. Streetlights reflected off the asphalt in long, distorted streaks. The radio was off. The heater hummed.
"She knows you're hiding something," Petra said.
"She's always known."
"That doesn't make it easier."
"No. It doesn't."
Luke pulled into his building's parking lot. The spaces were mostly empty—just a few cars, dusted with snow.
He sat in the dark for a moment, engine off, listening to nothing.
Then he got out and walked inside.
He stepped into his apartment. The air was still. The only light came from the street below, filtering through the frost on the windows.
He didn't turn on the lamps. He went to the window and looked out at the city. The sky was clear for once—no snow, just stars. Faint. Distant.
His phone buzzed.
Felix.
Got a hit on the glassworks. The Bureau just reopened the site. New team assigned. Your ex-wife's team.
Luke stared at the screen.
Who authorised it?
Not sure. Came from high up. Director level.
Keep me updated.
Will do.
Luke set the phone down. He looked out the window again.
The stars were still there. Cold. Indifferent.
Somewhere out there, the glassworks was waking up. And Emily was walking toward it.
"You're going to have to tell her something," Petra said.
"Not yet."
"When?"
Luke didn't answer.
The night stretched on. The city breathed. And somewhere beneath the streets, fourteen meters down, the space that had been torn and imperfectly healed began to pulse.