Someone had come home.
Those four words refused to leave my mind.
Not someone who had infiltrated Iron Crown.
Not someone who was pretending.
Someone had come home.
Thomas hadn't written those words by accident.
He had known exactly who the man was.
He simply hadn't written his name.
I stared at the two photographs spread across the old table.
The Founders picture.
The recent photogragh of Iron Crown.
Twenty years apart.
The same posture.
The same broad shoulders.
The same habit of standing with one hand tucked casually into a pocket.
It couldn't be coincidence.
Grim stood beside me, studying both photographs.
"What are you seeing?"
I pointed to the background.
"The stance."
He narrowed his eyes.
"I thought the same thing."
Cal slowly shook his head.
"No."
"What?"
