BROTHERS

CHAPTER FIVE-THE LIGHTHOUSE SOCIETY(Part II)

Nobody spoke.

Nobody moved.

The monitor's blue glow washed over the archive.

Over the filing cabinets.

Over the photograph.

Over the faces of the living.

And the dead.

WELCOME BACK, SAMUEL.

YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED DEAD.

The message remained on-screen.

Unblinking.

Patient.

Confident.

Like the sender already knew exactly how this would end.

Ex slowly stood.

His pulse hammered in his chest.

Every instinct screamed the same thing.

They weren't alone.

Not remotely.

Nelisha's hand drifted toward the combat knife she kept hidden inside her jacket.

A habit from another life.

A habit she never fully abandoned.

Samuel stared at the screen.

Not frightened.

Not confused.

Angry.

Very angry.

"That's not possible."

The ghost stepped closer.

Examining the monitor.

"They shouldn't know."

Evelyn laughed once.

A sharp, bitter sound.

"Oh, they absolutely should."

Nobody liked the confidence in her voice.

Ex turned.

"What aren't you telling us?"

Evelyn looked at him.

Then at Samuel.

Then toward the giant photograph.

For a moment she seemed older.

Far older.

Like years suddenly landed on her shoulders.

"The Lighthouse Society wasn't built to control cities."

The statement immediately drew everyone's attention.

"It wasn't built to make money."

Another pause.

"It wasn't built to create power."

Ex frowned.

"Then what was it built for?"

Evelyn didn't answer immediately.

Because she knew how ridiculous the truth sounded.

The same problem everyone else had.

Finally:

"It was built to find people like Samuel."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Even Samuel froze.

"What?"

The word escaped him.

Small.

Confused.

Evelyn pointed directly at him.

"You."

Then another point.

Toward the monitor.

"Marcus."

Then herself.

"Me."

The room seemed to tilt.

Because suddenly the puzzle pieces weren't fitting together anymore.

They were colliding.

Samuel laughed.

A nervous laugh.

The kind people made when reality stopped making sense.

"I'm dead."

"Yes."

"I see ghosts."

"Yes."

"I'm talking to one."

"Yes."

The ghost pointed at himself.

"Do you hear how insane this sounds?"

Evelyn's expression remained completely serious.

"Not compared to the actual truth."

That answer somehow made everything worse.

Much worse.

Then the server beeped again.

Another line appeared.

YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES.

Nobody liked that.

Not one bit.

Ex approached the monitor.

"Ten minutes until what?"

No response.

The screen remained unchanged.

Just those four words.

Waiting.

Watching.

Threatening.

Samuel suddenly grabbed his head.

Hard.

A violent memory surged forward.

Not a fragment.

Not a glimpse.

A complete scene.

And this one didn't belong to eight months ago.

It belonged to the night he died.

The Night of the Ambush

Rain.

Cold streets.

Blood.

Pain.

Samuel leaning against a wall.

The knife already inside him.

Jefferson standing nearby.

Breathing heavily.

Panicking.

The heir had stabbed him.

That part was real.

But then—

Someone else arrived.

A black car.

A woman stepping out.

Silver hair.

Evelyn.

The memory sharpened.

"You weren't supposed to kill him."

Her voice carried fury.

Real fury.

Jefferson looked terrified.

Actually terrified.

"Father said—"

"Your father is an idiot."

The memory continued.

Samuel remembered collapsing.

Remembered blood.

Remembered Ex screaming his name.

Then—

Something else.

Someone else.

A man.

Standing beside the black car.

Watching.

Not helping.

Not speaking.

Watching.

The memory zoomed in.

Closer.

Closer.

And suddenly Samuel saw his face.

Clearly.

Perfectly.

Thomas Blackwell.

The invisible king.

The memory shattered.

Samuel stumbled backward.

The archive returned.

The present returned.

Reality returned.

For a moment nobody spoke.

Then Samuel looked directly at Evelyn.

"Blackwell was there."

The woman's face drained of color.

Instantly.

Not fear.

Dread.

A much worse emotion.

"No."

"He was."

"No."

"He watched me die."

Silence.

Evelyn slowly sat down.

Again.

This time she looked shaken.

Deeply shaken.

Because apparently that answer mattered.

A lot.

Ex noticed immediately.

"Why?"

Evelyn stared at the floor.

Thinking.

Calculating.

Choosing.

Finally she looked up.

And for the first time since meeting her—

She seemed genuinely afraid.

Because she had reached a conclusion.

One she desperately hoped wasn't true.

"He found us."

The words barely escaped her.

Samuel frowned.

"Who?"

Evelyn met his eyes.

And whispered:

"The Seventh."

Nobody moved.

Because that title sounded wrong.

Very wrong.

The photograph had six men.

Not seven.

The Society had six founders.

Not seven.

Everything revolved around six.

So who was the seventh?

Ex asked the obvious question.

"What is The Seventh?"

Evelyn didn't answer.

Because the answer arrived first.

Every monitor in the archive turned on simultaneously.

One after another.

After another.

After another.

Blue light flooded the room.

Hundreds of screens.

Hundreds of reflections.

Hundreds of identical messages.

Then every monitor changed.

A face appeared.

An old man.

White hair.

Sharp eyes.

Calm smile.

A face none of them had ever seen before.

Except Samuel.

Because the moment he saw him—

The ghost's entire body froze.

The memory hit instantly.

The lighthouse.

Marcus Kane.

The warnings.

The fear.

The old man on the screen.

The real reason Marcus was terrified.

The real reason Samuel was murdered.

The real reason the Lighthouse Society existed.

Samuel looked at the screen.

Then whispered two words.

Not a question.

Not a guess.

Recognition.

Pure recognition.

"Arthur Vale."

The smiling man on every monitor tilted his head slightly.

As if hearing him.

As if seeing him.

And then—

The man smiled wider.

"Hello again, Samuel."

Nobody breathed.

Nobody moved.

Nobody even seemed willing to blink.

Every monitor in the archive displayed the same face.

The same calm smile.

The same ancient eyes.

Arthur Vale.

A man who shouldn't have known Samuel's name.

A man who shouldn't have known Samuel was dead.

A man who definitely shouldn't have been speaking directly to him.

Yet somehow—

He was.

"Hello again, Samuel."

The words echoed through the underground chamber.

Not loud.

Not threatening.

Not angry.

Which made them infinitely worse.

Because monsters that needed to scream were predictable.

The ones who smiled were not.

Samuel stared at the screens.

A memory clawed its way to the surface.

Not a fragment.

Not a glimpse.

A conversation.

A real conversation.

Eight Months Earlier

Rain hammered the lighthouse.

Thunder rolled across the ocean.

Marcus Kane paced the archive.

Exhausted.

Terrified.

Broken.

Samuel stood beside him.

Young.

Confused.

Determined.

"You keep talking about him."

Samuel said.

Marcus stopped pacing.

For several seconds he simply stared.

As though deciding whether Samuel deserved the truth.

Finally—

He laughed.

A sad laugh.

A defeated laugh.

"I wish I wasn't."

Then he walked toward an old filing cabinet.

Unlocked it.

Removed a photograph.

A single photograph.

Marcus handed it over.

Samuel looked down.

And immediately felt cold.

An old group picture.

Seven men.

Not six.

Seven.

One face had been cut out.

Removed.

Destroyed.

Only the outline remained.

Samuel frowned.

"Who's missing?"

Marcus's answer came instantly.

"The reason we're all going to die."

The memory shattered.

The present returned.

The archive.

The monitors.

The smiling old man.

Samuel staggered backward.

"Seven."

Ex looked at him.

"What?"

"The photograph."

His voice sounded distant.

"There were seven."

Across the room, Evelyn closed her eyes.

The reaction told Ex everything.

She already knew.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Arthur Vale continued smiling from the screens.

Patiently.

As though allowing them time to catch up.

Then he spoke again.

"I must admit, Samuel."

His voice was smooth.

Cultured.

Comfortable.

"I was disappointed by your death."

Silence.

The statement felt wrong.

Deeply wrong.

Samuel looked ready to punch a monitor.

Which would've accomplished very little.

But the intent was appreciated.

"You had potential."

Arthur continued.

"You asked questions."

"You refused instructions."

"You were curious."

The smile widened.

"I enjoy curious people."

Ex felt a chill run through him.

Because Arthur wasn't talking about Samuel like a human being.

He was talking about him like a project.

An experiment.

A toy.

Nelisha noticed it too.

"I don't like him."

Nobody disagreed.

Arthur's eyes shifted.

Toward Ex.

And suddenly the attention landed on him.

Fully.

Completely.

The sensation felt physical.

Like standing in front of a predator.

"You must be Exhavier."

Ex remained silent.

Arthur chuckled softly.

"Stubborn."

A pause.

"The family trait."

The words hit harder than expected.

Because Arthur said them like he knew them.

Both of them.

Like he had been watching.

For years.

Then the old man looked toward Samuel again.

"You've caused quite a mess."

Samuel's expression hardened.

"You murdered me."

Arthur tilted his head.

"No."

The answer came instantly.

Without hesitation.

"I didn't."

The same answer Jefferson had given.

The same answer.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Samuel noticed too.

The ghost narrowed his eyes.

"Then who did?"

For the first time—

Arthur stopped smiling.

Just for a second.

A tiny c***k.

A tiny mistake.

Then the smile returned.

"Wrong question."

That answer immediately irritated Samuel.

And Samuel had always been terrible at hiding irritation.

"Funny."

The ghost stepped closer to a monitor.

"I think it's exactly the right question."

Arthur sighed.

Like a teacher dealing with a difficult student.

"Samuel."

A pause.

"You died because you found the archive."

Another pause.

"You stayed dead because you found the truth."

The room became silent.

Because there was a difference.

A very important difference.

Samuel caught it immediately.

"You know I'm dead."

Arthur smiled.

"Obviously."

"You know I'm here."

"Obviously."

Samuel stared.

Then asked the question nobody else had considered.

"How?"

The smile disappeared completely.

And for the first time all evening—

Arthur looked serious.

Dangerously serious.

Because apparently that question mattered.

A lot.

The old man leaned slightly toward the camera.

And quietly replied:

"Because I've spoken to the dead far longer than you have."

Nobody knew what to say to that.

Not Ex.

Not Nelisha.

Not Evelyn.

Not even Samuel.

The statement settled over the room like poison.

Because it wasn't a threat.

It was a revelation.

A glimpse.

And glimpses were often worse than answers.

Suddenly one of the server racks beeped.

Then another.

Then another.

The archive's systems came alive.

Lights flickered.

Monitors changed.

Files opened automatically.

Folders appeared.

Thousands of names.

Thousands of photographs.

Thousands of records.

Ex stared.

"What is all this?"

Arthur answered.

"The purpose of the Lighthouse Society."

A pause.

"The real purpose."

One folder expanded on-screen.

A photograph appeared.

A teenage boy.

Another photograph.

A woman.

Another.

An old man.

Another.

Another.

Another.

Hundreds.

Then thousands.

Ex felt his stomach tighten.

"What are they?"

Arthur smiled again.

This time there was no warmth whatsoever.

Only certainty.

Only obsession.

Only madness hidden behind perfect control.

Then he spoke the sentence that changed everything.

"The people who came back."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Because everyone understood exactly what he meant.

Not survivors.

Not witnesses.

Not escapees.

The dead.

Arthur Vale had a database of dead people.

And suddenly—

Samuel understood why Marcus Kane had been terrified.

Because the Lighthouse Society wasn't built to rule cities.

It wasn't built to create empires.

It wasn't built to generate wealth.

Those were side effects.

Distractions.

Masks.

The real purpose had always been something else.

Something much older.

Something much darker.

The study of death.

And what happened after it.

Samuel looked at Arthur.

Horror filling his face.

Then whispered:

"That's what we found."

Arthur smiled.

And this time—He didn't deny it.