The Ledger of Debts

Episode Two Five Years Before I did not tell my mother about the book. I did not tell her about the execution. I did not tell her that five years from now, I would be dead. Instead, I sat at the breakfast table and watched her spread butter over a piece of toast. She hummed while she worked. It was an ordinary morning. That was what frightened me most. Everything was ordinary. The sunlight coming through the kitchen window. The chipped blue cup beside my father's chair. The newspaper folded neatly beside his plate. The smell of cinnamon and tea. My mother's voice complaining that the baker had once again made the loaves too small. Five years from now, I will remember this morning better than almost anything else. Not because anything important happened. Because nothing did. It was the last kind of morning I had ever known. "Mara?" I looked up. My father was staring at me. Thomas Voss had the newspaper lowered in his hands. "You have been staring at that cup for nearly a minute." "I was thinking." "That is usually dangerous before breakfast." My mother smiled. I almost cried again. Instead, I smiled back. "I had a strange dream." My father folded the newspaper. "What kind of dream?" I hesitated. "I was older." My father raised an eyebrow. "That is hardly a nightmare." "I was twenty-nine." He laughed. "Then I hope you looked respectable." My mother gave him a disapproving look. "Thomas." "What? It is important." I tried to laugh. The sound came out wrong. My father noticed. He always noticed. "What happened in the dream?" I looked down at my hands. "I died." The room went silent. My mother stopped cutting her toast. My father slowly lowered the newspaper. "That is not a dream you should be discussing before breakfast." "I know." "How did you die?" I could still feel the rope. I could still hear the crowd. I could still see Adrian. I swallowed. "I was executed." My mother reached across the table and took my hand. "You are here." I looked at her. "Yes." "Then whatever you saw was only a dream." I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that death was something my mind had invented. But there was a book upstairs. A black book that had written Adrian's name in my own handwriting. And there was something else. A date. I had checked it three times before coming downstairs. Five years. Exactly five years. I knew the day. I knew the month. I knew what would happen in the coming weeks. I knew who I would meet. I knew which decisions I would make. I knew which mistakes I would make. And now I had to decide what to do with that knowledge. The answer came easily. I needed proof. Not of the future. Of the present. I needed to know whether the people who betrayed me were already moving toward that betrayal. After breakfast, I returned to my room. The book was still on my bed. I closed the door. Then I locked it. I had never locked my bedroom door during the day before. I noticed that immediately. Another difference. Another warning. I approached the bed. The ledger was exactly where I had left it. I picked it up. Nothing happened. No writing. No voice. No strange warmth. Just an old black book. I turned to the first page. The words remained. Debt recorded. Collection begins. Below them was the name. Adrian Hale. Debt pending. I stared at it. "Why him?" Nothing. I waited. Nothing. I touched the page. The paper felt almost warm. "Did he already do something?" Still nothing. My stomach tightened. That was when I understood something important. The ledger had not written: Adrian Hale. Guilty. It had written: Debt pending. Perhaps whatever this thing was could see something I couldn't. Or perhaps it was waiting. I turned the page. Blank. Another page. Blank. Another. Nothing. I nearly laughed at myself. I was standing alone in my childhood bedroom, talking to a book. Perhaps I had actually lost my mind at the execution. Perhaps I had died. Perhaps this was not a second chance. Perhaps this was some cruel dream before the end. I closed my eyes. Then I remembered my mother's face. No. I was alive. Whatever this was, I would find out. I dressed for the city. Five years ago, I had owned far fewer dresses. My favorite was a muted green one with a simple collar and sleeves that were slightly too long. I put it on. Then I stopped. In the mirror, I looked twenty-four. Not twenty-nine. Twenty-four. The woman staring back at me had no idea what was coming. I touched my face. Five years younger. Five years more trusting. Five years less afraid. I wondered how much of her was still inside me. Then I left the room. The first place I went was the Royal Treasury. I had not yet been appointed to my later position, but I knew the building well. The Treasury stood behind the eastern wing of the palace, a severe stone structure with narrow windows and thick iron doors. At twenty-four, I was still considered a junior accountant. I remembered being nervous the first time I walked through those doors. Now I felt something entirely different. I felt as though I had returned to a battlefield. Samuel Reed nearly walked into me in the corridor. He stopped. Blinking. Then he looked at me from head to toe. "You're early." "I know." "Are you ill?" "No." "You look like you have seen a ghost." I stared at him. For half a second, I almost told him. Then I remembered his face at my trial. Not because Samuel had betrayed me. He had not. He had tried to speak. They had not allowed him. One of my clearest memories was hearing him shout from the gallery while guards dragged him away. I had never learned what happened to him afterward. I hoped he had survived. "Bad dream," I said. Samuel nodded slowly. "That explains the haunted expression." "I do not have a haunted expression." "You absolutely do." Despite myself, I smiled. There he was. The same Samuel. Still irritating. Still alive. He handed me a stack of papers. "These need checking." I looked down. My heart stopped. The papers were familiar. Very familiar. I remembered them from the original timeline. A series of procurement contracts connected to military supply. I had ignored them the first time. Not because they were unimportant. Because I had trusted the people attached to them. My eyes moved over the figures. Three contracts. Four suppliers. Different names. The same payment structure. My fingers tightened around the papers. Samuel noticed. "What?" "Nothing." "You just looked like someone stabbed you." I forced myself to breathe. "Who approved these?" Samuel glanced at the top page. "Lord Stefan Rook's office." The name hit me. Rook. In the original timeline, I had only understood his involvement much later. Too late. I looked at the dates. Then at the amounts. Something was wrong. Not enough to prove anything. But enough to make my skin prickle. "Has anyone reviewed these?" "Probably." "Who?" Samuel shrugged. "You're the accountant. Shouldn't you know?" "I am asking." "Then I suppose someone in procurement." I gathered the papers. "I want the original payment records." Samuel frowned. "Why?" "Because I have a feeling." "What kind of feeling?" I looked at him. "The expensive kind." He sighed. "That is never good." I almost laughed. Almost. Instead, I carried the documents into my office. I spent three hours comparing figures. By noon, I had found nothing conclusive. By one, I had found three discrepancies. By two, I had found seven. By three, I had found a pattern. Money was moving through contracts that had no obvious reason to be connected. The amounts were small enough to escape casual attention. But repeated often enough, they became substantial. I leaned back in my chair. My pulse quickened. This was the beginning. I remembered this. Not clearly. Not enough to know what would happen. But I remembered the feeling. Five years ago, I had found these discrepancies and dismissed them as administrative mistakes. This time, I would not. I opened the ledger. The page was still blank. I took a pen. Then stopped. I did not know if writing in the book was safe. So I asked aloud. "What happens if I write a name?" Nothing. I waited. Nothing. I smiled bitterly. "Very helpful." Then the page changed. Ink appeared. Not beneath Adrian's name. On the next page. Three words. Truth creates debt. I stared. The words faded. Then disappeared. A new sentence appeared. Choose carefully. I stood so quickly that my chair fell backward. The door opened. Samuel stood there. He looked at the fallen chair. Then at me. Then at the ledger. I slammed it shut. "What are you doing?" "Nothing." "You look terrified." "I'm not." Samuel stared at me for a long moment. Then he slowly nodded. "Whatever you're doing, Mara..." He pointed at the ledger. "...I hope you know what you're doing." He left. I looked down at the black book. For the first time since waking, I understood something. The ledger was not simply giving me power. It was watching me. And perhaps it was waiting to see what kind of woman I would become. That evening, I returned home. A carriage was waiting outside. I knew it before I saw him. Adrian Hale stepped down from the carriage. He looked exactly as I remembered. Dark coat. Hazel eyes. Easy smile. The same man. The same face. The same voice. But now I knew how that face would look when I stood beneath the executioner's rope. He smiled when he saw me. "Mara." My heart hurt. I hated that it did. He walked toward me. "I have been looking everywhere for you." I stepped back before he could touch me. His smile faltered. "Is something wrong?" I looked into his eyes. Five years. I had five years to decide whether he deserved forgiveness. Five years to discover whether the future could be changed. Five years to find out whether the man standing before me would become the man who watched me die. "I had a strange dream," I said. Adrian smiled gently. "What kind of dream?" I looked at him. "One where you betrayed me." His smile disappeared. Only for a second. But I saw it. Fear. Real fear. Then it was gone. Adrian reached for my hand. I let him take it. And somewhere inside my room, behind a locked door, the ledger made a soft sound. Click.