In the realm of academia, Julian Vance—the original Julian—had been nothing short of a prodigy. If he hadn’t been so paralyzed by the sudden eruption of violence in his life, he probably wouldn't have died in that alleyway, and I wouldn't have been pulled across time to inhabit his skin.
Now, with the Edith system silently huming in my mind, passing any test was child's play.
“Uncle Arthur,” Julian said, leaning forward in the interrogation room, his voice steady. “Just as you suspected, the situation is becoming painfully clear.”
He paused, letting the silence hang until Arthur de Molay’s predatory gaze fixed on him.
“A string of coincidences like this isn't luck; it’s choreography. The SOE’s operation was rushed—they only managed two shots. I believe this assassination attempt was a
