He spread the documents across the top of an old wooden crate.

They were medical records from the year he was born.

But the name on the top of the patient file was not Eleanor Carter.

It was a name I had never heard before.

Before Nathan could read the first line, his phone began to ring again in his pocket.

He pulled it out, his eyes widening as he looked at the screen.

It was not Arthur Vance this time.

It was an unlisted number.

He pressed the speaker button, and a low, raspy voice came through the line.

“Is this Nathan?” the voice asked, dry and scratching like dry leaves.

Nathan gripped the phone tighter, his knuckles turning white.

“Who is this?” he demanded.

“My name is Julian Vance,” the man said. “Arthur’s brother.”

There was a long pause, filled only with the hiss of static.

“Arthur told me to call you if he couldn’t,” the voice continued.

“Where is Arthur?” Nathan asked, his voice echoing in the damp cellar.